Normally, I’d laugh.
Tonight, I just wonder if he knows his old man royally fucked up.
That makes me ache, thinking he could have that awareness.
They’re both growing up so fast and I can’t keep up.
Every time I think I’m used to the stage of life they’re in, they grow a little more and time skips forward.
These kids are turning into well-rounded people. I feel like I’m meeting them for the first time every few years.
“Dad,” Dan says, leaving his drums and coming to sit beside me.
“What is it, Bud?”
“Something’s wrong,” he says, regurgitating a phrase I use on them all the time. “Why are you worried?”
Damn.
Of course, I’ve told them the media hounds know we’re here. Not to scare them, but because I don’t like keeping too many secrets.
I want them to trust me, and I need them to feel safe.
They’re too young and thankfully too innocent to understand the scummy dark side of fame and money, but they do know not to ever speak to reporters.
“Is it because people know you’re here?” His forehead pinches. “So what? Why should we care what they say?”
“Not that simple, little man,” I say gently. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just us, but we’re complicating Margot’s life, too. And that’s on top of the intruder crap.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that why…” He trails off, glancing up in the direction of her room, his face clearing.
“Yeah. It’s a big deal,” I tell him.
“But why? I mean, aren’t you complicating it in agoodway? Maybe she doesn’t like people taking pics of her, but she smiles and laughs and she’s nice to us. I don’t think she cares about the burglar anymore and neither do I!”
“That’s not all that matters,” I say, even though it’s true.
Margot obviously enjoys the time we spend together, and she’s instinctively good with the kids.
Hell, kinder and more attentive than their own mother, even if the bar’s set so low it scrapes the grass.
“Then what else does, Dad?” Dan asks. “I bet she likes you. Way more than any crush I’ve seen at school. You get all grumpy when she talks to that ceramics dude. Lee or whatever.”
“I do not,” I growl, prodding him in the side. “Take that back, boy.”
“See? Busted! You know you do.” He laughs. “Gah, why do grown-ups have to make everything so confusing anyway?”
I wish I fucking knew.
Since I don’t, I tickle him until he’s red-faced and begging for mercy, and I’m the one who needs it tonight.
When did my own son get wiser than me?
Everything feels complicated as hell, sure, but maybe Ishouldpull my head out of my ass and try again.
Maybe we should talk, and I should explain what happened back there.
The rest is up to Margot.
