Gracie bursts into giggles and a moment later, Hannah joins her. Their giggles turn to squeals when Grant picks both of them up and tickles them mercilessly for several seconds.
“Daddy!” Hannah cries. “Daddy, stop!”
“Never!” he says, “I won’t get to do this for much longer. I’m taking advantage of every chance I get.”
“Stop!” Gracie calls out, “Or we’ll make your character evil and stinky!”
“Hey!” Grant says, setting her down and adopting a hurt expression. “I’m not stinky!”
Gracie puts her hands on her hips and looks at me. “Mom, is Daddy stinky?”
“Very stinky,” I confirm.
He shakes his head and says in an exaggerated voice, “No love, no love. I do so much for this family and still,no love!”
“I love you, Daddy!” Jeremy pipes up from his grandma’s arms.
“Good,” Grant calls, pointing at him. “You are now my favorite child.”
Jeremy grins proudly and sticks his tongue out at Gracie. Gracie shares a look with Hannah and they both grin evilly at Jeremy, raising their hands into claws.
“Tickle monsters!” Jeremy calls, wrenching himself free of my mom and running away squealing while the girls give chase.
I sigh exasperatedly and pick up the notebooks and art supplies they leave on the ground. “Maybe we teach them to pick up after themselves before we get them the programming software,” I say.
“Oh, let them have fun,” Grant says, “It’s Thanksgiving. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying myself,” I say. I lean closer and whisper into his ear, “Although there’s something else I can do that I might enjoy more.”
He grins and reaches for me, but Dad interrupts him. “Grant!” he calls, “Keep your hands off my daughter for five minutes and come watch the game with me. Your son seems to think that Barrett is a better quarterback than Esposito and I want you to enjoy it with me when he’s proven wrong.”
“On my way!” he calls. He turns to me and says, “Sorry, honey. It’s time for Malcolm to learn a lesson about football.”
I grin and say sweetly, “But Barrettisa better quarterback. He leads the leagues in touchdowns. Esposito is only third."
“That’s because Denver’s offensive line is crap!” Grant cries, “Icould lead the league in touchdowns if I had the Mooses of Minnesota blocking for me.”
“It’s moose, dear,” I reply, still sweetly. “The plural of moose is moose.”
“Whatever,” he says, “Don’t be a brat.”
I giggle and say, “You wouldn’t love me as much if I wasn’t a brat.”
“You’re lucky that’s true,” he says.
He turns to leave, but not before he swats me playfully on the ass. I yelp and say, “Babe! There’s children here!”
“There’s children everywhere,” he says, “I can’t even keep track anymore. What’s your name again?”
Robert looks up from the barbecue and says—perfectly seriously—“Puddin Tane, and if you ask me again, you need to get your blasted ears checked."
I giggle as Grant blinks and says, “Blasted? Where did you come up with blasted?”
“It’s in the Western I’m reading,” Robert replies, “Although if you’d prefer, I can say, f—”
“No, blasted is fine,” Grant replies with a wry smile.
“Grant!” Dad calls from the living room. “Get your butt in here! They’re lining up for the kickoff!”