Page 22 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Probably why I haven’t spoken a word to her,” he glances over to where Gracie’s paused at the stairs, watching our interaction. When neither of us says a word, she slowly starts the trek up, and not long after, we hear her door close.

“Did she try to talk to you?” I ask, studying my husband as Peyton continually kicks the ball—destructively—at our expensive shutters before turning to glance in our direction.

“Don’t react,” Thatch says.

“I’m not. I see it,” I say, resuming my chopping.

“And yeah, she tried for about five seconds. I heard her bullshit excuse until I turned up the radio.”

“You didn’t,” I shake my head, biting my smile.

“Oh yeah, I did. Because what productive conversation could we have? So, me and John Mellencamp chilled on the way home. For thesecondtime today.”

“You remember the details too?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“I can’t believe you remember so much,” I rasp out, still shocked by his recollection this morning of what I wore. Thatch has delivered enough real sentiment over the years to hold me, but never quite like he has in the last twenty-four hours. Twenty-two years together, and other than during sex, he’s never this vocal or intimate. PDA, always, but even that has waned over our decades as a couple. I pray it lasts as he gazes back at me and speaks as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“It’s not at all hard to remember the night that changed my life,” he relays thoughtfully, “so, yeah, I played our song again on the ride home.Fuckthe Wiggles,” he chuckles, even as his jade eyes sting with disappointment. Itching to comfort him, I’m taken away when Peyton again kicks the ball. This time, his aim has a lamp toppling over. A very expensive lamp. I cringe inside, having spent weeks looking for the right one for the hall.

Having spent even more endless hours setting up the dream house we moved into not even a year ago. One we dreamed of, saved for, and imagined our whole adult lives. A home that is being treated like it’s nothing. Like all our hard work was for nothing as our kids continually trash it. Tearing up the walls and spilling on the floors and furniture. And now, ripping out ceiling fans and breaking décor we could never have afforded a few short years ago. My heart breaks that they care so little about the home we broke our back to provide them. Peyton’s behavior is a little more understandable, but the fact Gracie doesn’t so much as try to stop him from the destruction is painful. I cringe as our shutters are battered a third time, biting my tongue as Thatch stiffens next to me.

Wincing as the ball pings again, I look away to keep myself from lashing out. “Jesus, Thatch, aren’t we here, present as much as we can be every day? I workfrom home.”

He slides his arm around my waist and nuzzles me as he speaks. “If you need to hear it again,” he places a hot kiss on my neck, “I’ll say it, Mrs. O’Neal. You’re an amazing, highly attentive mother. That’s why the presents they know nothing about are so specific and special because you know them so well. Things I would never have thought of giving them. You gift as well as your mother in that sense. So yes, we’re present for them, Serena. You more than me, but as much as we can be.”

“Don’t be offended, but I can’t wait to get to Triple Falls,” I admit. “I need it.”

“Me too, babe,” he says on an exhausted exhale. “We could both use a little gravity,” he adds, a firm believer in our family motto. Grammy P’s words keeping us all tethered.

“Just remember when times get hard, when your problems are blinding you, that you’re on a floating planet in the middle of a vast galaxy filled with the unexplainable, and the only thing holding you to it is an invisible force you can’t see.”

The momentary piece I find in her words shatters with the next thwack of Peyton’s soccer ball before as I blow out a breath of frustration. “Maybe we shouldn’t go with the way they’re acting.”

“Leave that to me,” he assures. “I’ll make sure everyone is clear on what’s going on.”

“You know they won’t listen.”

“Your mom has been subtly warning us for years. It’s Eli and Whitney we’ll have to reign in. But once they spend an hour with the latest version of these two, I don’t think it will take much convincing. Trust me, okay?”

“I am, I do,” I whisper as he kisses my neck again, his tongue included in the mix, sending goose bumps in their wake. This level of intimacy still a little jarring while at the same time a welcome balm to the sting. A comfort amongst the chaos.

“Me and you, baby,” he murmurs in solace before pulling away and flashing me a boyish grin. “Hey, want to make out tonight? Pay homage?” He asks as I turn to him, my lips lifting at his expression.

“You’re serious?”

“After they’re down, you and me, and the firepit on the porch we never use. We’ll bundle up, drink a little wine, smoke a little. Maybe play a little 311.”

“I was reminiscing about our love shack before you walked in. I’ve been thinking about it all day, honestly. So, yeah, let’s do it.”

His haunted expression—one he’s trying hard to shield—eases some as he seals our date with a promising kiss. As we pull away, Peyton kicks the ball right toward us. It bounces over the island, coming close to nailing me. Miraculously, Thatch manages to snatch it before calmly walking over to the knife block. Grabbing the butcher knife, he slams it into the plastic ball and pushes the air out until it deflates before dropping it ceremoniously in the trash.

“Daddy! That’s my ball!”

“Not anymore, Son,” Thatch states, “I’m going to shower, babe, then I’ll set the table.” He leaves me with a heated look before sauntering past Peyton and shutting our bedroom door.

Peyton and I stare after him, dazed for different reasons. For the long years we dated and after Gracie was born, I had to work hard to make Thatch a more active participant in the area of discipline and decision-making. He didn’t trust himself and was far too passive at times. Which was extremely challenging because of his mission to give our kids a better environment than the one he grew up in. But it’s apparent now that Daddy Thatch is in the house, and he’s taking charge. Somehow our children have finally managed to snap the most level-headed parent they have into action—and I’m so fucking here for it. In fact, it’s turning me the hell on.

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