Page 86 of Eleanor & Grey

“We had Italian last weekend when we went out,” I argued during our dinner debate. “Plus, we have pasta every Monday. Aren’t you guys tired of pasta?”

“Nope,” Lorelai said, hopping into her car seat. I buckled her in quickly before getting into the driver’s seat.

“Not really.” Karla shrugged.

Why did they never crave steak?

All I really wanted was a big, fat, juicy steak.

“We should go to Palmer’s Italian House!” Karla exclaimed, making me groan even more, because it was over an hour’s drive away, and the rain was hammering down outside. It would take even longer than normal to get there.

I looked over to Nicole and narrowed my eyes. “What do you want?” I asked her.

Please say steak. Please say steak.

She shrugged. “Palmer’s breadsticks do sound amazing. Plus, it is Lorelai’s birthday, so I think she should get to decide.”

“Palmers! Palmers!” she hollered, pounding her hands against her legs.

Welp. There it was.

We started the trek to Palmer’s, which involved a lot of twisty roads and wooded areas.

As I drove, I glanced down at my ringing cell phone to see Rob Turner’s name flashing on the screen. He was an employee of mine, and I knew he was working on things back at EastHouse. Normally, I answered his calls in an instant, but it was Saturday evening, and we had a strict rule in our family: No work on Saturday nights.

Nicole noticed the name on the phone, too, and gave me a look, almost daring me to answer it, and I was quick to ignore the call. The last thing I needed was a pissed-off wife because I took a few minutes to take a phone call for work.

“Will you stop it!” Karla barked at her younger sister, who echoed her words.

“Will you stop it?!”

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

“No, really, stop it, Lorelai!”

“No, really, stop it, Lorelai,” Lorelai mocked right back. That was her new favorite thing, playing copycat. It drove all of us mad, but she was obsessed.

“Girls, calm down,” I scolded. “We have a long drive to the restaurant, and I don’t want to hear it from you two back there.”

“She keeps unbuckling my seat belt!” Karla exclaimed, her voice filled with irritation.

Nicole snapped around quickly, pointing her finger at our daughter. “Lorelai East, we do not touch the seat belts in cars. Do you understand me?”

“But, Mama—”

“No buts. Keep your hands to yourself,” Nicole said, turning around as Lorelai kept pouting and Karla gloated about getting her way—which, of course, led to Lorelai’s full-blown screaming tantrum.

The way that newly five-year-old could hit those high screeches made me think we might have the next Mariah Carey on our hands.

“Jesus, Lorelai! Stop it right now!” Nicole said, her voice tired, but our sweet little girl just kept throwing her fit. When a girl her age thought a situation was unjust, she made sure to make it known to the whole wide world with her shrieks.

I saw it in my wife’s eyes—her reaching her breaking point. There was only so much she could take before exhaustion took over and her anger built.

Turning around, I hollered, “Lorelai! Can you just cool it?! It’s your birthday and this isn’t good birthday behavior and—"

“Greyson!” Nicole shouted, making me whip back around.

---