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“Yeah. I guess I will,” Katy acknowledges with a slight smile.
I need to learn how to do this better. I can be the fun uncle every day of the week, but being the parent is fucking hard. I never know what to say or if I’m doing the right thing.
Parenting needs to come with a manual, or at least a reference guide.
We expect our parents to be perfect, but we forget that they’re human just as we are. Still, that doesn’t help me in court and that doesn’t help me when I don’t get it right.
“You know, I didn’t go to the beach a lot with my parents,” Layla continues. “My mom had red hair and very fair skin like my sister. So whenever they’d go in the sun, even with sunscreen, they’d turn into lobsters.” Layla makes pinchers with both of her hands and pretends to snap them at Katy.
Katy giggles, jumping away from them with a squeal, and I relax. “Like Sebastian.”
“Like Sebastian!” Layla points at Katy. “Only Sebastian is a crab, not a lobster.”
Katy stands and does a little body wiggle, shaking off some of the excess sand sticking to her. “Why did the crab cross the ocean?”
“Why?” Layla asks, smiling in rapt attention.
“Because he’s a crab!”
Lamest joke ever, but I start laughing my ass off, and so does Layla, because the way Katy delivers it is pure gold.
“Water!” Katy runs toward the ocean and I follow after her. Layla joins us and right before Katy hits the wet sand, I grab her hand and walk with her.
“Murder, that’s cold,” I hiss between my teeth, grimacing as the frigid waters of the Atlantic come racing up the sand and splashing over my feet and up my shins.
Katy belts out a high-pitched scream, the bottom half of her bathing suit bearing the brunt of the wave. “Deeper,” she urges.
“Ladybug, there is only so deep in I’m willing to go.”
“You mean because you’re afraid your balls will turn into frozen cocktail olives?” Layla whispers teasingly so only I can hear.
I throw her a side-eye, doing a quick covert glance at her in her bikini as I do. “One hundred percent accurate.”
I get a crooked smile in return. “You know I saw that.”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Uh-huh. Women always know when a man is checking us out.”
I shrug unrepentantly, giving her the same once over again, only this time not so covertly since I’ve already been busted. She has to be high if she thinks I haven’t been checking her out all damn day.
“I like the color of your bikini is all. Red looks good on you.”
And sexy as fuck. Triangles cover her pussy and tits, all held to her body by string. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail that’s pulled through the back of her Red Sox cap and white reflective sunglasses cover her eyes. She’s my teenage dream. Everything from the sports hat to the body to the girl is my fantasy come to life.
I was smart enough to leave my sunglasses and Boston Rebels hat on my beach chair, having been to the ocean several times with Katy in the past. The girl gets everything wet. I have no idea how she does it, but no matter what, it happens without fail.
“Uncle Cal, just a little more,” Katy protests, calling me away from the siren beside me. “You don’t have to hold my hand. I’m not a baby.”
“Fine. But you are to be no more than two feet away from me at all times,” I warn.
Katy rolls her eyes at me. “Like, duh.” She releases my hand and wades into the ocean a little deeper, clearly undisturbed by the cold water.
I blink about ten thousand times and then twist toward Layla. “When did that start?”
Layla giggles at my expression. “I think I was about her age when I learned the magnificent art of eye-rolling. She likely learned it at camp.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpan, watching Katy cup water in her hands and then launch it into the air sending sparkles of water every which way.
