Her Dad’s Best Friend novel Chapter 112

Jeff

"So, you knocked up my little girl, huh?"

I wince a little. "Yeah, I did. I'm not proud of it, but I'm proud that we're getting married." "You're moving awfully fast," he says. "But when you know, you know. That's how it was when I met my own wife." He pats his breast pocket for a packet of cigarettes that aren't there. "Damn anti-smoking campaigns," he grumbles, like he always does. When we were in the military, everyone smoked. Most of us kicked the habit as soon as we got home, given the environment for smokers.

"I know," I tell him. "And I promise that I'll take care of her."

"You better," he grunts. "I can still kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try." I work out just as much if not more than he does. We haven't sparred in a long time. The two of us spend so much time together that maybe duking it out would help.

"Wanna go to the boxing gym?" he asks, his eyes lighting up. We used to be regulars at a gym that's only a mile away from our homes.

"Yeah," I say. We've always been equally matched. He doesn't know about the mini-gym I have in my basement. I am still working out almost as much as I used to when it was part of our job.

"How about tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I'll be there."

"I'm done," I say, tapping the mat. We got rid of the boxing gloves an hour ago and began wrestling. He's heavier than I am, and he's winning. He gets off of me and rolls on his back. Both of us are breathing hard.

"That was good," he says. "We should do it more often."

"I'm too old for this shit," I say. "I need an ice pack."

"Fuck, when did you turn into a pussy?" He nudges my shoulder.

I sit up. "Bring it, old man."

"We're the same age," he says, sitting up. He winces as he pushes himself to his feet and rises slowly. "I need water." He climbs over the ropes of the boxing ring and heads for the water fountain. There's nobody else in here, not late at night like this. It's a 24-hour gym. We worked late, told Elia that we'd be at the gym, and have been duking it out since we changed.

I feel really good, sort of light and free. Any ass-beating my best friend wanted to do has been done. Chicks would talk this out. We're okay with each other now.

"Water?" he offers.

I look into the cup. It's just a sip of water, but I drink it anyway. I get out of the ring and head for the showers. We wash off with the gym's all-in-one shampoo and soap before getting dressed in our work clothes and heading home.

When we park in our driveways, we wave before going inside. I wonder how it feels for him, being 40 and coming home to an empty house. He fell in love, got married, and had a kid. I've done all of those things, but I somehow get to come home to two people who love me and there's nobody there for him.

I'm not giving Elia back. Not now, not ever. And soon, we'll have a new addition to the family. But I wonder if I should try to set him up with a lady. When Elia was a little kid, he dated a little, but Elia would scream her lungs out whenever she was introduced to a lady friend. By the time Elia was 8, he'd given up. Elia wanted to be the center of attention at home, which meant that no lady could ever become her stepmother.

At least Danny wasn't old enough to think about whether or not he wanted a stepmother. His desires were uncomplicated. He just wanted to eat, sleep, and poop so much that I was considering investing in some kind of diaper company. Danny was definitely bringing them a lot of profit.

I snorted. How would I talk to my investment counselor? "Hey, my baby poops so much that diaper companies must be making out like bandits." I shake my head. I fight the urge to review the SEC filings from various consumer product companies and instead think about the baby. We’ll set up a trust fund for him or her. I’ll listen to my lawyer this time. I learn from my mistakes.

Epilogue: Mot

her’s Day

Jeff

THREE YEARS LATER

“Quiet,” I tell my two kids. “Mommy’s still sleeping.” Danny can barely contain himself. He’s stifling his laughter with two hands over his mouth. My placid little girl Myrla is holding onto my leg. I have a tray with orange juice and fresh waffles on it. When we got married, we received no less than 5 waffle makers. There must’ve been a sale.

When we get into my bedroom, I settle the tray next to the bed. The kids climb into bed. They aren’t allowed in it, but these are special circumstances. When I’ve helped Myrla up, since she’s much smaller than Danny, I go to the window and open the curtains.

Blazing sunlight fills the room. Elia shrieks a little bit before turning over and burying her face in a pillow.

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