Page 43 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
SEVENTEEN
Declan
OH, DADDY BOY
I give Maddie one more kiss before I unlock the door to our home. I promised myself I would kiss her every day for the rest of my life, and so far I have made good on that promise.
I open the door with the confidence of a man who knows he is in a far better place than the loser who walked out of here only a few hours earlier.
A man who has emptied himself into more than one of his loving wife’s beautiful orifices. A man whose extraordinary wife has helped to refill the well. A man who made his wife feel so fucking good she cried happy orgasm tears.
A man who is ready for anything the idiots and assholes of the world try to throw at him.
A man who dreads nothing and no one—not even Drucker. Or Billy Boston.
The apartment is eerily quiet as we enter, but a quick scan tells me that everything is intact. I do not sense a disturbance in the Force. Maddie rubs my back and then pats my butt. We head for Ciara’s room, but then we hear her babbling in the living room. Happily.
She sounds so happy.
We find her playing in her playpen, exactly how you’d hope to find your infant when you return home in the afternoon. There’s no penis drawn onto her little forehead with a Sharpie, so that is also excellent. Billy is stretched out on the rug next to the playpen, asleep. TheWheels on the Busbook lies open on his chest. I would pay good money to hear him sing that to her. My baby’s squeals awaken him. She is delighted to see us. Maybe a little more excited to see her mother, but I can never blame her for that.
“Hey,” Billy says, bolting upright and rubbing his eyes. “I just closed my eyes for a minute.”
“It’s okay—she’s keeping herself busy,” Maddie says as she picks up Ciara. “How was she?”
“An honest to God little angel, and I’m not even just sayin’ that.”
“Was she really?” I mean. I’m glad. It’s not like I’d rather my baby had a terrible time with him or anything. But. “Really?”
“Yeah, she’s a good kid. She’s wicked good at putting stuff in boxes and then taking it out again. Putting pegs in holes, she’s great at that. And rolling around. And pulling herself up to stand. She’s awesome at that. I bet she starts walking in a month.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I say.Obviously my kid is awesome at everythingis what I don’t say out loud. But—obviously. She’s just not great at acknowledging how awesome I am lately, that’s all. Just a phase. Maddie strolls over to me so I can give Ciara a kiss on the cheek.
* * *
It’s pretty nice, being here in my living room with Maddie and Ciara and Billy. I feel like a man, but I also feel young again. That’s the thing about being around the family you were born into when you’re with the woman who inspired you to become the man you always hoped you could be and the baby who inspires you to be a better man every single day. Or maybe it’s just because I ejaculated so many times today.
Billy stands up and stretches. His flannel shirt is now properly untucked, and his dark, wavy hair looks all messed up the way it should. But there’s something different about him. Something quieter and less manic. “Yeah, well, I should head back to the airport, I guess. If you won’t be needing me anymore.” He’s being more careful with the way he speaks when he’s around Maddie, I’m noticing.
“We’re good, Billy. Thank you so much for doing this.” Maddie carries Ciara over to him and stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.
Neither I nor anyone else on Earth has ever considered Billy O’Sullivan to be a shy guy, but he receives that kiss like a guy who has no idea how to talk to girls. Or a guy who has a crush on my wife. Which—again—I can’t blame him for. But I will also punch him in the throat if he tries to kiss her back.
He doesn’t kiss Maddie back, but he does lean in to kiss my daughter on the head. She looks up at him, cooing, and places her hand on his face. It’s cute.
“Well, we don’t want to keep you,” I tell him as I usher him toward the front door, away from the girls who are supposed to be lavishing attention uponmetoday.
He puts on his Boston Tomcats baseball cap and picks up his leather jacket from the coat hanger. It’s a different style of leather jacket from the one Nolan has worn for over a decade but just as iconic in my vast treasury of memories of the two of them. Most of those memories are just a blur, of course, but there are some from back before they got us all to start drinking—before we were thirteen, I mean.
Maybe Maddie was right. Maybe Nolan and I don’t give Billy enough credit. I mean, we’d all do pretty much anything for each other—within reason. But for Billy to fly to New York from Boston for just a few hours so my wife and I could go to a hotel…that’s a lot.
“Can I reimburse you for your flights?” I ask him, already knowing his answer.
“Get outta here.” He waves his hand. “I got this.”
He really does got it. A lot of it. He won the Massachusetts lottery last year. Because of course he did. He’s got more money in the bank than I do now. At least I assume it’s in the bank—he’s been very cagey about what he’s doing with his money. But as far as I can tell, it hasn’t changed him much at all, other than he’s eating at a lot more restaurants and traveling more.
“Thank you, Billy. It means a lot that you did this for us.” I pull him in for a hug. An Italian hug. The long, warm kind that your nonna gives you before she leaves for the airport, before getting into the car and yelling at your dad to watch his speed. The kind that makes the Boston-Irish men of my ma’s side of the family break out in hives. But I’m not doing it to mess with him, I’m doing it because I am so grateful to him for giving me this gift of time.
