Page 11 of For The Weekend
When Mio notices what’s caught my attention, she eyes me, obviously making some kind of connection. “You know them?”
“Yeah. I’m, uh…Roman Stone.”
Her jaw hangs open for a second before she remembers herself. She’s clearly heard of me.
“It’s so nice to meet you.”
Mio smiles and extends the small light-pink box to Mazie, who says a little too loudly, “I’m Mazie. This is my dad! We just moved here!”
“Yeah?” Mio leans over the counter. “You’re gonna love living here. Everyone’s so nice, and you’ll make lots of friends. There are great places to eat including…” She aims her index finger out the window, pointing down the street “See that sushi restaurant? My parents own it.”
“It looks like there’s a sleeping bag on that sign.”
“You’re right, it does kinda look like a sleeping bag. But it’s a sushi roll. Have you ever had one?”
Mazie shakes her head, busy tearing open the takeaway box. “Nuh-uh.”
“You think you’d ever try it?”
“I’ll try it, yeah,” Mazie says with a suspicious squint, pulling her hand out of the box, her fingers covered in icing. I swipe a bunch of napkins from one of the holders. “Daddy says if I don’t like it, I don’t have to fucking eat it.”
I slap a hand to my face, explaining to a giggling Mio, “She’s not— We don’t— She doesn’t usually curse.”
“Yes, I do,” Mazie retorts, and I glare at her.
Yeah, the cursing is a fucking problem, and I’m trying to watch my mouth.
“Let’s get out of here,” I grumble, pushing her toward the door.
Mio waves. “I’ll see you around.”
With a nod, I head back outside, tugging my tiny troublemaker with me. “Jesus Christ, Maze, you’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Mazie shrugs and bites into a piece of the cinnamon roll, smearing it all over her face. I shove one of the napkins at her as we head right next door to Stone Ink.
My brother’s tattoo shop is all black and gray. Ironic since it’s next to that pink palace and a bookstore on the other side with twinkle lights in the window. I know Ian’s girlfriend owns it, and I was informed I’d be meeting her today as well.
I swing open the door, greeted by a B-52’s soundtrack and the smiling face of a girl at the desk.
“Hey, I’m Riley,” she says, like she’s been expecting me, then nods at Mazie. “I see you’ve been introduced to the bakery, huh?”
My daughter nods, her mouth full.
“So good, right?”
She nods again, attacking that cinnamon bun like she’s never eaten in her life.
Riley laughs and walks out from behind the reclaimed wood desk, gesturing for Mazie to sit with her on the gray leather couch.
“Whoa, look who’s here,” Ian says, and Mazie waves at him, palm covered with icing. He bends, ruffling her hair. “How’re you doing?”
“Good,” she mumbles.
Ian helps himself to stealing a bit of the cinnamon roll and pops it into his mouth with wide, playful eyes that make her giggle.
Which brings everyone else over.
I was in middle and high school when Ian had his kids, and seeing them now as adults is whiplash.
