Page 21 of Priority

“Uh…Can I sing every line inMean Girls?”

Girlish giggles are barely heard prior to my wife viciously poking me in the hand with the pointy end of a pipe cleaner. “Ou!”

“What the fuck is a matter with you?!” she harshly hisses, disbelief occupying her entire expression. “Are you justtryingto get bitten? Is that why you keep dangling bright colored netting in front of our bull shark?!”

Huh.

I didn’t realize certain sharks could differentiate colors like that.

I admire the new pages of information she still manages to stuff into our relationship ten years and three kids later.

I, however, know now is not the time to vocalize that.

I’m actually convinced I may never be allowed to speak in my family again without council present.

“Why did you think droppingchuminto his territory would be a good idea?!”

Following along with her analogy unexpectedly becomes difficult. “Is the young girl checking out our son the ‘chum’ you’re referring to?”

“Why would you point that out?!”

“I thought thatmaybehe would want to know a girl might be into him.” Abandoning my hold on the materials I possess precedes me angling my frame to face hers. “I thought thatmaybehe would like someone his own age to hang out with while we’re here.”

“Or…” she sassily begins, stance swiveling to match mine, “you thought thatmaybeif you distracted him with another girl, he’d forget all about the one he wants to see for Christmas.”

Against my own volition, guilt flickers in my gaze.

“Let me ask you this,Mr. Wayne…” the combination of light and heavy in her tone is unsettling. “Did it work for you?”

My brow pinches tightly together.

“Did having another woman in your face – a woman you hadnointerest in – help distract from how much you missedme? How much you wanted to be withme? How much it hurt to bewithout me?”

No.

Having Penny dangling herself actually made the shit worse.

Exponentially.

Worse.

“I was just trying to help,” darts past my lips right above a whisper.

“You wanna help?” One hand delivers a gentle, condescending pat to my chest. “Consider your son’s feelings and not just your own.”

Chapter 5

Brynley

“Overrule him, Mom,” whines Wy from the doorway of Blakely’s bedroom that I’m frantically searching around.

“I can’t justoverrulehim,” I mutter in return as I spin around on my heels in preparation of moving my hunt to the other side of the room only to be met with sarcastic stares from my son, my daughter, and Janae who is in the process of fixing Blake’s hair for the play over at the nearby vanity. “Okay, Ican, but I’m not going to.”

My best friend smugly resumes the wacky, agreed upon Cindy Lou hairstyle she was roped into creating while her niece nervously uses a compact to inspect every step of the process.

I can do hair.

I can domy ownhair.

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