Page 30 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
“Just like old times.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. Well, grab a snack. I’ll be about half an hour.”
“I won’t be doing that. But no rush. But half an hour is kind of a long time.”
“Dec. I can’t just leave.”
I hear Aunt Mel telling her it’s fine for them to leave now.
My wife exhales loudly. “I just wish you’d given me a little warning.”
“Ahhh, macushla,” I say because that tone is telling me I need to bring out the big Irish guns. “May the most you wish for be the least you get.”
“I’ll text you when we’re leaving,” she says before ending the call.
That’s wife-speak forI can’t wait for you to quietly rail me against a secluded vertical surface with the starry sky above and the New York Harbor below us.
I check in with Nolan.
ME: How’s my girl doing?
NOLAN: Lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of my voice, of course. She woke up not long after you left, so I told her an Irish fairy tale.
ME: Fantastic. Was it about a shrieking banshee heralding someone’s death or a human baby that was stolen by an evil fairy?
NOLAN: It was the tale of a devilishly handsome Irish monster whose heart was stolen by an American woman and her mischievous son. Ciara was riveted. Fell right back to sleep. Little angel.
ME: Well, that is surprisingly sweet.
NOLAN: I have my feckin’ moments. You ride your bird yet?
ME: Waiting for her at the ferry terminal.
NOLAN: Sad. No woman has ever kept a Cassidy man waiting.
ME: Right. Do you leave out the part about Cora ghosting you when you tell your tale now?
NOLAN: No idea what you’re talking about. Never met a female human who could get enough of me. Good luck getting off, old man.
Unacceptable. Nolan Cassidy cannot be a better husband and father than I am. Ciara cried herself to sleep after Maddie left. How is the Irish Devil a more soothing presence for my baby than I am? Do I need to work on my Irish accent? Should I only speak to her in an Irish accent until she’s done teething?What the feck?I feel cursed this week, and it’s all Billy and Nolan’s fault.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, after I’ve replied to some old emails and watched as several large groups of rowdy teenagers passed by me on their way inside the terminal, my beautiful wife is strutting toward me. She’s wearing tight jeans, a light summer jacket, ankle boots, and a knowing look. I am now remembering that our bodies were hidden by long coats last time. I’m wearing a trench coat, so that should do the trick. The Tupperware full of cake is problematic.
Maddie shakes her head at me, barely able to refrain from smirking. “You are unbelievable.”
“Believe it, baby. I’m all yours.”
She stops a foot away from me and places her fists on her luscious hips. “Honey, I know what you’re angling for, but it’s early summer. The only reason it worked that time was because it was the dead of winter and nobody else wanted to be outside on the deck.”
“Big Daddy’s gonna make it work. You’ll see.”
She never stops shaking her head, but she takes another step toward me to hug me, holding the container of cake in one hand. I wrap my arms around her and dip her, just like I did three and a half years ago. Except, “Fuck. Shit.” My neck. My neck and shoulders are still just a little messed up from sleeping in the bathtub and the tension from being stuck in traffic on Thursday.
I can’t even kiss her.
“Your neck?”
