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"Do you want to play Mario Kart?"

“I absolutely want to play Mario Kart.”

Twelve minutes later, I was on the floor with a red juice box, a Nintendo Switch controller, and the knowledge that I might actually lose, despite having practiced for two solid hours.

"I'm winning," James announced.

"I noticed."

"Do you want me to show you how to use the mushroom boost?"

"I know how to use the mushroom boost,” I grumbled under my breath.

"You're not using it right."

I couldn’t argue with the kid.

We played for what felt like a long time and was probably only forty-five minutes. Minutes that were punctuated by James's ongoing commentary on which track was the hardest. He said it was Rainbow Road. He also insisted that Toad was the best character, which I had no way to prove or disprove.

Adam finally appeared in the doorway, like some kind of savior.

“Please say dinner’s ready,” I begged.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel, looked at the television screen, and easily saw I was losing, by a lot.

"Spaghetti’s ready," he said.

James dropped his controller, which amazed me. "Dad makes the best meatballs," he informed me as he pulled me off the floor.

Thank God!

He continued to pull me into the dining room. “Sit next to me.”

I did.

James looked at the food on the table with avid attention, like it might disappear if he didn’t keep an eye on it. “Dad also makes the best cheese bread,” he said as he grabbed his paper towel and tucked it into the collar of his shirt, trying to make a bib for himself.

“And the best s’ghetti, because the noodles are really long and he doesn't care if you slurp them." His eyes sparkled as he thought about slurping noodles.

“What about the salad?” I asked.

“It’s only okay.” Then he thought for a moment. “But it’s good with enough ranch.”

“I’ll keep this in mind.”

I watched as Adam fixed James a plate. He made sure to give his son four meatballs, which he’d made kid-sized. He gave him a really cheesy piece of cheesy bread, and then he also put plenty of salad onto his son’s plate, but doused it liberally with ranch dressing.

“You need to eat all of the salad,” he reminded James.

“But Dad, if I eat all the salad, I won’t be hungry for another helping of s’gehtti.”

Adam’s lip twitched. “You can push through, I have faith.”

James huffed out a long suffering sigh, and I stifled a giggle.

I made up my plate, almost exactly the same as James, only I went for Italian dressing. The kid was right, his dad did make the best s’ghetti.

Dinner was loud. James cycled through topics the way other people channel-surfed. First there were dinosaurs. The T-Rex might have short arms, but he was powerful. He wanted to know more about Gathered, and if I was ever going to sell dinosaur toys. He wanted to know if I could play Mario Kart with him again after dinner.