“Sam talks too much in class.”
Sadie sucks the last dregs of her juice and earns a scathing glare from Sam.
“I do not! You’re always talking.”
“Because I’m smart and answer the questions.”
“I’m smart too!” Sam says. “Right, Dad?”
“You’re both very smart.”
Sadie rolls her eyes at me and before she can argue, I cut her with a look to tell her to cool it.
At least she can read that.
Raising twin eight-year-old girls is not what I had in mind at this stage in my life. If one is happy, it’s likely the other isn’t for some mundane reason.
I held them back from starting school a year to give them more time to learn and adjust. It seemed to help given how smart—and sassy—they can be on any day of the week.
“How about this?” I grab a breadstick, take a bite, and chew. “If I get good reports from your teacher, then you two can pick what I make us for dinner tomorrow, okay?”
That earns me big smiles and cuts any arguing. “Okay!”
“Can we have grilled cheese with apple slices?” Sadie asks.
“Yeah!” Sam agrees. “That’s my favorite.”
I smile. “You got it. But I better get good reports from Mrs. Gonzalez. I don’t want you two to be the troublemakers of the class.”
“We’re not, Dad,” Sam tells us.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” they agree.
A knock sounds from the door, but this time, it’s more to signal that they’re here than anything else. “Hi!” Mom’s voice rings out.
“Gigi!” the girls yell out.
“Uh-uh. Finish dinner.”
Mom toes off her shoes and walks into the kitchen.
I stuff the rest of my breadstick in my mouth and stand to give her a hug.
“Did I not teach you any manners?” Mom shakes her head at me as the girls start giggling.
“Apparently not,” I say around a mouthful. “But I don’t want to be late.”
Mom looks down at her watch before dropping kisses on both of the girls’ heads. “You know you’re running late, right?”
“What? No, I’m not. It doesn’t start for another hour.”
“No, it ends in an hour.”
“Seriously? Shit.”
“I thought you were going late,” Mom says. “I told you Monday what time it was.”
