Jessica's eyebrows rise. "Busy day."
"The elephant thing was a cookie," I explain. "The dragons were pretend. The bathroom was real."
"I figured." She peels Tyler off her legs. "Time to go in."
"Nooo." Tyler reaches for me again. "Five more minutes?"
"No more minutes. But Daddy's calling tonight, remember?"
Tyler looks between us, lower lip wobbling. Then he spots something behind his mom. "Is that mac and cheese?"
"Maybe."
"Bye Daddy! Bye Reese!" He races inside.
Jessica almost smiles. "Eight o'clock?"
"Eight o'clock."
She nods and closes the door.
It’s seven fifty-nine. I've checked the clock twelve times in two minutes.
"Sit," Reese says from the couch. "You're making me nervous."
I sit. Stand up. Sit again. "What if he forgot?"
"Three-year-olds don't forget promises about stories."
Eight o'clock. The phone rings immediately.
Tyler's giant eyeball fills the screen. "DADDY! HI!"
"Buddy, move the phone back?—"
"I CAN SEE UP YOUR NOSE!"
"Tyler, give me the phone," Jessica's voice comes from off-screen. The image swings wildly—ceiling, Tyler's forehead, what might be a lamp—before settling on Tyler's face. He's wearing dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking straight up in back.
"Story time! Fred the dancing di-saur!"
"Fred?"
"The dancing di-saur! With hockey! You said!"
No,hesaid. But okay. "Right. Fred the dancing dinosaur who plays hockey."
"He's a T-Rex!" Tyler bounces, making the screen shake. "With tiny arms like this!" He demonstrates, the phone tilting dangerously.
"Exactly. So Fred loved to dance, but his tiny arms made it hard?—"
"Why?"
"Well, arms help with balance?—"
"Why?"
This is going to be a long story.
