MARCUS
“You said we could play games, Dad,” Sadie tells me.
“I know.”
“With no time limit,” Sam tacks on. “So we can play as much as we want, right?”
“Right,” Sadie agrees.
“As long as you eat your dinner.”
I steer the SUV into the parking lot of the local pizza joint and park the car.
“We love pizza, Dad! We’ll eat all of it.”
“And the salad too.” I press the button to turn off the car to the sound of groans.
“I don’t like lettuce,” Sam tells me.
“You liked lettuce last week,” I fire back at her, watching as they unclip themselves from their booster seats.
“Eww. Lettuce is gross. It’s slimy.”
“Slimy? It’s not slimy.”
“It was really wet,” Sadie chimes in.
“Wet is not slimy.”
“It was gross.” Sam rolls her eyes at me.
The joys of children.
Opening the door, the two of them hop out and grab my hands as we walk inside. It’s a small place, one where people don’t pay me any mind when they recognize me. It’s one of the draws that keeps us coming here for our weekly pizza night.
The smell of tomato sauce and garlic hits us as we walk inside. Pictures of all kinds of pizza hang on the walls. Arcade games for kids line the back wall, where there’s also a window to watch the chefs make the pizzas.
Butcher paper is taped onto each table with a bucket of crayons sitting in the middle.
“There are my favorite customers!”
Sam and Sadie giggle as they head to our usual table in the back near the games.
“Hi Paul!” They greet him in unison.
“How was school today?” he asks them.
Paul, an older man with a brood of at least a dozen grandkids, has always been kind to my girls. With a gray mustache and a bald head, he is never without a smile on his face.
“We started a new book about a girl who solves mysteries with her dog,” Sadie tells him, taking her seat across from me.
“I don’t know how a dog can solve mysteries,” Sam says.
Paul grabs a crayon from the bucket and hands it to her. “Why don’t you see if you can figure it out while I make your pizza?”
Sam’s brown eyes light up. “Okay! I’ll tell you when you come back.”
“Attagirl.”
