King of the Causeway: A King Series Novella (King #9.5)(5)

Preppy claps his hands together. “Okay! That’s enough of that. Are you ready guys? This is the best part!” He points to Bo and whispers, “No more listening to adult talk.”

Bo shrugs. “Then, don’t adult talk in a room full of kids. Or, and this is merely a suggestion, but you both may want to consider working on the volume of your whispering.”

Preppy opens his mouth to reply, then shuts it. He purses his lips, then settles back on the couch. “Touché.”

Sammy, Max, and Preppy’s twin girls, Taylor and Miley are all lying on the floor on their stomachs while Bo opts for the recliner. Nicole Grace is on the floor, too, but she’s already asleep with her purple blanket shoved in her mouth in a way that used to make me think she was trying to choke herself.

"Here it comes!” Preppy points to the TV, and the kids all clap with excitement as Moana begins to sing her first song. Preppy sings along, and the kids follow.

I smile at my friend who is a literal juxtaposition of a character. Loving yet foul mouthed. Sexual and crass but loyal to the wife he's hopelessly in love with. A party animal but one of the best fathers I've ever witnessed. When the song is over, they all clap and continue to watch the movie.

“What?” Preppy asks when the song ends and he catches me staring at him.

"You're a good guy, Preppy,” I say, because I mean it. Grace was right all those years ago. It’s possible to be a bad boy yet a great man. I’m lucky enough to know and love several such men and call them my family.

"You're only saying that because I'm currently rubbing your pregnant Flintstone feet."

"Hey," I chide, lifting said Flintstone feet from his lap.

Preppy rolls his eyes and pulls them back, continuing my much-needed foot massage. “Dre loves the shit out of me, but I have no doubt that she loved me even more when she was pregnant. I'd spend hours robbing her cute swollen feet."

I shake my head. "I'm saying you're a good guy because you are."

He shrugs. "I'm good-ish, or like good adjacent. Maybe. Possibly. Probably not.”

I smile. "That sounds about right.''

"Daddy?" Taylor asks turning around and staring at us with her huge doe eyes and cherub cheeks. "Moana is brown, right?"

Preppy's eyes grow wide. "Oh, yeah, I guess,” he answers with a where is this going look in his eyes that as a parent I am all too familiar with.

"And I'm white, right? " she asks, tilting her head. A little black tendril falls over her eye, and she blows it away only to have it fall right back.

"Uh, huhhhh...," he replies, shifting his eyes to me, then back to one of his twins.

Taylor smiles up at her daddy. "But, we're all the same inside, right?''

Preppy blows out a sigh of relief and smiles down at his darker-haired twin daughter. There’s pride in his voice. “Yeah, kiddo, we're all the same inside.''

Satisfied, Taylor turns back to face the TV while Preppy stores at her for a few silent moments before speaking again. “You never hold your breath until the moment when you think your toddler is about to come out to you as a racist.''

I chuckle. “Well, you're doing something right. She's barely three years old and has recognized that although people might look different, we're all the same. She's smart. Observant. Kind.''

"She gets all that from her mother," Preppy says, clearing his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. Which is very unlike him. Normally, he leaps at the chance to accept a compliment like he’s receiving an Oscar.

I press my foot against his still hand, and he resumes rubbing my swollen feet. "Give yourself some credit for being a decent human.”

He smirks.

I roll my eyes. “A decent human, at times.”

“A reminder that you’re the one who pushed King and I together when we did everything in our power to pull ourselves apart.”

"Pffft, the two of you were so perfect for each other, you could be blind and deaf and still know you were meant to be.”

"I think there’s more to it. I think you knew we'd be happy. That he'd be happy.''

"That, or I just didn't want you to leave so I made sure you'd stay. It's more selfish than you’re making it out to be."

"Uh, huh. You keep telling yourself that, Prep. Meanwhile, you're here rubbing my feet and watching Disney movies with the kids. But I promise, your secret good parenting and being a good friend is safe with me.”

“You know I love me some motherfucking Disney,” Preppy replies.

“I love me some motherfucking Disney, too!” Bo chimes in, repeating his father’s words. He’s the only child not sitting on the floor. Instead, he’s sitting with his legs crisscrossed on the recliner wearing a pink and yellow plaid bow tie that matches Preppy’s.

Preppy tries to hide his crooked smile and narrows his eyes at his son. “Bo, what did we say about using those kinds of words?”

Bo recites his answer without apology, like he’s remembering them from a textbook. “Not to say them in front of my mother, my sisters, or my teachers because they don't understand that swearing is a sign of emotional intelligence according to recent medical psychological studies in major publications. And socially not acceptable for an eight-year-old to use in public because it makes mom look like she’s not doing her job when we all know that my terrible language is all your fault.”