Page 46 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“Plain water is gross.” I take a sip of the tangy liquid. “And I don’t like soda.”
He gives a knowing smile. “You live off water and coffee.”
“Pretty much.”
He rubs his stubbled jaw, shaking his head in amusement. “Not much has changed.”
“Nope.” I stir my straw in the liquid. “I’m still me.”
An awkwardness settles between us. Despite going to his house to surf the other day, hanging out isn’t something we do anymore. I know in order to be better parents this is necessary, but I’m struggling to know what to say to him. For too long our only communication has been about our daughter. I told him I’m still me but how do I expect him to know that?
“Are you still taking photos? I assume you had your camera out to come across the SD card.”
“Not often. I don’t really have the time with work and school. A lot of people aren’t willing to model for me either.”
Spencer cocks his head to the side. “I would model for you.”
Lacing his long, elegant fingers together he lays them on the table. My eyes trace the veins in his hands up to his arms. He clears his throats and I jolt at being caught.
I’ve always been a sucker for his hands and arms.
“Are you checking me out?”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and ignore that question. “It seems like you have far more important things to do than pose for some photos for me.”
He looks away, his jaw pulsing with something akin to anger. With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his wavy hair. It falls artfully despite his agitation. “You never got it, did you?”
“Got … what?” The words come out hesitant.
“That you were—that you and Roe”—he amends, pressing his lips together momentarily— “were, and are always the most important thing to me. I can, and I will, make time.”
The waitress drops off our appetizers and quickly scurries away like she senses the tension.
“Oh … um … thanks?” It comes out like a question, and I’ve never wanted to smack myself in the face more than I want to now.
Spencer narrows his eyes on me, brows furrowed, but chooses not to say anything, picking up an onion ring instead and biting it in half.
When our burgers come out, I finally broach the topic Monroe brought up this morning. “Apparently someone at school was telling our little girl all about the birds and the bees.”
Spencer puts his burger down without taking a bite. “What?” His eyes narrow in anger. “What little shit did that?”
“Yep.” I pick up one of the sweet potato fries, sprinkled with rosemary. I nibble the end hesitantly, but it’s actually pretty tasty so I end up eating the whole fry. “Apparently a kid in her class learned from his brother and told her. I should add that his explanation is completely wrong which leaves us?—”
“Needing to have the talk.” He exhales heavily, scrubbing both hands down his face. His blue eyes shine with disbelief. “With our six-year-old.”
“Yeah,” I drag out the word. “Do you want me to do it? How do you want to go about this? We can talk it out now about the best way to approach and I can handle it.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to handle it, Harlow. We’re both her parents. We’ll do it together.” He gives a small shrug. “I want her to know she can come to either of us about difficult questions as she gets older. I don’t want her to think because I’mdadthat she can’t come to me about those kinds of things.”
My heart warms with pride. Spencer truly is the best dad. The way he loves Monroe … it’s everything. I’m so happy that she’ll always have him on her side.
“How do you think we should go about this then?” Biting into the burger I decide he was right to insist that I get this one. “What should we say and what should we omit for now?”
“For starters I think we should do it over ice cream.”
I blink at him once. Twice. Again. “What does ice cream have to do with this?”
“She loves ice cream—maybe it’ll lessen the blow and take the ick factor out of it.”
