Page 31 of Pucking the Grump

An hour later, I’m riding shotgun in Remy’s car as she zooms down the highway. Barb is nestled in my lap, sporting her “Smash the Pup-triarchy” t-shirt and a matching hair bow.

Remy still refuses to tell me where we’re headed, but apparently, it’s dog-friendly, and Barb couldn’t be more thrilled. My little girl loves a field trip. She prefers it when we go for a spin with Tank on his Harley, and she gets to ride in the sidecar with her disco ball helmet, but a car ride with the window cracked is baller, too.

I watch the city fade into countryside, grateful to be on my way to an adventure, even if I don’t know what it is, yet. The late morning sun makes the whole world look warm and hopeful. The sky is bright blue, the cool air carries a hint of autumn leaves, and my sexy redhead is humming along to the radio, something soft and indie that I don’t recognize, but that clearly makes her happy.

She’s been smiling almost continuously since the moment we woke up, in fact.

She catches me watching her and exhales an embarrassed laugh. “What? I know I can’t sing, I just love Bright Eyes, okay? Super underrated band.”

“I can’t even hear you,” I assure her. “I was just thinking you look happy and relaxed.” I exhale a dramatic sigh. “Guess that means I’m probably the best fun coach ever.”

She laughs. “Possibly. Or maybe I’m just the best student ever.”

“Also, quite possible.” I scratch behind Barb’s ears, earning a grateful snuffle from my princess. “You are annoyingly good at almost everything. Math, office shit, networking, hockey, meetings, figure skating, sock puppet crafting, coaching, looking foxy in spandex… But not singing, apparently?” I grunt. “Guess I’ll need to plan a karaoke night for next week. Take you down a notch or two.”

Remy snorts. “More like scar your ears for life. I didn’t say I don’t like singing. I’m just bad at it. I actually love karaoke.” She grins. “It’s everyone else who has to suffer while I belt out ‘Part of Your World’ from The Little Mermaid.”

I laugh. “The Little Mermaid? Like, the cartoon?”

She lifts her chin. “Yes. As a redheaded girl child, I was obligated to love Ariel. I also loved the Scottish girl from the other Disney movie, but I was older when I watched that one, and she didn’t do any singing, so…”

“Merida from Brave?” I supply, earning a surprised brow lift from Remy. “Barb loves cartoons,” I explain, stroking my movie buddy. “We’ve watched all the good ones. But don’t even try to put on one of those Angry Bird movies or she’ll cut a bitch.”

“As she should, those look terrible.” Glancing down at Barb, she adds, “You have excellent taste, buddy.”

“She does,” I agree. “You’re the only woman she’s ever liked, by the way. She used to pee in both my ex’s shoes.”

Remy’s expression softens. “Aw, well, thanks, Barb. Maybe she can tell that we’re just friends.”

“No, we aren’t,” I say, the words out before I can stop them.

For a moment, the air in the car grows tense, awkward. I’m about to backtrack, to make a joke and give us both an out, when Remy surprises me.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s valid.” She’s actually smiling as she adds, “Guess you’re right, and she just has excellent taste in women and movies. We’re almost there, by the way.”

“I’m excited,” I say, feeling better about this day with every passing second. “And I have to pee. Too much coffee.”

Remy laughs. “Hold on. Like…five minutes. Maybe a little less.”

Exactly four minutes later, we pull into a gravel lot in front of an old converted barn. The faded sign above the door reads “QUARTER KINGDOM” in peeling letters, and through the open windows I see the familiar glow of arcade cabinets.

“No way.” I turn to Remy, grinning. “Old school arcade?”

“Yep.” She kills the engine, looking pleased with herself. “And the best pizza in the county. Allegedly. Ready to work up an appetite?”

“Hell, yes.” I pass Barb over as I nod toward the restroom signs on the right side of the building. “Hold the baby, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, but then my turn,” she calls after me as I bolt. “I had too much coffee, too.”

Inside, post pee break, we discover a time capsule of neon and nostalgia. Classic arcade games line the walls, their screens painting the dim space in electric blues and pinks. The air smells like pizza and fried mushrooms, people mill around with their dogs happily trailing behind them, and a cool, early autumn breeze drifts in through the open doors and windows.

Something in my chest expands as I take it all in.

It’s exactly the kind of place I used to love as a kid, back when my sisters would let me tag along to the mall with them on weekends, even though I was the bratty little brother. Sometimes, when their friends didn’t show, we’d end up playing at our local arcade together for hours.

Those are still some of my favorite family memories.

And now, I get to make more memories with Rem.

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