Emma’s kneeling in front of it, arms spread wide like she’s presenting a masterpiece. “Ta-da!Do you like it, Daddy?”
Annie’s standing next to the fort, and I can tell by her expression that she’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking: there is no possible way three people are fitting in there.
“It’s very impressive,” I say, because diplomacy exists even in pillow fort negotiations. “You two did a great job.”
“I can sit in the armchair,” Annie says quickly, gesturing to the chair in the corner. “You guys take the fort.”
“What?” Emma looks genuinely offended by this suggestion. “No! We built it so we could eat in it together!”
“Yeah, but Em, I think it’s probably only big enough for you and one other grown-up—”
“We can all squeeze!” Emma’s already shimmying into the fort, her little body disappearing under the blankets until all you can see are her arms reaching out. “Give me my pizza!”
Annie lets out this surprised laugh that ends in a snort, and she immediately covers her mouth with her hand like she’s embarrassed. I grin and she looks at the space next to Emma—which is maybe two feet wide, max—and then at me.
“I’ll leave that spot for your dad,” she says.
“Get down here, Annie!” Emma’s voice is muffled by blankets but still very commanding.
“Come on. How can you argue with that?” I say, and I’m definitely smirking now.
Annie narrows her eyes at me, which only makes me want to laugh. She walks over to the TV and puts the VHS tape in, pressing play, and then straightens up and looks at the fort like it’s a trap she’s considering whether to walk into.
I set the pizza plates down on the coffee table and lower myself to the floor, already regretting this decision. I’m getting too old for pillow forts. Or maybe I’m just getting too big for them—my back is going to hate me tomorrow. The fort is basically a cocoon of blankets propped up by cushions, and the floor underneath is just carpet with maybe one thin throw pillow for padding. I shimmy in next to Emma, my knees bent at an awkward angle, my head ducked to avoid hitting the blanket roof.
“Careful of the support beams, Daddy,” Emma says seriously, pointing to a couch cushion that’s supposedly holding everything up.
“The support beams. Right. I’ll be very careful.”
“You’re squishing my space.”
“You told me to get in here!”
“Yeah, but not on top of me.”
“I’m not on top of you, Em.”
“You’re close to on top of me.”
I adjust myself slightly, trying to take up less space, which is impossible given that I’m six-three and this fort was designed by a child.
I look over and there’s maybe a foot of space left next to me for another person. Maybe. If Annie’s very small and doesn’t mind being extremely uncomfortable for the next hour and a half.
Annie’s still standing there, arms crossed, looking at the gap.
“Scared?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Of what, exactly?”
“Tight spaces? Collapsing blanket structures?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then get in here.”
“Annie, please?” Emma’s leaning forward now, giving her the full puppy-dog-eyes treatment.
Annie sighs, muttering something under her breath that sounds like “the puppy dog face won’t work on me forever,” but she’s already lowering herself to the floor, already crawling toward the opening in the fort.
