for the third floor.
She scrunches up her face in disgust. “I don’t like eggs.”
“You know how to make an egg roll? You push it. Get it? You push the egg and it rolls. That’s how you make an egg roll.”
She doesn’t even crack a smile.
“You’re starting to remind me of your mom.”
“I’m not your mom!”
I try not to laugh at her response because she’s clearly in a bratty mood, and I don’t want to encourage this behavior, but it’s so difficult to keep a straight face. This is what I love the most about Mila. She’s still too young to understand most of my jokes, but instead of asking questions or looking confused, she gets angry because she automatically assumes I’m the one who doesn’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I know I should correct her, and sometimes I do, but most of the time I find her self-righteous toddler brat-titude too adorable to intervene.
When I knock on the door of Jason’s suite, I’m surprised that I don’t hear any movement or voices inside. I knock a few more times without an answer and Mila starts rubbing her face on my shoulder. She must not have slept well in our bed last night if she’s already jonesin’ for a nap.
It took Lindsay a couple of hours yesterday to get over the fact that I missed the appointment with the electrician. She’s almost always in the mood for sex when she’s pregnant, so having Mila in our bed for the past few days since we got back from Tahiti has been frustrating for her. For both of us, actually. But we can’t let Mila sleep in her bedroom until the knob and tube wiring is changed.
The previous owners of this house ran out of money halfway through the renovation, so they upgraded all the electrical work except for the wiring in Mila’s room, which we suspect they may have been using as an office. When we closed escrow on the house in July, there was no sink in the master bath and the kitchen cabinets were still in boxes in the garage. Luckily, my dad let me borrow a few of the carpenters who work for his company, Parker Construction, and we were able to get everything move-in ready in five days.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Jason’s number, but it’s his bodyguard Joe who answers with a gruff Hey. “Are you guys around?” I reply. “I’m just outside the hotel room.”
“Nah, man. Jason got into some trouble last night. His parents asked me to fly him home.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Joe is silent for a few seconds before he answers. “He got cited for underage drinking, then he insulted the Latino policeman who gave him the ticket. The hashtags #gringogreene and #jerkyjason are trending worldwide right now. It’s not a good time to be Jason Greene.”
I sigh as I head back toward the elevator. “Thanks for being honest with me. I guess I’ll have to figure something else out for the party. Later, man.”
The seven-minute drive back to our house is filled with Disney channel music and panicked thoughts. I didn’t make a Plan B in the event that Jason didn’t follow through. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.
I think back to the man I was ten years ago, when I had just finished my court-ordered anger management course after beating Kaia’s biological father to a pulp. I was no better than Jason Greene at twenty-two years old than he is at seventeen. I can’t pass judgment on him, but that doesn’t stop the hopeless feeling from settling in. I was not prepared for this scenario. I really don’t want to let Kaia down today.
I guess I can stop at a toy store and get my birthday girl a bunch of extravagant toys she’s been wanting, but Lindsay and I have been very adamant about not teaching the girls to covet material things. We want them to know it’s the human connections and experiences that are the most treasured gifts, not fancy toys and electronics.
If there’s anything I hope to teach my children before they die, it’s how to fail gracefully, then get up and try again.
I shake my head as I turn the SUV into the driveway. I’m going to have to get Lindsay to play the part of Grayson in today’s skit.
I enter the house and set Mila down on the wood floor. She immediately sets off toward the backyard,