Page 45 of Heartless
Hell. No.
“We all have nipples, right?”
I swallow, at a loss for how to reason my way out of this. She’s trapped me in a box of my own logic.
“For example...” Her bright green feline eyes drop to my chest. “I can see yours right now.”
My chin snaps toward my chest, and sure enough, my nipples are giving me away.
“And they don’t bother me at all.” She licks her bottom lip slowly, with intention, before one cheek hitches up in a lopsided smirk.
Then she turns and walks back toward her bedroom, holds one fist up above her head, and says, “Fuck the patriarchy.”
And I’m left standing there. Watching her. Wondering if she’s wearing any panties under those soft, loose shorts I could so easily pull to the side.
* * *
“You can’t put your fingers there, pal. Or you’re going to cut them clean off.”
“I know what I’m doing, Dad.” Luke rolls his eyes and continues to chop a cucumber in the stupidest way imaginable.
I grab the knife and lift it up. “Listen. You’re going to hold this properly or risk giving me a heart attack. I want you to know how to do this properly. You said you’d listen to my instructions.”
The trade-off was that I have to listen to his terrible pop music on the speaker. The stuff that all his little friends have indoctrinated him with in only one year of school.
It’s Sunday night, and I’m making a full-blown gourmet meal. Luke is helping me cook because I refuse to raise a man who doesn’t know how to hold his own in a kitchen. Feeding the people I care about is how I tell them I care without having to say it out loud.
Because saying it out loud makes it a little too real for me.
“Fine,” he huffs out, dramatically shrugging his shoulders.
“Your dad’s right.” Willa appears out of thin air, reaching in and swiping a coin of cucumber and popping it into her mouth. “If you cut like that, all you’ll be left with is a thumb, and how will I teach you to play guitar?”
“Willa!” Luke turns on the chair he’s standing on and launches himself into her arms. “We missed you!”
She laughs, squeezing his ribs and spinning him in a little circle. They’re equally dramatic.
“She spentonenight in the city, Luke.” I cross my arms, trying to hide how adorable I find it that he likes her so much.
Willa winks at me over Luke’s shoulder. “I missed you too, you little psycho. I’m not so sure your dad missed me though.”
“Pfft.” Luke’s head rolls as she places him back onto the chair. “He did. He told me so.”
Willa looks visibly shocked by that. “Oh, yeah?”
“He said the house feels silent without you here.”
Her lips twitch as she tries to hold back her laughter. “I think that just means I talk too much or play my music too loud.”
“No way.” Luke sighs. “I love talking with you. And playing music with you.”
There’s a beauty in children his age saying what they mean. They don’t wonder how it will come off, or if someone might read too much into it. If it’s in their heart, they say it. I know Luke loves talking with Willa, and it makes my chest ache.
Especially when she gives him the full, megawatt smile that lights her up head to toe, ruffles his hair, and says, “I love talking with you too, buddy.”
“We’re cooking you dinner,” Luke announces.
“We’re cookingdinner,” I clarify. “Of course, you’re welcome to join us.”
