“I promised him I’d help him,” Lina said with a wink, and the hair at the back of my neck stands up.
“Lina,” Oliver chimes in. “I think you should leave the work for Superintendent Daniels this week. He should really be the one filling in for a missing principal.”
“Then it won’t get done,” Lina fires back. “Or it’ll be done wrong or poorly. No PS 2 student will be coloring with a non-Crayola crayon, thank you very much.”
Everyone at the table winces.
I, too, am familiar with the horror of a non-Crayola crayon, after attempting to help Frankie color with a brand that rhymes with ‘Shmose Shart.’ I cringe, remembering the waxy streakiness.
“Listen,Ollie,” Lina continues. “I promise to do as little as possible. But there are some things that I need to do myself. I can’t trust anyone else to do it, much less the supe.”
Lina sounds familiar. Lina sounds like me. Are we soulmates?
Or the absolute worst fucking possible combination of people ever?
“Anyway, this conversation is about Frankie,” Lina reminds us. “Anything else you wanna do, girl?”
Frankie looks up at the ceiling, thinking about it. “I’m just excited to hang out with everyone and not just my dad.”
“Ouch, Frankie. Jeez.” That actually stings.
Tita Gloria stares at me with anI told you solook on her face.
Lina gives me a look filled with sympathy.
I look away. Maybe the worst combination of people ever.
SEVEN
Lina
I was wrong,earlier, when I thought that watching this Gang DILF be humbled by an old lady was the sexiest thing, because watching Gang DILF load the dishwasher is officially the absolute sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
There were other contenders today, like the time he told me, “but I don’t want you to work,” or when I found him cooking for me and his family, but watching this man take charge of clean up after dinner and then navigate a dishwasher is really doing it for me. This is sad. Pathetic, really.This is what Mike has done to you.
I’m watching the muscles and the veins of his deeply tanned forearms move under the intricate black ink of his tattoos as he rinses a plate and loads it properly, allowing for maximum rinse strength, when I catch the end of something he is asking.
“—top off?”
I stare at him, because yes, absolutely, I will take my top off for him if that’s what he’s asking, but now he’s holding up the wine bottle. Fine, this will do. I hold my glass out and he pours the bottle the fancy way, holding at the bottom of the bottle with his thumb firmly in the indent, and why is this hot, too?
I’m suddenly glad I brought my rabbit, because this is a time of penetrative desperation.
I take a sip of the wine and put it down to dry off the platters he’s handwashing (swoon), hearing Frankie giggling with the others in the living room over some board game.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Dom asks suddenly, in that gentle, steady way of his.
Goddammit, Lina, will you just put your horny eyes away for like two seconds?“Like what?”
He pauses, rinsing a plate off, and I am learning that he is the type of person who thinks before he speaks, instead of blurting out whatever mansplain-y bullshit retort came to mind like Mike would do. “Like I’m a freak,” he decides eventually, with a small chuckle.
“I’m not looking at you like you’re a freak.”
“You’re doing it right now,” he says.
Since I’m not sure how to change a look I don’t think I have, I do my best to rearrange my face into a different composition. “I don’t think you’re a freak. I… I’m surprised. A lot about you is surprising to me.”
“Which part? The freakily neurotic, boring dad part? Who thinks true happiness is when his daughter decides to help match the socks after the laundry is done?”
