“Dude,” I said, trying not to laugh. “That’s mean. Yes, Shitty Ritchie is a wad with no manners and no filter, but the little guy would be devastated if we left him out.”
“Left who out of what?” Alana Catherine asked, squatting down beside us with a grin on her face. “You guys need to get a room or something?”
“Oh my god,” I grunted as I rolled off Gideon and got to my feet. “You’re not supposed to talk to your parents like that!”
Gideon was trying not to laugh as he got to his feet. He failed. “To answer your first question, we were talking about whether or not to invite Shitty Ritchie to prom.”
“Prom?” she asked, perplexed.
“Prom,” I confirmed, leading her to the picnic table and getting us settled in. “You missed all kinds of fun things since you went from under one to twenty in a day.”
“And your mom and I were thinking it might be fun to take you dress shopping and have a prom here… with all our friends.”
“I love it!” Alana Catherine announced.
“Me too!” Gram shouted as she landed on top of the picnic table. “Me and Mr. Jackson can really cut the rug!”
“And my second question, Dad?” Alana Catherine inquired with a naughty grin.
Gideon’s brow raised. “I shall plead the fifth on the second question.”
“Oh crap.” I froze. Prom was one thing, but we’d missed some far more important things. “Umm… do we need to… you know…”
Gideon, Gram and Alana Catherine were all staring at me. I was usually more eloquent.
I tried again. “We never… you know… hadthe talk,” I explained.
My daughter was biting down on her lip, doing her best not to laugh at me. She failed just like her dad had. “Mom,” she said, placing her hand over mine. “Somehow I already know pretty much all I need to know.”
“Periods?” I asked.
“Yep,” she replied.
“Birth control?” Gideon added.
“Yep.”
“Fornication?” Gram chimed in.
“I do,” she replied.
“You better not,” Gideon growled. “Or some young man is going to see the end of my boot up his ass.”
“Dad!” Alan Catherine looked scandalized. “I only meant I knew about it.”
“Good.” He nodded, his expression reflecting his relief. “How about driving?”
“I think so,” she told her dad. “We can test that out later.”
“Excellent,” he said, relieved that he might be able to teach her something.
“What about where babies come from?” Gram asked.
“That’s part ofthe talk,” I told her.
Gram slapped her forehead. “Right. My bad.”
“Okay,” I said, playing with Alana Catherine’s dark curls. “If you do have any questions, you can always come to your dad and me with anything—and I mean anything.”
