He gives me the finger. “It came with a hot chick twenty-five years my junior handing them to me, so I wear whatever the hell she tells me to wear to bed just thankful she still wants to be in the same bed as me.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough.”
He pulls out his cigar case and a lighter. I lift an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure said hot chick doesn’t like you smoking those.”
He smirks. “Said hot chick had one too many margaritas from Benny and is now out cold. And if I want to sit and have a cigar with my son every once in a while when I know he needs to talk, I can and I will.”
He motions toward the chairs at the table. “Have a seat, son.”
I throw BJ’s ball as far as I can and then sit down. He hands me a cigar and lights it for me. I take a few puffs and smile. “This reminds me of my eleventh birthday.”
He nods. “Ah, your first cigar. You coughed for two straight days after that. I think your school nurse wanted to report me to child services for giving you a cigar at that age.”
“I remember. She kept asking me if you gave me any otherdrugs.” I air quote the worddrugs, as if a cigar is a drug.
“Hmm. That’s right.” He blows out a long plume of smoke. “It was the same time as the fifth anniversary of your mother’s death. You were having a particularly tough time. I thought it would help to do something special together. You didn’t articulate anything specific that was bothering you, but sometimes a father just knows when his son is in need. Like right now. Something is going on with you. Talk to me.”
I let out a laugh. I don’t know how he does it, but he always knows. “I love you, Dad. I don’t know if I say it enough, but you’re the best father. I never felt like I missed out by not having my mom around because you’re twice the dad of all others. I hope I’m half the father you are one day.”
He nods. “Thanks. Now start talking. Does it have to do with the pretty lady here today?”
I nod and exhale a long breath. “I’m not sure where to start.” So I start at the beginning and tell him every little detail, from our hate-filled beginnings, to Vegas, to the pregnancy, to my developing feelings for her. All of it. He listenswithout interruption, even though I know he’s dying to interrupt.
When I’m finished, he shakes his head. “Wow, that’s quite a story.” He reaches across the table, grabs the top of my hand, and smiles widely. “I’m going to be a grandfather.”
“Yes, you are. The best in the business, no doubt.”
He squeezes my hand in gratitude before releasing me and leaning back in his chair again. “Did you know your mother and I were law school adversaries competing for the top spot in the class?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“We were. I hated her, and she hated me.” His blue eyes turn glassy. “She had this fire in her belly. I both despised and respected it.”
“I get that. How did it turn from hate to love?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
“I accepted that she was smarter than me and learned to be content with my number two spot.”
I let out a laugh.
He continues, “And then when I stopped hating her, I fell head over heels in love with her. I just knew. She was different from anyone else I had dated. She challenged me in ways no woman ever had. I always had it easy with the ladies, but not her. She rejected me at first, but she was the one, and I was persistent. I wooed her. I learned her likes and dislikes and then planned accordingly. She eventually softened on me, and things progressed rapidly from there. The hate turned into passion, which turned into…storybook love.” He says the last bit with a whimsical look on his face as if he's remembering something special about her.
“I think Kennedy has softened on me, but sometimes I’m not sure. She was pretty mad at me yesterday. She stormed out of here after putting me in my place. Rightfully so, but it still happened.”
“Sometimes men like us need that. You don’t spend fivehours with a man’s family if you still hate him,” he says. “You don’t spend five hours asking his father to tell you stories of his childhood if you don’t care. She cares. I can see it.”
“I’m not sure how to woo her. She’s different from every girl I’ve ever been with.”
“Isn’t that what makes her special?”
I nod. “I suppose. She has a lot of baggage though.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Everyone has baggage. Think of the baggage Ashleigh had to take on when marrying me. I was a heartbroken widower with a slightly out-of-control teenage son who consumed ten thousand calories a day.”
“Why Ashleigh?” I ask. “She’s so different from Mom.”
“That’s why. I didn’t want a cheap carbon copy. I didn’t want someone I’d compare to her. There will never be anyone like your mother. I needed someone totally different. I know Ashleigh is a little loopy at times, but she takes good care of me and keeps me young. And I desperately wanted another child.”
I twist my lips. “Your first one was no good?”
