Page 74 of Gross Misconduct

The waitress turns to me for official approval.

“They’ll also get a turkey sandwich plain. Ketchup and mustard on the side.”

“No! I don’t want a turkey sandwich. I just want chicken noodle soup,” June says, with Annabelle nodding in agreement next to me.

* * *

A little bit later,I’m munching down on the turkey sandwich they didn’t want. The girls and Jack build cracker floors at the bottom of their soups. The girls spend a bit too long playing with their food rather than eating it, but once Jack starts taking spoonfuls, they follow suit. Naturally, the girls also want some of my turkey sandwich. It’s a universal rule that a child’s favorite food is whatever’s on their parent’s plate.

And perhaps it’s that Jack is great with kids. The girls regale him with stories from school and storylines from their favorite shows. He listens as though he was hearing a famous lecture from a renowned scholar. They ask him questions about his life and his favorite desserts. He answers as if being interviewed by Oprah Winfrey.

“Has George tried chewing gum?” Jack crinkles his forehead in a genuine desire to help.

“He says he doesn’t like gum,” June replies.

“Who doesn’t like gum? He just hasn’t found the right flavor. Maybe reindeer don’t like fruity or minty gum. Maybe it needs to be more savory, like soup-flavored gum or hamburger-flavored gum.” Jack shovels part of his cracker mushy mass into his mouth.

“George likes lettuce,” Annabelle offers.

“We’ll try lettuce-flavored gum!” June bounces in her seat.

“That’s a winner.” Jack shoots me a quick smile and wink that gets me all fuzzy inside.

“Girls, I think Jack is tired of talking about George’s smoking.”

“Chain smoking,” Jack corrects me, surprising even June and Annabelle.

He wipes his mouth with a napkin and tosses it into his empty soup bowl. “So what do you think of your dad being a cool hockey player?”

At this, the girls get quiet. They look at each other and shrug, not used to not having an answer.

“You girls like hockey?”

They shrug again. It’s wild how kids can go from super loud to super quiet depending on the topic.

“They’ve never been to a game,” I tell him.

“They haven’t?” Jack guffaws. I signal for him to drop it.

“Mom says it’s too scary.” June eats a spoonful of soup.

“It’s not scary at all,” Jack says.

“Don’t the players hit each other?” Annabelle asks.

“They run into each other. It’s like bumper cars. They bonk and crash, but it’s all in good fun. And the players wear big, puffy clothes. They have to walk like this.” He impersonates a hulking walk where he can’t put his arms down. The girls laugh. “When they knock into each other, it doesn’t hurt.” Jack arches an eyebrow. “Do you girls know what bumper cars are?”

“Yes,” they say, offended at the assumption. We ride them every year when the fair comes into town. June insists on manning the steering wheel and careening into other cars.

“Your dad is great on the ice. He’s fast.”

“Does Daddy skate like he’s on the ice capades?” June asks.

“He does. He really does. He’s magic out there.” Jack winks at me, and it sails over the table like an arrow straight into my heart.

I check my watch and signal for the check. “Girls, we have to go. We’re going to be late for the pottery class.”

“Pottery class? Fancy,” says Jack.

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