“Erm… thanks,” I replied.
“Shoes?” Rush muttered. “Didn’t get that far. The skirt’s burned on my brain.”
My eyes moved to Tack to see now he was grinning.
Tabby looked at her father. “This your new woman that Mom’s in a tizzy about?”
Tack didn’t answer, Rush did, “Duh, Tab, you saw her skirt.”
Tabby looked back at me and grinned, murmuring, “Right.” Then she informed me, “Tyra’s a cool name.”
“Um… thanks,” I said. “Is, uh… your name Tabitha?”
“Totally,” she replied.
“That’s a pretty name too,” I told her.
“I hate my name. Mom gave me my name and I hate my Mom ‘cause she’s a total bitch,” she replied.
I couldn’t argue with that and I couldn’t agree with it. I also couldn’t make myself vanish in a puff of smoke and reappear in Siberia even though I was using every fiber of my being to try.
Since my body wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke and a response was required, I said, “Well, once a gift is given, no matter how you feel about the person giving it, it’s yours. And even though you’re angry at your Mom now, she still gave you a pretty name. So you shouldn’t think about her giving it to you. You should just think of owning it and you do so, um… own it.”
“Dig it,” was Tabby’s response made through a widening smile.
“I’m Rush,” Rush stated. “My name’s Cole but no one calls me that. They call me Rush.”
“Hey, Rush,” I said to him.
“He’s always in a rush,” Tabby explained. “Dad says even when he was a baby, the minute he could crawl, he was rushin’ everywhere. And it’s the God’s honest truth, let me tell you, and he’s got the speeding tickets now to prove it.”
“You should probably, maybe, uh… check that impulse when you’re behind the wheel of a car,” I advised Rush. “Speeding tickets are expensive.”
“No shit,” Rush grinned at me.
“You guys gonna shoot the shit with Tyra for the next four hours or are we gonna get a sandwich?” Tack cut in to ask.
Tabby jumped up and down twice, turning toward her father, shouting, “Sandwich!”
“I want enchiladas,” Rush declared.
“I’ll make fajitas tonight for dinner,” Tack told his son and I stared at him. The idea of rough and ready biker guy Tack in a kitchen cooking was something my mind violently wanted to expunge but it couldn’t because he’d said it.
“Rock on!” Tabby exclaimed, throwing both her arms in the air, fingers extended in devil’s horns. Then she whirled to me and dropped her arms. “You had Dad’s fajitas, Tyra?”
“Um… no,” I answered.
“Get ready to have your world rocked,” Rush stated. “Dad’s fajitas are the shit.”
“I, actually… uh, can’t make dinner,” I started, all eyes, including Tack’s, locked on me and Tack’s, I noticed, looked annoyed for reasons unknown since he hadn’t actually ask me to dinner. “I have a ritual that I never miss on Thursdays.”
“What’s that?” Tabby enquired, her head tilting to the side.
“Thursday Takeaway,” I told her.
“Thursday Takeaway?” Rush asked.
“Um… yeah,” I answered. “Tonight I’m doing Imperial Chinese. I’ve been looking forward to it since last Thursday.”