Page 75 of Gross Misconduct

“I thought it’d be something different on a rainy way. Or what was a rainy day.” I take the check from the waitress.

“I’m going to paint Elsa,” says Annabelle.

“No, I am!” June screams.

“You both can,” I explain calmly.

June throws herself back into the booth cushion. “But I wanted to first.”

“What if one of you paints Elsa, and the other paints Anna?” I suggest.

“Can I paint Sven?” June asks, stopping herself just before a crying fit.

“Yes.” Another successful negotiation in the books. I eat the last bite of my sandwich.

“Can Jack come?” June asks.

“Jack has things he needs to do. We don’t want to take up all of his time.”

“Please,” they say. June and Annabelle unleash their big, doe eyes at Jack. Poor guy is unprepared and powerless against their charm offensive.

“Uh, sure. I could paint.”

“Jack.” I catch his eyeline, trying to convey that he doesn’t need to be beholden to their whims. He’s allowed to say no. Yes, they might cry, but I can be the one to handle that.

To my surprise, Jack is unfazed. Dare I say, he seems eager to join them…to paint vases…withFrozencharacters.

“I’m down.” Jack hi-fives the girls. “Between me and your dad, who do you think is the better painter.”

“Jack!” The girls yell in a heartbeat before spiraling into laughter.

“I can beat you on the ice and in the pottery studio.” Jack flashes me a cocky, victorious smirk.

25

JACK

Iused to think being in a hockey rink was the loudest, most chaotic environment I’d been in. And then I stepped into The Pottery Palace.

An onslaught of blindingly bright colors, peppy music, and kids speaking to their parents in the highest possible volume greet us upon entry. June and Annabelle acclimate right away, running into the fray to pick out the ceramic item they wish to paint.

I can’t imagine Griffin existing in a world this busy. I’m amazed he can fit inside at all. His bulky frame squeezes through the front door, whereupon his head hits a light fixture hanging from the ceiling. All of the tables and chairs are kid-sized. We are Gulliver in that land of Lilliputians.

“You okay there?” I ask.

“Fine,” he grumbles. Some of the other parents turn their heads, as if they’ve never seen a massive one-eyed father before.

“Hi! I’m Amy and welcome to The Pottery Palace! Name?” A young woman wearing a headset approaches us with a smile as bright as the wall color. Griffin gives his name, and she looks it up on her tablet. Her aura rests somewhere between camp counselor and maître d’ at the hottest restaurant in Manhattan.

“I see one adult and two children here to create.” She glances at me, then back at her tablet.

“There’re two adults here. We have a guest.” Griffin nods at me. A slight hint of amusement perks up his lips. “Is that okay?”

“I’m not going to paint,” I throw in. “Just keeping this guy company.”

She drags her finger up and down the tablet, half-checking and perhaps half-wondering if she holds more power than God in this moment.

“There was only one parent on the reservation,” she says, her chipper tone belying a steely edge.

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