Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Obtendrás cena y espectáculo,” Demián lightly laughs.
“Dinner and a show,” translates Val in our direction.
“Ah,” our woman happily snickers.
“I’ll have as many as she’ll give us,” I good-naturedly poke back and pick up my beer for a sip.
“Same,” Kid warmly echoes.
“Three…six…nine…”
“You better be singing the fucking opening of ‘Get Low’,” Rabbit swiftly scolds on a sharp look.
“I know that song!” Kid enthusiastically insists. “Lil’ John & The Eastciders!”
“East Side Boyz,” corrects Val in tandem with picking up her wine glass.
“They were rappers,” Garcia smoothly joins in on the teasing, “not beermakers.”
Embarrassment begins to seep into Kid’s complexion prompting Demián to give his leg a gentle tap. “Don’t take shit from him. He didn’t know Beethoven wasn’t just a dog until he was thirteen.”
An amused grin replaces the previous shame. “Seriously?”
“That’s not…entirely…true,” Garcia poorly defends.
“Yes, it is,” his sister swiftly sells him out. “You even told me you didn’t believe a dog could write music, which is when I had to explain the situation to you. Again.”
“Wow,” Kid laughs a bit louder while Garcia’s face darkens in redness.
“Can we just…” he snatches up his own beverage, “wrap this shit up so we can open more gifts? Or switch to a better game? Like dominoes.” Garcia indulges in a large gulp. “I think we should play dominoes next.”
“See, the key to dealing with Ace and Vic is to go straight for the garganta.” He taps his tan throat to wordlessly translate. “Remember that.”
“Got it.” My boyfriend politely grins prior to finding my gaze. “Your turn to draw.”
Should I do it now?
Fake the card and draw something special instead?
Would that be right?
Romantic or fucking whatever?
Bunny shakes the bag of choices near my face, joy undoubtedly jumping around hers.
Maybe now would be perfect.
She’s obviously happy.
Kid’s probably happy.
I have everyone’s attention…
I just need the rings.
“Can I take a leak first?” Putting my beer down precedes me shooting a small but significant glance at Garcia. “We got that kinda time?”
“Sure,” Eva cheerfully insists, “the kids can wait a few more minutes to lose miserably.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Val sasses as she rises to her feet. “I think that calls for another glass.”
“There’s still wine in that one,” our woman casually points out.
Val chugs down the remains and then looks at the dish in faked bewilderment. “Is there?”
More laughs flood the open space allowing for an easy getaway.
While I don’t actually have to piss, I do go into the bathroom.
Turn on the water.
Splash some cold on my face.
And then a little more.
Suck in a deep breath and meet my stare in the mirror.
Fuck, can I really do this?
Can I really ask them to spend their life with someone like me?
Someone too old for one.
Too grumpy for the other.
Too stubborn for both.
What the fuck am I really doing?
Just…biding my time?
Hoping they don’t notice they deserve better?
Can do better?
That I’m barely worth the fuck my parents gave to even conceive me.
Because that’s where the fucks stopped.
What if being a shit husband is genetic?
I unhappily grumble and fill my hands up with more water to scrub my face.
What if they don’t want jewelry?
Or to have my last name?
Fuck, whose last name is our son gonna have?
Is being a shit father genetic?
Should we talk about more shit?
Am I completely out of my fucking mind?
Two taps on the door encourage me to snatch a clean hand towel, run it over my face, and open the door, revealing an unexpected sight.
“The nerves are a good thing,” Demián states on a fatherly grin, goatee covered face brightening even more. “It means you give a shit.” He watches me dry my hands. “About them. About your relationship. About your future.”
The claim has me slowing down my actions. “I do.”
“I know you do, Ace.” Pride doesn’t hesitate to make itself seen. “And that’s all we really wanted for you.”
It’s impossible to ignore the lump in my throat his words create.
“I know I’m not your old man-”
“You’re better,” leaves me in a choked voice.
“-but you’ve always been one of my niños. And you’ll always be one. And if you need anything or they need anything or my future nieto needs anything…I’m here for you.” He pauses to shoot a pointed finger at me. “We’re here for you. All of us.”
“Thanks.”
“En español.”
“Gracias.”
“Good. Good. I want my first grandchild to speak it better than his uncle.” Demián extends the two wrapped, small boxes for me to put in my pocket. “Vic’s beginning to sound like Google Translate when he orders at restaurants. It’s embarrassing.”
Light chuckles are accompanied by me exiting the guest bathroom and a supportive pat on the back.
This is the man I hope to be like when it comes to raising a kid.
And if it comes to a point where our son has someone in his life who needs a hand or rescuing or tips for survival like I did, I’ll be right there for them.