carry him to the kitchen airplane style. Zoom. And strap him in his high chair so he can’t escape.
Next up? Breakfast. You remember how I love cereal, right? That hasn’t changed. It’s Lucky Charms for me—with extra marshmallows.
But for my son? No Lucky Charms.
Those Breakfast Club kids actually knew what they were talking about. And we really do turn into our frigging parents. And phrases like We’ll see and Because I said so just pop into your head and fly out of your mouth. It’s disturbing. Like Exorcist -possession kind of shit.
Anyway, for James’s breakfast? Organic-apple slices and whole-grain Cheerios—without sugar.
I know—it’s official—I’m a hypocrite. I can live with that. It’s not like his taste buds know what they’re missing. And when they do, I’ll shove it down his throat anyway. Because it’s good for him. If one day he decides to hate me for that? That’s okay too.
Because sometimes being a father is hard. And if it’s not? You’re not doing it right.
I pour some Cheerios onto the tray and back up halfway across the room. “Hey, James, set it up.”
He opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one, Evans gets the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots. . . .”
I toss the Cheerio in a high arc. It lands right in James’s mouth.
“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”
James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”
Then I give him a high five. See—told you. Cool, right? I shovel a spoonful of cereal in my mouth and get ready for another shot. Then Kate comes into the kitchen, texting on her phone.
All that worry about losing the baby weight? It was for nothing. Look at her—snug black yoga pants hug narrow hips, a navy Penn State T-shirt shows off her flat stomach and toned arms. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, and a touch of shiny, strawberry-flavored lip gloss is her only makeup.
Gorgeous.
Kate still has that simple, low-maintenance kind of beauty. She doesn’t have to work at being hot—she just is. I maneuver next to James’s high chair and wait for Kate to look up.
Yes, it’s deliberate. Children have the power to suck the sex drive out of a relationship like a hungry black hole. So it’s important to stoke the flame—keep the coals burning hot. And something about seeing a shirtless guy with a baby turns every woman on.
Trust me—I’ve been accosted at the beach enough times to know. It’s like female frigging Viagra.
It’s different for guys. Not that a baby is a negative, necessarily—but seeing a chick with one doesn’t automatically make us want to bang her. Because deep, deep down all men are still little boys. We want all your attention on us. It’s just how it is.
I feel Kate’s eyes on me and I pop a piece of apple into James’s mouth. Then I stretch out my arms—flexing the muscles—giving her a good show. Oh, yeah—it’s working. She’sdefinitely wet. See how her head tilts and her eyes shine as she looks me up and down? How her lips part and she breathes just a little bit faster?
She’s remembering what we just finished doing—and thinking about when we’ll get to do it again.
“Mummy!”
Kate’s eyes shift to James. Her smile changes—no sexy, more sweet. “Hey, little man.”
She comes over and takes an apple slice for herself. “How are my two favorite guys doing?”
“So far, so good.” I nod toward the phone in her hand. “What’s up there?”
“I’m texting Billy’s manager Steven and Alexandra’s address. The one he was given is for a pawnshop in the middle of the Bronx. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
My parents are watching all the grandchildren for the weekend. Since Steven and my sister’s two trumps our one, the whole gang’s meeting at their place and taking a car to the airport