Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(181)

My kid wanted hockey skates for Christmas.

This did not fill me with joy. Hockey skates might lead to hockey lessons and hockey probably cost a mint. I didn’t have a mint nor would I ever.

But if my kid wanted hockey skates then hockey lessons, I’d find a way.

I just wished he’d turn his attention to Frisbee. A Frisbee champion needed functioning limbs and a plastic disc. Ethan luckily already had functioning limbs and I figured even the most expensive Frisbee you could get cost less than hockey skates.

On this thought, Merry spoke.

“Bud, don’t have any decorations and your place is already all set up, seein’ as we spent twelve hours straight decorating it a week ago and now it looks like Santa vomited all over the joint.”

Ethan busted out laughing.

I turned and glared at Merry.

Merry, not sitting but bent over his plate at the bar opposite Ethan, turned his attention from his plate of pancakes to me.

“What?” he asked, one side of his lips tipped up.

“I like Christmas,” I snapped.

“I can tell,” he replied.

Ethan kept laughing.

“I got a kid,” I stated. “You decorate for Christmas when you have a kid.”

“Mom, I quit believing in Santa Claus when I was six,” Ethan reminded me of the dire day he imparted that information on me, information he’d learned from some snot at school who had an older brother and sister, both of whom had big mouths as did Ethan’s snot friend. “Now I’m nearly twelve. I’m totally over the over-the-top Christmas stuff.”

“Yes, you did stop believing in Santa when you were six,” I confirmed. “You also quit getting presents from him when you quit believing in him. Think about that for a second, smart guy.”

The look on Ethan’s face told me he was thinking about it and I’d made my point.

I didn’t rub it in.

But I did keep at him.

“And you’re not nearly twelve. You’re eleven and two months. That isn’t even close to nearly twelve.”

I was right, of course. It wasn’t.

But it was more that I couldn’t think of my kid as “nearly twelve.” This meant, after that, he’d be nearly thirteen and then nearly fourteen and then nearly out of the house, off to college, then getting married to some bitch who better treat him right or I’d cut her.

So no.

I couldn’t think of Ethan being nearly twelve until he actually was nearly twelve.

“Just sayin’, babe,” Merry started, and I looked down at him. “Dudes and chicks are different. Women spend most of their lives denying their age. Men spend theirs living for retirement.”

This was true.

And it sucked.

“That’s because chicks stop bein’ hot at around thirty-five and men can be hot for, like, ever,” Ethan declared, and I turned my now-far-more-intensified glare to him.

He was impervious and I knew this when he kept talking.

“I mean, look at Colt. He’s, like, borderline old guy, and he still totally has it.”

“And Feb doesn’t?” I asked.

My kid looked to me. “She’s an exception.”

“You do know I turn thirty-five in two months,” I reminded him.

He grinned at me. “You’re an exception too.”

“You totally are,” Merry muttered.

My head whipped Merry’s way. “You could help here, you know.”

Merry looked to my son and said as if by rote, “Ethan, women are attractive at any age.”

Ethan grinned at my man and replied, “Right.”

I decided Merry would get another blowjob around the time Ethan turned twelve.

But I had a lesson to teach, so I’d deal with that later.

“So, prior to your twelfth birthday, I’ll tell Feb, Rocky, Dusty, Frankie, and Vi you think they’re all past it,” I declared. “And before your gramma goes out for the big stuff for you for Christmas, I’ll tell her you think she’s totally past it.”

“They’re all exceptions too. Even Gram. I wouldn’t know, obviously, but Teddy’s grandpa said she’s a looker,” Ethan returned.

“So who isn’t an exception?” I asked.

Ethan looked like he was thinking about it.

Then he broke into a big grin and stated, “Maybe I spoke all hasty.”

“See, baby, you got a smart kid. You give him time, he’ll get to it,” Merry said.

“You both are annoying me,” I announced, though this was really a lie. I thought they were pretty hilarious. Annoyingly hilarious but still hilarious. I reached out to grab Ethan’s empty plate. “And it’s time for work and school, so you can quit annoying me by gettin’ on the road.”

I grabbed my own plate too, turning toward the sink, hearing Merry talking. “Your mom’s right, buddy. Let’s hit it. Teeth. Backpack. Coat. And grab a scarf and gloves. It’s cold out there. Yeah?”

“’Kay, Merry.”

I turned on the tap to run water over butter and maple syrup residue, completely unable to continue even pretending to be annoyed after hearing Merry tell my boy to grab a scarf and gloves.

I watched Merry’s hand put his plate on top of the other ones in the sink as I felt his other hand light on my hip.