I glance down at Riley as she shrugs too, looking so much like me I have to chuckle. “It’s your job, Dad. It’ll be fine. It’s not like we’ve never done this before. You’ve been a football player for like a thousand years. Stop worrying so much—you’re killing my vibe.”
Laughing, I ruffle her hair, and this time when she does duck away, I laugh even harder. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to kill your vibe. Come on, let’s go find your brother.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before my sweaty, disheveled son comes flying across the lobby, his gait uneven as the massive hockey bag slung over his shoulder bounces with every step he takes. “Did you see my goal?” He beams at us, dropping the bag and throwing himself at me. “I did the slap shot!”
“It was killer,” I say, pressing a kiss to his damp hair and handing him the Gatorade I brought for him. “All that extra practice is really paying off.”
“I know!” he says with a grin before turning to Riley. “Did you see it, Ry?”
“You bet,” she says, giving him a thumbs up. “It was awesome, but I’m not hugging you because you smell gross.” She turns to me, wrinkling her nose. “Can we go home so Ethan can shower before dinner? I can’t eat tacos when he smells like that.”
“Tacos?” Ethan says excitedly, cracking open the Gatorade and chugging half the bottle in one go. “Oh my god, yes. I’m starving. Can I order ten?”
Laughing, I slide an arm around each of my kids as we head for the exit. “You can have as many as you want, but Riley’s right. You’re pretty gross, dude. We’re definitely going home first so you can shower.”
“But Dad, I’m starving right now. I’ll die if I don’t eat something right this minute.”
“And you say I’m dramatic,” Riley mutters.
Ethan narrows his eyes at her. “You’re an actress. You literally are dramatic.”
Riley gives him a smug smile. “I’m an excellent actress. The only reason we’re getting tacos tonight is because my serious acting skills got me the lead in the play.”
Ethan stops cold and stares at his sister. “Wait, you got the lead? Seriously? You’re Sophie?” he asks in an incredulous voice full of pride for his sister that makes me want to wrap him in a hug and never let go.
“Bet your ass.”
“Ry, language,” I mutter, mainly because there are other parents around. I’ve never censored my language around my kids, and I’ve always appreciated a well-placed curse word, so swearing is one parenting battle I’ve only ever half-heartedly fought. As long as they’re using the words correctly and not using them in places and at times they shouldn’t, or in a way that hurts anyone, I mainly let it go.
“Dad, she got the lead!” Ethan says. “If there was ever a time for swearing, it’s now.” He throws his arms around Riley’s waist, hugging her tightly.
“Oh my god, gross!” she exclaims. “You’re all sweaty and disgusting.”
She may think he’s all sweaty and gross, but she doesn’t do one single thing to push him away. Instead, she hugs him right back, and my chest swells with emotion.
“I love you guys.” My words come out of nowhere, but neither of my kids bats an eye, well used to my spontaneous expressions of emotion. I don’t need a therapist to tell me that my almost pathological need to tell the people close to me how I feel about them as often as possible comes from the sudden and harrowing way I lost my wife ten years ago, and the immediate and intense way I learned that life is short and not a single one of us is guaranteed a tomorrow.
I figure in the hierarchy of ways I could be fucked up by losing the woman I loved when we had barely even begun to build a life, needing to tell my kids I love them more than the average parent does probably isn’t the worst thing in the world.
“We know, Dad,” Ethan says. “Now, can we please talk about what you’re going to feed me at home before we go out to dinner? There’s no way I can wait an entire ride home, a whole shower, and a ride to a restaurant to eat.”
I chuckle, digging into my pocket for the car keys. “Grilled cheese? I’ll make it while you shower.”
“Definitely yes!” Ethan says. “Can I have two? One won’t be enough.”
I laugh again, never not shocked by the amount of food he can pack away after a game. “So, what you’re saying is it’s a two-dinner night?”
“And don’t forget about dessert,” Riley pipes up. “You promised me ice cream.”
“Ice cream is such a good idea,” Ethan says enthusiastically.
My response to him is drowned out by the rumble of an engine as a cherry-red Jeep Wrangler swings into the lot. The way the driver whips the car into the parking spot next to my Range Rover just on the wrong side of too fast is a direct contrast to the music currently pouring out of the Jeep’s wide-open windows. “River Deep, Mountain High” by Celine Dion plays so loudly that it’s possible the entire city of Pittsburgh can hear it, and I can’t help but smile at this mass of contradictions in front of me.
The big, burly car.
The tiny twin disco balls hanging from the rearview mirror that the driver flicks before cutting the engine.
The pinkPuck Itsticker on the rear window.
