"I don't like my whole name."
"No? What do you like then?"
"Avi."
"Avi. I can call you that."
"Should I call you Miss..."
"Morelli. But, God, no. Makes me sound like an old lady. You can call me Alessa. Or Less."
"Okay."
"So, are you hungry?" I asked.
"Not yet."
"You wanna watch some TV?"
"No."
"You want to go sulk off by yourself? It's okay if you do. I like to sulk too. I'm an expert sulker, actually."
"I was gonna play some video games."
"Yeah? What ones?"
"Do you even know any?" he asked, tone condescending in the way only pre-teen kids could be. Like you were ancient and out of touch with everything. I imagine I used that tone a lot on the adults around me at his age.
"Ah, yeah. I bet I can kick your as—butt," I said, shaking my head at myself.
"My dad curses. It's okay."
"Yeah, well, if I slip up, promise you won't tell on me, yeah?"
At the opportunity to keep something from his father, his eyes brightened a bit. And, hey, it was a firm belief of mine that kids needed to get away with some shit from time to time. So I didn't feel bad at all about it.
"Okay."
"Alright, so what gaming system do you got?" I asked.
We went ahead and got a little wrapped up in his favorite game then. We were both stubborn and competitive, so we obsessively tried to one-up each other.
Time fell away.
A lot of it, apparently.
Because the next thing I knew, the light was flashing on, and Santiago's voice was booming in the space.
"What is going on here?" he asked, sounding a mix of confused, exhausted, and frustrated.
"Busted," I grumbled to Avi who let out a little chuckle.
"It's midnight," Santiago added.
"Crap, yeah, guess you should be in bed by now, huh?" I asked, giving Avi a guilty look. "Go on. Get ready for bed. I'll clean up our mess. And get yelled at by your father," I added.
Avi offered me a sympathetic look before rushing off, not wanting to get caught up in the possible argument.
"In my defense, you didn't tell me when the kid's bedtime was," I said, climbing off the couch, feeling stiff in a bunch of places from sitting for so long.
I was about to reach to clean up the Chinese food cartons when Santiago unexpectedly dropped down on the spot his son vacated, reaching for a carton, and fishing out some sweet & sour chicken.
"It's fine. He's not in school right now anyway. It looks like you two bonded," he added as I sat back down, reaching for the lo mein even though I'd already eaten my body weight in food over the past several hours. "I haven't heard him laugh since before his mom..." Santiago said, trailing off, not wanting to say it. "Did he mention her?"
"No."
"Not at all?" he asked, sounding concerned.
"No. But in his defense, he was actively trying to slaughter me most of the day. It wasn't really conducive to actual conversation. Unless threats of mutilation count."
"You play video games?"
"When you talk about them to your kid, can I suggest you not do so while making it sound stupid and like a waste of time?"
I knew I was overstepping a line by the way Santiago's brow arched up at me. But I would be kidding myself if I said I could learn to bite my tongue just because I technically worked for him.
"I never played," Santiago admitted. "Guess it's good he has someone to play with."
"Did his mom play?"
"Brit wasn't big on screen time. They tended to go out and do shit. Museums, the park, after-school activities."
"He doesn't do them anymore?"
"I guess he will start up again when he gets back to school."
"What ones does he do?"
"He has an art class and piano and fencing."
"Fencing? Is he an ultra-upper-class, country club kid from Connecticut?" I asked, getting a small smirk out of Santiago.
"I would have preferred some sort of martial arts, but Brit was into that high-brow type shit."
"Is Avi?"
"Avi?" he asked, brows pinching.
"Your son," I said, shaking my head at him.
"His name is Ottavio."
"Yeah, and he told me he wants to be called Avi. So, yeah, that's what I'm going to call him."
"Since when?" he asked. "The nickname thing."
"I didn't ask. Maybe you should."
"Giving me parenting advice?" he asked, reaching up to loosen his tie.
"I just imagine if I didn't like what my parents were calling me, they should maybe know about it."
"I hated my name at his age too," Santiago admitted, shrugging. "That's why most people call me Santi. Should have figured Ottavio was a bit off for him too."
"He might like it when he grows up. Right now, he's trying to fit in with peers. Eventually he will want to stand out."
"Yeah. You talk about anything else?"
"Well, he thinks his teacher looks like a lizard," I said, getting a choked laugh from him.