“Good thinking.” Clarissa glares at Parker over her shoulder. “Not cool.”
“Sorry, babe. I thought it would be funny to watch him faceplant in your goulash.” She sheepishly flashes all her teeth. “Are we not in revenge mode anymore? I must have missed the memo.”
Dante speaks up next. “What’s a memo?”
“Do you want to read his Christmas story tonight?” Clarissa asks as I shovel in my third bowl of goulash.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get it,” Dante says, pushing away from the table. “Mommy, which day is it?”
“Day eight.”
“Okay!” He shouts before running toward his room.
“Will you text me the next time you make this?” I ask around a mouthful of macaroni. Clarissa laughs as she retrieves my bowl, and I stop her, spooning the last of the goulash in my mouth. “That’s not an answer,” I say, poking her side as she stacks our bowls in her hands.
“Okay, okay,” she says, jerking away from my fingers, “I p-p-promise.”
“I forgot you are ticklish.” I begin to work her sides as Parker chimes in.
“This is so…” she rests her chin in her hand with a sigh, her eyes hooded as she looks between the two of us. “It’s like watching a Hallmark movie, but I can read the bow chicka wow wow going on in your filthy minds, which makes it so much better.”
Clarissa knocks Parker’s arm from beneath her. “Would you stop making things weird?” She hauls the dishes to the sink, and I stand, gathering the glasses.
“I’ll help.”
Clarissa shakes her head. “You sit.”
“I wasn’t raised that way.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, snagging the glasses from my hands, “no one else in this house today ran a thirty-five-yard touchdown and slam dunked a ball through the goal post.”
“You saw that, huh?”
She smiles. “So did Dante. Pretty awesome.”
“Did you tell your good neighbor you dumped Mr. Tighty Whities?” Parker bellows from the table just as Clarissa snatches her mug away.
“No more eggnog for you.”
Clarissa nervously darts her gaze away from the question in my eyes as Dante comes running back to the table with his book.
“I’ll read it to Troy, Mommy!”
“Oh, yeah,” she taps his nose. “I forgot you can read.”
“Duh.” Dante slaps his forehead. “Oh, poop. I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to say t
hat no more.”
“Anymore. You aren’t supposed to say that anymore. I’ll let it slide this once,” Clarissa says breezily, and I know it has everything to do with the help of Captain Morgan and the carb coma we’re all succumbing to. Sink filling, she pushes up her sleeves, glancing over at me while I study the book. “It’s a set I got him last year. One book for every day before Christmas. He’s doing great with his vocabulary and comprehension, but we’re working on his—”
“Tenses, I know.”
We share a smile just as Parker’s starts sputtering out porn music.
“Parker!” Clarissa hisses as I scoop up Dante and hang him over my shoulder.