Hannahwas already eating, while still tapping away on her phone. Goose pulled a chairout for me, then sat down himself, before reaching over and patting hisdaughter on the shoulder.
“Hey,no phones during dinner.”
“Stopit, Dad,” she whined, turning away.
“Comeon, I’m just asking for fifteen minutes of your precious time. Then, you canget back to chatting with all your homies, okay?”
Shesighed and rolled her eyes, then surprised me when she obediently put the phonedown on the table and gave her full attention to her plate and us.
“Thankyou so much, daughter of mine. Now, tell me how school’s going.”
Iremained quiet, as weateand Hannah told her fatherabout how her English teacher was encouraging her to submit one of her poems tothe school newsletter. I found that I liked her, despite the typical teenageattitude and the ironclad attachment to her phone. I saw a lot of myself inher, from her black clothes and heavy black makeup, to her obvious affectiontoward writing and keeping to herself. I was surprised to find myself hoping wecould be friends one day, maybe even close friends.
“Kenny’san author, you know,” Goose said, looking toward me.
“Really?”Hannah asked, suddenly interested in my presence. “Like, you’re published andeverything?”
Inodded, smiling. “Yeah, well, I’m self-published, but—”
“Hey,”Goose said. “Don’t talk like that doesn’t count.”
“Ijust mean, it doesn’t have the same level of prestige as being publishedtraditionally,” I said, poking at the lomeinon myplate. “I’d like to one day do both, be independentandtraditional, butfor now, this is what I’m doing.”
“That’sawesome,” Hannah commented. “Iwannabe a famous poetone day.”
“LikeEdgar Allan Poe?” I asked, smiling across the table.
Herexpression was then one of sheer euphoria as she pressed her hands to herchest. “He’s myfavorite. How did you know?”
“Luckyguess,” I replied, shoveling a heaping forkful of fried rice into my mouth.“And he’s mine, too.”
***
Theliving room was lit with only the glow from the TV, and as the end credits ofDonnieDarkorolled, Hannah slept, curled up to her father’s side. I sat on hisother side, my elbow resting on Tony’s hip, and during those moments of easycomfort, I thought,I could get used to this.
Iimagined how it would be if Alexanderwasalso here,sleeping soundlessly nearby, in a bassinet or swing. How comfortable it wouldbe, to sit here with Goose, while the kids and dog slept. I had to remindmyself repeatedly that we weren’t a family, and that I didn’t belong here, butit felt like, maybe one day, I could.
“Ishould get her to bed,” he whispered, slicing through the cozy quiet with hisvoice.
“Okay,”I replied with a nod.
“Idon’t want to get up, though.” He turned to me, and the light from the TVdanced across his face, the shadows emphasizing his features. “I’m toocomfortable.”
“Me,too.”
Hiseyes dropped to my lips, and mine dropped to his, as he replied, “You shouldprobably stay, then.”
“Yeah,but … Igottafeed the cat …”
Thewords coming from my mouth were hushed by his lips, as he moved in and kissedme softly. I imagined every kiss I had ever writtenabout,andwished that they had all been inspired by this one, as his armwrapped around my shoulder and pulled me closer to his side. My hands reachedup, to clench the flannel of his shirt in needy fists, and I whimperedpathetically when his lips parted to coax mine open with a hesitant touch ofhis tongue.
“Ew, Dad.”
Goosecleared his throat, then smiled against my mouth, before saying, “Go to bed,Hannah.”
“Why,so you can make out on the couch?”
“Probably,”he replied lazily.
