realizing the true value of what it means to become speechless. While everyone around me is sputtering as they try to find a way to let the child down easy, I can’t seem to formulate a single sound.
“This is a family event, Prissy.” Hank is tripping all over himself in his attempt to make this right without crushing the little one’s spirit. “You know Paw-Paw loves going to these things with you.”
The little girl folds her arms on the tabletop and looks the old guy dead on. “No offense, Paw, but you’re kinda…old.”
His mouth falls open in mock horror.
“Priss. It’s fine. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Whitney rushes out, blushed to the roots of her blonde hair. “You can’t ask that of Mr. Wy—”
“I’ll do it.” I don’t know who’s more surprised by my outburst, Whitney or me.
“You will?” Whit’s head jerks back with surprise at the same time that a huge smile covers Prissy’s face.
A lifetime of feeling out of place over my own lack of parents pushes me to make what’s probably a very rash decision. But I know what it’s like always being the odd man out. I understand her desire to fit in, to not be the one on the arm of the old guy for once.
“I’d be honored.” I dab at my mouth with the cloth napkin in my lap and clear my throat. “I mean…” I turn to my left, locking eyes with the fidgeting woman beside me. “As long as it’s okay with you, of course.”
“Say, yes, Momma,” Prissy begs when the cat seems to catch hold of Whitney’s tongue. “I’ll even wear a dress!”
“I don’t know…” She looks to her parents for guidance, both of whom just shrug their shoulders and smile.
“Makeup!” Prissy shouts, pulling out the big guns to bribe her mother to allow it. “You can put on my makeup.” She laces her little hands in front of her face, fanning those baby blues like a pro.
I locate Whitney’s hand beneath the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She’s so excited,” I murmur. “Let me do this for her.”
“Fine,” the flustered woman says. “But I will be taking you up on that makeover, Priscilla Louise.”
“Fine!” Echoing her mother, she pumps her fist into the air a few times. “I’m gonna have the hottest dad at the dance.”
I won’t even lie; my chest swells with that comment.
Whitney’s head falls into her hand with a loud groan. “He’s a friend of the family, Prissy, not a dad…yours or anyone else’s.”
“Potato—tomato,” she says, waving her mom off. The kid is bouncing around like a little jumping bean, suddenly unable to keep her bottom in her seat. It feels good knowing I’m the one responsible for her excitement.
“You’re not, right?” Whit turns to me and asks, her voice laden with unease.
“Not what? Hot? I’m offended.”
“A dad! This is crazy, I don’t even know enough about you to answer that with confidence.”
I choke on a sip of Coke. “I have no children.”
“But you’re open to it, right?” The question comes from the busybody sitting across the table.
“Momma!” Whitney’s forehead lands on my shoulder. “I am so sorry,” she groans.
“Yeah,” I say, biting back a laugh. “Eventually, with the right woman, sure.”
“Hear that, Whit?” she gloats. “Said, he’s open to it.”
“I’d be open to being put up for adoption right about now.”
“Well,” Hank interrupts. “I hate to be the one to put an end to this titillating conversation, but I have a body waiting to be embalmed downstairs.” His chair screeches when he scoots back from the table. “Priss, you comin’?” He hooks a thumb toward the door.
“Can I, Momma?”
“Please,” she answers, instantly deflating with relief. “Go on and give us all a little peace.”
Once they’ve left, Marie starts gathering soiled plates in her arms. “I’m gonna go start on these here dishes, if you two wanna go find a movie or something in the living room…or Whit’s room. There’s a TV in there too,” the shameless woman volunteers. “We uh…got a dumpster ’round back as well.” Whitney’s eyes widen then narrow, and I would not be surprised to see actual laser beams shoot out of them.
“Actually,” I say, putting myself between Whitney and her mother before there’s a brawl, “I was just about to ask your lovely daughter if she would accompany me for a nightcap. Beau texted me a few minutes ago to see if we wanted to stop by for a Friendsgiving game of poker.”
“I don’t know,” Whitney