His eyes light up with his smile. “Camera!”

My eyes narrow, but inside, I’m smiling. “I think you’re going to have to work a lot harder if you want a camera.”

His smiles drops, and so do his shoulders. “Okay.”

“What about a sandpit or something? You like the one at daycare right?”

He shrugs as he chomps on a piece of apple, his eyes lowered, and if a kid could get an award for being the saddest most pathetic looking apple eater in the entire world, he’d definitely win.

“Why do you want a camera, anyway?”

“Because Becca.”

“Because Becca has one, you want one?”

“She said it makes her happy.”

“Oh yeah? She said that?”

He nods, looking up at me now.

I tilt my head as I eye him curiously. “Does she talk to you a lot?”

He nods again.

“What do you guys talk about?”

With a shrug, he says, “You.”

“Me?” I clear my throat, my pulse spiking and my ears thirsty for more information. “What about me?”

“Can Becca come?”

“No. Tommy. Listen. This is really important. What does she say about me?”

“She can’t come?”

“Tommy!”

He finishes his fruit and gets off the stool, then walks the bowl to the sink. “Moneys?” he says, his hand out waiting.

“What does she say?” I ask, frustrated and fully aware of how tacky it is that I’m using my kid for intel on a girl I might possibly be crushing on. What can I say? I’m that kid in middle school and Tommy’s my best friend. He’s also hers. So right now, in my mind, it makes complete sense.

“I get da sandpit,” he says, shoving his hand right under my nose.

I bend down so I’m eye to eye with him, and then I do something really pathetic. “I’ll give you moneys if you tell me something she’s said about me.”

He smiles. “Five.”

I rear back. “What?”

“Five moneys.”

“How the hell old are you?”

“Naughty word, Daddy.”

With a roll of my eyes, I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, fetch a five-dollar bill and slap it in his tiny little hand.

His smile widens. “She wikes my smile,” he says, and starts walking to his room.

I follow him. “That’s not about me! What does she say about me?”

“Me handsome like you, daddy.”

I tell him he can invite Becca.

I also tell him not to hold his breath. Which apparently is a dumb thing to say to a kid. Why would I hold my breath? That’s a question he asks over and over while I change my clothes, over and over, and search the bathroom for the cologne I hadn’t worn since the bachelor party with the breastfeeding boob stripper.

“But why would I hold my breff?” he asks again, taking my hand as we descend down the stairs. It’s worse than the time I told him to hop out of the bath.

“It’s just a figure of speech, buddy.”

“Finger of peach?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Finger of peach.”

He runs up their porch steps and knocks wildly on the door, cackling the entire time. Chazarae answers and before she can speak, he runs into the house yelling, “Becca! Becca!”

Chazarae smiles as her eyes move from him to me.

“He wanted to invite Becca to hang out with us if that’s okay?”

“I hope he doesn’t get too disappointed. Becca hasn’t left the house since she’s been here.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I tell her. “It’s just he asked and I couldn’t—”

“You smell nice,” she cuts in, coming closer and sniffing me once. “New cologne?”

I shrug. “It’s old.”

“Hmm.” She eyes me sideways. Then reaches up and runs the back of her fingers across my cheek. “You’re blushing, Joshua.”

The human body is stupid.

Even though it knows that embarrassment is something you want to hide—it makes sure that you can’t hide it. I lower my head. “No, I’m not.”

Tommy squeezes between Chazarae and I and runs to my truck. “She said yes!”

You know what’s worse than your landlady calling you out on wearing cologne purely because you want to impress her granddaughter? I’ll tell you what. Being in the confined space of a truck while your son tells said granddaughter about how you paid him five moneys for him to tell you about what she said about you. Yeah. That’s happening. And if I thought the human body was stupid before, I’m pretty sure I hate it right now.

From the corner of my eye I can see her smiling, even though her head’s lowered—probably trying to hide her own embarrassment. I don’t know why she’d be embarrassed. She’s not the one getting called out for being pathetic.

I focus on the road. Nothing but the road. Not her legs. Or her short blue dress. Or her cowboy boots. Or her hands settled on her lap, her thumbs circling each other.

She clears her throat and I refocus on the road I thought I was focused on. “Where are we going?” she asks.

My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter while I try to piece myself back together. “Toy store. He gets to spend the money he’s earned. You know when we were there for dinner and you and Chazarae gave him the dollar for setting the table? That’s kind of like his allowance and once a month I take him toy shopping for whatever he wants.”

She nods slowly.

I add, “I know it might seem weird. You know, considering his age, but I just want to start him off early—to know that hard work pays off and nothing comes for free. I just think it’s important. I don’t really know why. I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to being his dad. I guess I just do my best. I try to teach him manners and respect and hopefully it’s something that’ll stick with him. It’s hard, you know… being a single dad and making all the decisions and trying to work out…” I trail off, my eyes wide when I realize all I’ve just said. “I’ve just given you way more information than you asked for.” I glance at her quickly but she’s looking down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I ramble a lot.” I pull into a spot in the parking lot at the mall, and then switch off the engine—my eyes still wide and my awkwardness at an all-new high.

She shifts in her seat but I’m too afraid to look at her. I see her hand moving across the bench seat, coming closer and closer to mine. I swallow nervously. Time slows. And when her little finger brushes across my wrist, every single muscle in my body tenses. Her palm covers the back of my hand, her fingers sliding between mine. “Josh?” she whispers, and I finally look at her. “You’re doing an amazing job. Tommy—he gives me the courage to push on. You know… after I kick.”

“Like skating?”

She nods, her gaze lifting and locking with mine.

Then Tommy huffs in the back seat, breaking our stare. “My boogers taste like finger of peach.”

7

-Joshua-

Tommy and Becca pretty much ignore me as they walk hand in hand through the store. They seem to have their own silent language—one that I’m completely unaware of. They smile. A lot. Not just at each other, but in general.