by Rhys Ford
“Your husband’s handsome,” Gayle whispered and nudged Lang in the ribs. “Good job on catching that one. He seems like a good father.”
“The best,” Lang agreed. “I never thought I’d be married and raising a daughter, but life sometimes hands you exactly what you need.”
“Oh, tell me about that.” She laughed as she split open a biscuit. “Larry and I were told we couldn’t have kids, and then boom, there was Charlie, making me as sick as a dog after eating scrambled eggs. And once she was out, Fiona was hot on her heels, thumbing her nose at all the doctors who told me I was lucky it happened once. Sometimes life is weird. You’ve got a good kid, though.”
“Yeah, she’s great.” Lang rested his elbows on the plastic-covered table as he watched Zig hold up the phone for the Sanchez girls to read off a clue to her. “Wouldn’t trade her for the world.”
“All parents say that,” Gayle remarked and then sucked a hiss in between her teeth. “Or at least the good ones. A lot of people forget the point of having kids is to raise them up to be good adults. It’s hard sometimes to find the balance between wanting to force them into doing something and having them choose to do what’s right. My baby over there is as stubborn as my father and never wants to admit she’s made a mistake or done something wrong. She’s going to be the reason I’ll have gray hair before she goes to college.”
“I’m pretty sure Zig will contribute to mine.” Lang smoothed his tousled hair. “I’m hoping to go silver gracefully—a bit at the temples so I look distinguished. I don’t think I’m willing to go bald, but luckily it doesn’t seem to run in my family.”
“Ah, Larry just shaves his head. Says it’s easier to take care of, but I think he just likes how it looks. Makes him seem like more of a badass when he’s on patrol.” She perked up, watched the girls intently for a second, and then relaxed again. “But everyone knows he’s a big baby. We’ve got four cats because he finds stray kittens and brings them home. If I didn’t put my foot down, I’d be living in a zoo.”
“We have two cats. He brought the kid; I brought the cats,” Lang said while Deacon began to gesture in the air as he described something on a bike, but it looked like he was cupping something, and Lang flushed red as his mind drifted back to that morning when they’d both woken up early and more than a little hot for each other. Lang cleared his throat and continued, “Cats who’ve decided Zig and Deacon are much better evening companions when we’re lounging around in the living room.”
“Well, next kitten he rescues out of a drain pipe, I’ll send it your way. I’ve run out of people to take them. I need to branch out.” Gayle leaned over to steal a forkful of noodles from her husband’s plate. “He’s going to be useless until you guys go home. Luckily he doesn’t have to go on shift tonight, so we can get home late. So you said your husband already had his daughter when he met you? Was he married before?”
“Oh no, um… Zig’s his niece, but her mother passed away, so he got custody, and after we got married, we asked her if she wanted to be our daughter.” Lang saw the question forming on Gayle’s mouth before she could even voice it. “Her father’s dead too. Long story short, he wasn’t exactly parent material.”
“Good guy, then, your Deacon. Stepping up.” She nodded and chewed slowly. “Kind of like Larry’s cousin, Kel. Really nice guy. My mom keeps trying to hook him up with girls from her church, but I keep telling her he’s gay… or bisexual. I don’t ask, but most of the time, it seems he likes guys. Took me a long time to get over that, you know? Him being… not like the rest of the family… but thing is, while I was dating Larry, the one guy who was there all the time for him was his cousin Kel. Helped him get into the police department. I get pregnant and have to go on bed rest, and Kel’s there making sure we’ve got groceries and stuff.
“Then when my folks’ place got flooded out, he and Larry were the ones who dried out the house and ripped up the carpet. None of my brothers were there. No one’s there but Larry’s cousin.” Gayle picked at the edges of her napkin and watched the girls play. “My dad’s an asshole. Calls Kel names behind his back. The man comes over and digs out his house, and my father’s got to be an asshole because he likes guys. I figured right then and there, between the two of them, Kel’s the better man, and that’s who I want my daughters to be around. He’s their godfather. Something happens to the two of us, he’s on the hook for them and the cats. He helped bring his sisters up and takes care of his mom, and he didn’t even blink when we asked.”
“My brother and his husband will take Zig if something happens,” Lang murmured. “Not that I want anything to happen, but I don’t want her to be lost in foster care again while West fights the courts for custody. She’s already been through that once.”
“Yeah, that wears on you,” Gayle agreed softly. “I work for a child advocacy program in the city. You won’t believe the things people do to kids. And that’s just the ones who can make it out of wherever they were. I don’t even want to think about the ones I never see. You two look like you’ve got a handful, but she’s a great kid. Smart and friendly.”
“I worry sometimes,” he admitted. “I just want her to be okay.”
“A few bumps in the road, but thing is, watch her. She runs around, and every once in a while she stops to look to see if you guys are still here. It’s her way of reassuring herself she’s loved, especially when your husband notices and smiles at her. You smile at her too. She’ll get there,” she reassured Lang. “But God help you when puberty strikes. That girl’s going to be gorgeous.”
“She already is.” Lang winced as Zig let loose a hot profane curse when she tripped on a tree root and landed in a wide muddy puddle. “Okay, we’re working on that.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Gayle threw back her head and laughed. “Larry thought it would be fun to teach Charlie the f-word when she wasn’t even two, because he thought it would shock me. Turns out, God had it in for him, because we’re at church the next Sunday and he’s holding her when she starts screaming it at the top of her lungs for five minutes straight. And… now my kids are teaching Zig Spanish swear words. Okay, time to break this up so you guys can get your trees home and I can get my husband to chopping down ours. Give me your guys’ number, and I’ll give you ours. Next time you guys head up or we head down, we can visit. You two are a riot, and I think Larry would think he’d died and gone to heaven if he ever got into your guy’s shop.”
“That would be great.” Lang reached for his phone but stopped when Gayle cleared her throat. “What?”
“Look, don’t take this wrong, but just tell me she doesn’t have a pony.” She shifted her attention to Lang and pinned him with a slightly maternal glare. “Because I don’t want to be the one who tells my girls they can’t have a pony just because she has one.”
“No pony.” He laughed and shook his head. “But she does have a vintage motorcycle she’s restoring with her dad.”
“Great, no telling Larry, then.” Gayle shook her head. “The girls I can handle. He’d just go out and buy one, and I’d lose half of my garage to another project he’ll never finish. I’d rather have another four cats.”
“SO THAT was the first time they’d gone to cut their own tree?” Deacon began to unpack the cookie cutters and frowned at Lang when he discovered the dinosaur hidden among them. “Really? You got a T. rex?”
“They didn’t have a triceratops, so that’s what I got,” Lang explained as he sidestepped Deacon’s playful slap to his thigh. “And yeah, that’s what Gayle said.”
“They were starting a tradition. Just like us. I told them about the ones we’ve already done, and Charlie thought we should maybe do a Christmas piñata. That would be cool.” Zig lugged in the tackle box where she stored craft supplies. “Are we doing the candy stuff too?”
“What candy stuff? And no on the piñata. You and Rome seem to think that kind of thing is a contact sport. One black eye and one almost-broken nose is more than enough.” Deacon dug t
hrough a paper bag left on the counter. “Okay, this looks like some leftovers from the gingerbread thing. What are we doing here?”
“You spray the metal cookie cutters and put mints in them and then bake them. They melt, and you poke a hole in them when they’re still hot so you can put a ribbon in them.” Zig took the bag from him. “They get all swirly and pretty. We saw it on a video.”
“They’re going to bring ants or roaches,” he protested, and Lang shrugged. “I mean, the salt dough is safe, but melted-down mints? On a tree? If we don’t get bugs, the mint’s going to make the cats crazy. Gray’s already an asshole about the ornaments.”
“Okay, so maybe we just eat them when we’re done, or use them to decorate cupcakes or something. I’ve got mini trees we can use. Those would be cool.” Lang stopped moving long enough to tilt his head back for a kiss, and Deacon complied easily and deepened the moment. “God, maybe we should have done this tomorrow and gone to bed early.”
“Hey, I’m on a time clock here,” Zig yelled from the table. “I’ve got to take pictures of everything we’re doing, and you guys are making goo-goo eyes at each other. I’m not having smoochy shots in my presentation.”
“So bossy,” Lang muttered against Deacon’s lips.
“Yeah, she takes after you,” he teased. Then he pinched Lang’s butt and moved away. “So kiddo, did the Sanchez girls like going up there to chop trees?”
“Think so. We left before they got theirs, but they were excited. I told them where the best ones were. I think their dad was going to get them a small one to put in their room, kinda like I have.” She lined up bottles of glitter and paints, ready for when the ornaments would be cool enough to paint. “And I don’t want to hang the candy ones. I just want to see if it works.”
“That I can do,” Deacon replied. “Here, we’ll make a mint T. rex and… let me see what else we’ve got. How about a cat?”
“We’ll have to make two cats or they’ll get jealous.” She sniffed. “Unless we eat them right away so Fafhrd and Gray don’t see it.”
“I vote they get wrapped up and saved for later, because we’ve all been sugared out today.” He sidestepped Lang and moved to grab the dough they mixed up earlier and put it in the fridge. “Let’s get these going, and if you’re too tired when they’re done, we can paint them tomorrow.”
“It’s not even eight yet.” She popped her head up and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is this going to be like the time you told me I could eat ice cream in my room if I went to bed early?”
Deacon couldn’t help but wish for another two-hour soak like the one he’d gotten in the hot tub earlier that night. His arms still ached from hauling out the trees and loading them into the truck. Lang did his best to be helpful, guiding the front of the trees and maneuvering them upstairs as Deacon followed close behind. But he was feeling every ounce of the wood and branches he’d carried that day as aches formed along his shoulders and lower back.
“Would it work?” he teased. “Because, kiddo, your dad’s getting old. I’m feeling today a lot.”
“You can’t get old. I’m not done growing up yet.” Worry knitted a fretful frown across her forehead and down her nose, but its fierceness eased back when Lang kissed the top of her head as he walked by. “At least wait until I’m really old. Like… fifty.”
“Fifty’s not old, honey.” Lang began to roll the dough out on the marble countertop. “Ninety’s old. Maybe even a hundred.”
“Okay, get to a hundred and one and we’ll talk about it,” she declared. “I want to cut them out and bake them. I’m okay with decorating tomorrow, but we have to do it before the tree so I can hang the ones I want on them.”
“Just one thing, love,” Lang spoke up softly. “You’ve got to leave a couple behind so we can put them on the big tree when it gets here.”
“The prettiest ones.” She nodded.
“Well, depends. If those are the ones you like the most,” Deacon remarked as he pulled out a chair to sit down next to Zig. “Sometimes the funky-looking ones are the best.”
“I’m funky-looking.” She pursed her mouth. “Jennifer Carson said so.”
“Yeah, well, Jennifer Carson’s a b—” Deacon caught himself as Lang loudly cleared his throat. Scooting closer to his daughter, Deacon hooked his arm over the back of her chair. “Honey, I can tell you that you’re pretty until I’m blue in the face, but we both know everyone’s got a different idea of what’s beautiful. I’m just trying to make you grow up to be a good person. I don’t care how you look or what you want to do with your life, although I’d like you to go to college and get a good job. We just want you to be happy and strong inside. Everything else is just gravy, kid.”
“I like gravy,” she retorted, bumping him with her elbow.
“You worry about you, Zig, and let the world figure out how to deal with that.” Lang stopped rolling the dough out and let a slow smile slide over his handsome face. “Just try to be the best person you can be.”
“I do. I am.” She sighed, rested her head on Deacon’s shoulder, and slumped down a little in the chair. “I just wish it wasn’t so hard to do, because I really want to just punch Jennifer Carson in the face sometimes. Even if it’s Christmas.”
“Well, that’s what makes you a better person,” Deacon replied. “Just because you want to, doesn’t mean you will or should. Now, how about if you two start cutting out those snowflakes while I go dig up some ibuprofen, because man, I might not be a hundred and one, but I sure as hell feel like it.”
Five
“I THOUGHT king’s cake was a Mardi Gras thing.” Zig leaned forward from her bar stool perch and rested her elbows on the marble counter of the kitchen peninsula. “Why are we doing one now? It’s Christmas.”
“Because some people make them for the Epiphany, which is kind of after Christmas, but I thought we’re a rule-breaking kind of family,” Deacon replied while he went over the ingredients one more time. “It’s a New Orleans thing, so that’s kind of a bit of your dad’s family. Your aunt Markie suggested it ’cause the Epiphany celebrates the three kings who went off to go find baby Jesus. That’s kind of Christmas. Just work with me here, kiddo. I’m doing the best I can.”
“This kind of shit’s why people start hanging pickles on their Christmas trees,” she warned, and she made a face when Deacon shot her a stern look. “It’s fu—”
“Mouth’s getting kind of loose there, missy,” he warned softly as he measured the flour into a mixing bowl. “We’ve talked about this. If I can use better words, so can you.”
She muttered something under her breath that Deacon didn’t catch, but an eyebrow lifted in her general direction made Zig clear her throat and repeat it. “You swear at the shop all the time.”
“Fair, but here’s the thing, and I’m not going to tell you it’s ’cause I’m an adult.” Deacon put down the measuring cup.
She wrinkled her nose and returned his slight frown. “Then why? If you’re an adult, no one can tell you what to do.”
“You’d think so, kid, but that’s not the case.” Deacon chuckled at Zig’s pained grimace. “Look, even if you’re the boss, you’ve still got to interact with people. I talk to customers and suppliers and sometimes even cops. You think they want me swearing at them all day? And what if you need to talk to a lawyer or someone official? How’d you think you’d sound to them?”
“Sounds like a cop-out,” Zig muttered and kicked at the side of the peninsula. “You’re supposed to be able to do what you want when you’re an adult.”
“You can do whatever you want. Doesn’t mean people have to put up with your shit. Actions have consequences. Stick your hand in fire, you’re going to get burned. I’m not saying try to please everyone, but just don’t go out of your way to fuck with people’s lives or happiness.” He leveled the flour and then tossed it into the bowl with the other cup he’d measured out. “You’ve got to decide who you want to be, how you want to act, because you’ve got to li
ve with yourself. Seriously, if you don’t want to be around assholes, you can’t be one, because as Buckaroo said, no matter where you go, there you are.”
“He didn’t say it first.” She rolled her eyes.
“No, but he said it best,” he countered as he reached for the baking soda. “And man, I hope this is the right stuff or this cake’s going to be jacked.”
“So you’re saying I can swear with my friends but not with people I want to impress.”
“Or people you’ve got to do business with, like teachers or anyone you’ve got to leave with a good impression.” Deacon nodded toward the salt. “Pass that over, please. And see what you can do about the yeast. It’s got to be mixed with warm water or something. The hot water I boiled up should be cool enough by now. You can put it in that rice bowl.”
“What if someone’s pushing down on you? Like that teacher who told me my hair was ugly?” Zig slid the salt to Deacon, turned over the package of yeast, and skimmed through the instructions. “You went off on her.”
“I didn’t swear at her or the principal. But yeah, I got loud. I stayed as respectful as I could, because something like that? Swearing’s a trap. People hear one fuck and they shut down.” Deacon set the measuring cup aside and watched his daughter carefully tap out the yeast. She flicked her eyes up to his face, her focus split between the bowl and him. “Gives them ammo against you, because in their heads, you’ve ramped things up and they can cry about being the victim, even if they’re the ones who fucked up.