“Okay,” she said. “I think this is good.”
“How is it good?”
“Well, you’ve just told me about all these good things in your life,” she said. “Big improvements from just six months ago.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what if, instead of thinking about solving your whole life, you just think about adding additional good things. One at a time. Just let your pile of good things grow.”
“This is investment advice, isn’t it? You’re personal-bank-ing me.”
“It’s good advice,” she said.
He was quiet for a moment. “Eve, do you think it was damaging to grow up without a father?”
“Probably,” she said, stealing his biscuit. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
“Well, stop,” she said. “I told you, figure out what’s right with you.”
Before they left, she talked him into taking her older son to see the Pokemon movie that weekend.
“I can’t take him,” Eve said, “I’m allergic to Pikachu.” Then she said, “Get it? Pikachu? Pikachu. It sounds like I’m sneezing.” When they walked out of the KFC, Lincoln stopped Eve on the sidewalk to hug her. She let him hold on to her for just a moment. Then she patted him stiffly on the back. “Okay, that’s enough,” she said. “Save it for Mom.”
LINCOLN MET JUSTIN and Dena at the Ranch Bowl Saturday night. Lincoln wore his new denim jacket.
He’d had to buy new jeans that week, smaller jeans, and the jacket had been an impulse buy. He’d worn one like it in junior high, and that had been the last time he’d ever come close to feeling like a badass. He forgot to take the price tag off, so Justin called him “Minnie-fucking-Pearl” and “XXLT”
all night. They stayed out so late, Lincoln slept in and didn’t have time to shower before he picked up his nephewthe next afternoon.
“You smell like cigarette smoke,” Jake Jr. said, climbing into Lincoln’s car. “Do you smoke?”
“No. I went to a concert last night.”
“With smoking?” the six-year-old asked. “And drinking?”
“Some people were smoking and drinking,” Lincoln said, “but not me.”
Jake shook his head sadly. “That stuff’ll kill you.”
“That’s true,” Lincoln said.
“I hope I don’t get any of this smoke on me. I have to go to school tomorrow.”
The Pokemon movie was even worse than Lincoln had expected. It was almost a relief every time Jake Jr. had to go to the bathroom. “My mom says I can’t go alone,” Jake whispered. “She says I’m so cute, someone might try to take me.”
“My mom used to tell me the same thing,” Lincoln said.
From: Beth Fremont
To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
Sent: Mon, 12/20/1999 1:45 PM
Subject: My Cute Guy has a kid.
Can you believe it? A kid! And probably a wife, too. How could he do this to me?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> ???
<<Beth to Jennifer>> My thoughts exactly.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> What I meant by that was: give me the information that you have and I don’t —that is making you talk like a crazy person.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I saw him (them) yesterday at Cinema Center. I was going to see Fight Club again, and as I was buying my ticket, I saw My Cute Guy getting in line for popcorn. So—don’t judge —I got in line behind him (them), right behind him, and just sucked in his presence for three and a half minutes.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m still confused. You saw him with his wife and kid? And then you sucked in his presence? What does that even entail?
<<Beth to Jennifer>>
1. Just the kid. Like a 5-to-10-year-old kid.
2. And “sucking in his presence” entails: Standing. Exalting. Inhaling. Trying not to bite his shoulder.
Realizing that my mouth is the exact height as his shoulder.
Memorizing what he was wearing—camouflage pants, hiking boots, a Levi’s jean jacket. (Like a very 1985 Levi’sjean jacket. Hard to explain, but very, very cute.)
Noticing that his shoulders might be the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen on someone who isn’t a lumberjack. Marveling that I’m the kind of girl who finds a thick neck ridiculously attractive. (Is it thick necks in general? Or just his? I don’t know.)
Imagining that if I were standing this close to him somewhere else, like at a grocery store or a restaurant, people might think we were together.
Deciding that his hair is about three shades lighter than mine. Cadbury colored.