Page 8 of Can't Text This

I chuckle every time he says this because he sounds exactly like Pauly Shore. One day when he’s older, I’ll have to introduce my son to the actor that ruled my childhood so he can finally understand why his Uncle Zach is both the coolest and lamest guy ever.

“It’s weird not having to pick up your dirty socks. You should come hang with me and Delia sometime soon, maybe give your dad a break from your special brand of crazy.”

He’s not wrong. It’s been a few months now, but I’m still getting used to living on my own. We were roommates up until recently when Zach met “the one” and kicked his first love—me—to the curb.

Kidding…mostly.

In all fairness, when I noticed Zach was ready to take the next step, I opted to move out. Besides, it was time. I’d spent too many years living with him, and if I was ever going to start taking my adulthood seriously, I needed to fucking scoot.

So, here I am: twenty-six and in my very first two-bedroom apartment with my seven-year-old son. We’re making it work, and I’m doing a damn good job…most days.

I mean, Ididjust almost have sex with a stranger in a bathroom four days ago.

It’s called balance.

“I’m notthatcrazy,” my son argues back.

“I beg to differ,” I say.

“Keep it up and I’m gonna move in with Uncle Zach.”

As they stroll into the kitchen, I pull the waffles from the microwave and plate them, then grab the peanut butter and strawberries from the fridge. I place them out on the counter with a butter knife and point a finger his way. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Worst. Dad. Ever,” Zach says, taking a seat at the bar. “I’ll take two, please.”

“You’ll make your own.”

“Come on, be a good sport.”

“Yeah, Dad. Uncle Zach droveallthe way over here to have breakfast with us and you won’t even feed him? I thought that’s what dads are supposed to do—give toys, food, and love.”

“Tokids.”

“Uncle Zach is the biggest kid I know.”

Zach fist-bumps him. “Right on, little man. Right on.”

I stare at my best friend, mouth hanging open in shock. “You’ve turned my own spawn against me? That’s messed up, man.”

He shrugs and reaches across the counter to grab two waffles. “Can you pass the peanut butter?”

“I hate you,” I mutter as I slide it his way.

He opens the jar and begins slathering the creamy substance on his waffles, grinning. “I love you too.”

“Aww,” Xavie teases, and I throw a hand towel at him.

He giggles and dives into his own breakfast.

“So, how are things? I haven’t talked to you in days, man.”

“Things are…” I start, memories of Monty flashing before my eyes.

I should talk to him about her. Zach’s a female whisperer or some shit like that. For being such a huge nerd, the dude has game that makes evenmeswoon.

“Xavie, how about you take your waffles into the living room.”

His little eyes widen to twice their normal size. “The living room? With food? And TV?” His voice is about two pitches higher than usual because Ineverlet him watch TV while he eats his breakfast.

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