Page 35 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
“It was body paint, and he ended up at the hospital because his friend got food poisoning,” Maddie tells me, and she truly believes this horse shit.
“Untrue.”
“I called his parents in Boston to ask about his experience as a babysitter, and they informed me that he’s babysat for Nolan and Cora numerous times, did you know that?”
“No. That can’t be right.”
I watch him take a giant bite of the huge sandwich he’s just made. He is completely unaffected by my apprehension. He just smiles at me while chewing. He even chews his food like an idiot. It’s almost impressive. Almost.
“Well, I called Cora and she told me he’s great with both of their kids. Look, it’s either this or we never have sex again. That is essentially what it’s come down to. So you can either resist it, keep complaining, and stay there while I enjoy a nap here by myself, or you can shut your mouth, join me in this fancy hotel room, and say and do all the things you’ve been wanting to say and do to me for quite a while. I will be hanging up and texting you the room number as well as a picture of what I am currently wearing. Get your ass over here now. I mean it.”
“Maddie…Cooper…Maddie…” She hung up on me.
What is she thinking? With our luck Godzilla will attack the city when I’m on my way to the hotel. Does she really want my cousin Billy to be the guy who protects our child from Godzilla?
I get a text notification immediately. Maddie has, indeed, sent me a picture. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. She’s holding up her middle finger, but more importantly, she is wearing the tiny pink T-shirt. The one that used to be a normal-sized white T-shirt before she accidentally put a brand new pair of red pajama pants in with a load of whites and then accidentally set the dryer to the highest temperature setting and that T-shirt shrunk. But she was in college and couldn’t afford to buy new clothes, so she kept it because she looked hot in it. I have always loved that story. Almost as much as I love her in that tiny pink T-shirt. I can’t see what kind of panties she’s wearing, but I’m going to find out.
ME: Well played.
MADDIE: Have two fingers of scotch immediately and then take an Uber here when you’re ready to feel grateful, Mr. Cannavale.
I can’t tell what tone that was written in. Is she criticizing me for being moody and ungrateful, or is she promising me a reason to feel grateful? Why am I even questioning this? With Maddie, it is always both. This is why she owns me and always will. She is simultaneously the blacklight that illuminates the mess I need to clean up and the beacon of hope that lights the path to a better me.
I go to the living room and pour myself three fingers of scotch. I order an Uber before taking the first sip. Before taking the second sip, I open the door to Ciara’s room and peek in. She’s still sleeping. She only sleeps for an hour or two for her morning naps now. Maybe we can be back in an hour and a half.
Except I really, really want to have a lot of sex with my wife.
And she is always right. About everything. Maybe even Billy.
I turn around to go back to the kitchen and tell Billy I’m leaving, but he’s standing right there. “Jesus fuck! How long have you been standing behind me?”
He shrugs. “What difference does it make?”
I rub my forehead. I don’t know how to answer that, and I need to get out of here before I change my mind. Who am I kidding? “Listen to me.” I grab him by the shirt collar and get all up in his face. “If anything bad—even mildly disagreeable—happens to my daughter…if the first words she utters are in a Boston accent or are the lyrics to that fucking Chumbawamba song—I will destroy you.”
He grins and places both of his hands on my shoulders. “You need to relax, Manhattan. Kids are my jam. I got this. Go have some fun with your wife.” His voice and brown eyes are suddenly warm and comforting.
Maybe he does “got this.”
Maybe Godzilla won’t attack the city today.
Or maybe I just need to go have sex with my wife now so I can deal with literally anything that happens after that.
Come what may.
