Page 42 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
Ryder immediately goes to the vintage DVDs. “Dude, you have my entire childhood right here.”
I laugh. “Nate and I were trying to agree on something to watch together one Saturday morning, and I happened across an episode of He-Man on some cable channel, and we ended up watching that, which sent me on a mission to find collections of all the cartoons my sister and I used to watch together.”
“You watched this stuff? Not, like, Strawberry Shortcake or Rainbow Brite? Every Saturday morning Franco and Jesse and I would go over to Jesse’s, and his sister and her friends would be watching Rainbow Brite. We’d always pretend we didn’t like it, but we always ended up sitting on the floor watching it until it was time for Transformers or whatever.”
I shrug. “My parents both worked on Saturdays, so Leah and I would stay home alone all morning eating cereal and watching TV.” I laugh. “It was the eighties—you could do that back then. I’d never leave Nate home alone at this age, even though Leah and I were younger when Mom and Dad left us to go to work.”
“MOM!” Nate shouts. “I have a knot in my shoelace, and I can’t get it out, and we’re gonna be late!”
He hops into the living room, one shoe on and tied, the other dangling by the knotted laces from his finger. I reach for it, but Ryder takes it first.
“Look, knots are easy. You just gotta figure out where it’s going and work backwards.” He examines the knot, and then points at a particular part of the knot. “See this? Pull on it.”
He hands it back to Nate, who wiggles the indicated section free, which loosens the knot enough that he can untie it himself. “Wow. How’d you do that?”
“My uncle was a sailor. And I don’t mean he was in the Navy, I mean he sailed on an old antique schooner with sails and all that. He and a bunch of other guys from his Vietnam unit met every weekend to build this full-scale, working replica of an old Great Lakes merchant schooner. When they finished it, they’d go sailing on it every weekend. He was a master with knots, and he was always teaching me different knots and stuff.”
“That’s the coolest thing ever,” Nate says.
“Is that the same uncle who taught you how to restore classic cars?” I ask.
Ryder nods. “Sure is. Uncle Pete. He basically raised me.”
Nate has his shoe tied, and hops up. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Ryder laughs. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
Nate is out the front door already, leaving it swinging, and I just laugh. “He’s the most serious about it. He was chosen as a team captain this season, and ever since he’s taken the whole thing so seriously I don’t even know how to deal with it.”
“It’s good he takes the responsibility seriously, though.”
I nod. “He’s a good kid.” I can’t help a sigh. “I just hate that he’s caught between Paul and me when things like today happen.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing an amazing job. Don’t second-guess yourself.”
As we climb into his car—Nate is already buckled up and bouncing impatiently—I ask, “How do you know I’m doing a great job?”
Ryder starts the car and with a throaty roar he pulls away, squealing the tires—to Nate’s immense delight. He accelerates so fast we’re pushed back into the seat, but he slows to the speed limit almost immediately.
“Because he’s a cool kid. You don’t raise cool kids if you’re doing a crappy job as a parent. That’s how you end up with self-centered little assholes.”
I frown at him. “Ryder!”
“It’s true, Mom,” Nate says. “There’s this kid in my grade, and he’s always being super mean to people on the playground, and I heard him saying his parents hate each other and his mom is always sending him to stay with other people so she can go out with her boyfriend, and he said his mom has a new boyfriend like every week. I feel bad for him, but he’s a jerk.” He glances at me. “He’s a slimy poophead.”
“Well, we still have to be nice to slimy poopheads, Nate,” I tell him. “He’s probably mean because he’s lonely and sad.”
“Slimy poophead, huh?” Ryder says, laughing. He slides his phone from his pocket and hits a speed dial. It rings three times, and I hear someone pick up, construction noises in the background. “Hey, Jesse—you’re a slimy poophead!”
Jesse doesn’t answer right away, and then he cackles. “Yeah? Well…you’re a…a…a moldy turdface!”
Nate laughs at that. “That’s lame! Slimy poophead is better!”
“Who said that?” Jesse asks.
“Nate,” Ryder answers. “Laurel’s kid.”
“Laurel’s kid, huh?” I hear questions in Jesse’s voice, but knowing he’s on speakerphone, he’s wise enough to keep them to himself. “Moldy turdface is better, so there.”
I groan in annoyance. “You’re both as bad as he is, and you’re grown men!” I can’t help a laugh, though. “You do realize I’ve been trying to get him not to talk like that, right? And then you two come along and encourage him!”
