Page 124 of Summer with the Single Dad

“I mean children around our daughters’ ages having anxiety. I’m in all kinds of online groups and forums, and between the ages of seven and ten, so many kids are developing anxiety. It’s brutal. COVID-19 fucked with them all in ways we can’t even comprehend. The isolation and incessant handwashing, the masks. Kids are riddled with anxiety now.”

“Can you email me the stuff you’ve been reading just so I can do some reading of my own?”

Cam nodded. “Sure thing.”

They exchanged small smiles. They were smiles of fellow soldiers. Two men, deep in the trenches of fatherhood to little girls. Emotional little girls with the weight of the patriarchy pressing down on them.

Clearing their throats before things got too sappy and they lost track of time exchanging stories of the woes of fatherhood, Cam helped Bennett carry the vinyl into the bathroom. Then Bennett got to work—with the help of a very informative DIY YouTube video—laying down the vinyl sheet.

The hours ticked by and soon, his belly rumbled.

Jagger ducked out and brought them all back lunch from the kitchen and they sat out on the cabin’s porch eating their steak sandwiches.

“What was the bit about the guest favors in that email the Countess of Vapidingham sent you? Are we doing that shit too?” Bennett’s youngest brother asked.

Bennett nearly choked on his sandwich.

Cam slapped him on the back a few times while Jagger gave Bennett a curious single dipped eyebrow. “What’d I say?”

Swallowing, then clearing his throat and taking a sip of his cranberry and orange lager, Bennett held up one finger. “It’s not the guest favors, it’s the fact that you added the word “shit” after.”

Cam glanced at Jagger. “I don’t get it.”

“We are doing the guest favors,” Bennett said, his eyes watering a little as he struggled to regain his composure. “But we’ve opted to be a little cheeky with them.”

Both men eyed him suspiciously.

“How so?” Jagger asked slowly.

“There’s a chocolatier in Seattle that has a butthole mold. She made butthole shaped chocolates as a form of revenge for her sister’s wedding, and we’re going to do the same for Ashli and Tad.”

Jagger and Cam’s eyes bugged out.

“Um, whose butthole exactly?” Cam asked.

Bennett shrugged. “No idea. Some dude in the UK, I think.”

“And there’s just a mold that looks like what?” Jagger’s sandwich hung midair. The cogs spun might fast in his brain, but things still weren’t adding up. “Like the mouth of a sandworm or …”

Bennett shrugged again. “I mean, I think we all know what a butthole looks like. So just picture it, but made out of milk chocolate and in a cute little box.” He snapped his fingers and yanked his phone out of his pocket. “That reminds me. I need to touch base with the chocolatier.” He found the number for Wicked Sister Confections and hit “dial.”

“Wicked Sister Confections, Xi speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi there. My name is Bennett. I own Sound Bites, San Camanez Brewery, and the Madrona Cabins. We’re hosting a wedding here and I was in discussion with Lowenna, the owner, about some very specific guest favors. We just chatted yesterday.”

“Yes,” Xi said, the amusement in her voice heavily restrained. “Lowenna has informed me of the order. Do you wish to make any changes?”

“Um, I’m hoping you can expedite the order actually. The bride and groom have moved up the wedding.”

“Oh! Let me see.” Paper ruffled and shuffled on Xi’s end of the phone. “I have it scheduled for three weeks from now. When were you wanting the chocolates by?”

“They’ve moved the wedding to next Saturday. Like six days from now. So we’d need the chocolates by then, or sooner. Like Friday.”

“Oh! Umm … hang on. Can I put you on hold, please?”

“Sure.”

Muzak played over the phone and Bennett took a quick sip of his beer. Jagger and Cam gave him curious looks.

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