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“The birthday season is coming up,” Tina said as she shuffled onto the couch and cozied up next to her husband. Light long since faded from their living room window, nighttime fell and the pattering of tiny feet (that the perpetrators were so sure couldn’t be heard from downstairs) had slowed until a final plop into their beds.
At least, Tina hoped they made it to their beds this time. She wondered if she needed to fish Ava out of her stuffed animal pile again, or if there would be another terrifying repeat of the time Griffin fell asleep right at the foot of his door.
“Mhmm,” Jimmy Jr. hummed noncommittally, flipping through channels to find that baking show they liked but not remembering the name. Bake… something. Something state-y. Bake USA? No, that was canceled last year after the judge Tina thought was hot got caught embezzling ovens.
How had the name slipped his mind? They watched it every week after the kids went to bed. Same time, same spot on the couch, a comfortable routine. Jimmy Jr. pursed his lips and kept clicking through the guide.
“They want something big again this year,” Tina continued, hoping to sneak in the ask while he was distracted.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm, huge. It’s a Bongo Jerry, the musical marsupial. It’s four feet tall and loud, of course.” Snuggling deeper into his chest, she mumbled, “The most expensive toy on the market.”
“Uh huh…” Jimmy Jr. said, clicking through channels slower now.
“So, we might need a little extra ca-”
“I am not going to ask for shifts at Pickles, Tina. I’m a father now.”
He’d sooner paint himself silver and busk for a buck than hit the pole.
Tina groaned in a slump, knocking her head into his stomach repeatedly as though it were a desk and she had just failed a pop quiz.
When it became apparent he wouldn’t cave to groveling, she switched to reasoning with him. With sound logic. Logically.
“But it could be so fun!” She argued. “You on stage and me in the crowd. We could pretend like we don’t know each other and-”
Snorting, Jimmy Jr. looked down at his wife and her pleading face.
Where others saw a mask of indifference, he noticed the slightest curve of her lip and minute angle of her brow. She was practically begging.
“And you’ll be the only one paying me for a private dance with what?” Jimmy Jr. paused for a beat then continued. “Exactly, with our money. Nothing earned, nothing gained, and the kids have no cake on their birthdays.”
“I wouldn’t say nothing gained,” Tina grumbled, settling in deeper and resting her head on his chest again. “I would actually have a really great time.”
Wagging her finger, she pointed towards the screen. “It’s that one, Baking Alaska.”
Jimmy Jr. selected the program, kissed the top of her head, and promised he would dance for her later. After they were SURE the kids were asleep.