“Dad, why are you picking on me?” she asked, as she slid the menu to the end of the table and took a sip of water.
“No, I’m dead serious,” I said. “Your mother said you’re not eating very well at home, so I’m supposed to fill you up while you’re here, I guess.”
“I eat fine at home,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s just that Mom buys that gross organic stuff and I hate it, so I wait until I’m at school to eat real food. I’ve told her a hundred times I don’t want to eat quinoa or tofu or whatever crazy micro greens she’s bought this week, but she never listens.”
“Ah, I see,” I nodded, hesitant to add any more to the pile of kindling that Nina was building under her mother. Remy and I might not have gotten along very well, but I wasn’t keen on waging war against her using our daughter as the ammunition. However, Remy had no reservations about it, and that often worried me.
“Okay, well, if we need to go to the grocery store and stock up on regular supplies for you to take back to your mom’s, then we can do that this afternoon.”
“Nah, it’s no biggie,” she shrugged.
“Speaking of communication,” I said, just as Judy came to the table ready to take our order. We both ordered, and then I returned to my question, “Anything new on the boy front these days?”
“Dad, you know I can’t talk to you about that stuff,” she said, shutting down the discussion.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s weird, that’s why,” she retorted. “Besides, do you want to talk to me about your love life and when you might consider dating again?”
“Now see here, young lady,” I began.
“See? You don’t want to talk about it either,” she said, in a tone that clearly drew the line. “You really need to get out and see someone, Dad. I mean, you’re a good-looking guy with a lot to offer, but you’re not getting any younger.”
“Are you telling me I’ve got a shelf life at 38?” I laughed.
“If the shelf life fits,” she shrugged. “Look, you and Mom have been divorced for more than two years, and she’s started dating again. Why can’t you?”
“I don’t have time for it,” I said. “Plus, you know my schedule; most women aren’t willing to put up with my weird hours and lack of availability.”
“Excuses, excuses,” she said. “If you found someone really interesting who shared your interests, you’d find a way to make it work. But to do that, you’ve got to get out in circulation!”
“Message received, can we move on to another topic now?” I asked, as Judy brought out steaming plates of bacon and eggs with waffles on the side. She put down the butter and syrup, refilled my coffee cup, and asked if we needed anything else before moving away to attend to the next table.
“How’d the game go yesterday?” Nina asked, with her mouth full of waffle.
“We kicked the PD’s ass to the curb, as usual,” I said, cutting up my waffle and smothering it in syrup.
“How’s Uncle Tony doing?”
“He’s a major pain in the ass, as usual,” I laughed. “Maybe I’ll call and see if he wants to join us for pizza and beer tonight. He’s having a rough time at home right now.”
“Maybe if he didn’t act like a 15-year-old boy he wouldn’t be,” Nina offered, as she dug into her eggs.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” I said, stuffing a forkful of waffles into my mouth and chewing.
We finished breakfast, then headed over to the hardware store on Lexington so I could get a new saw blade, and then hit the grocery store where we picked up frozen pizzas, beer, and, despite her protests, a bag full of granola bars and snacks that she could take back to Remy’s with her. We spent the afternoon popping popcorn and watching the Patriots kick the Redskins’ asses before I called Tony and invited him to dinner. He and his wife were busy entertaining her parents, and he told me he’d see me at the station for our shift.
Nina and I cooked the pizzas and then settled in to watch a couple of goofy Christmas movies that she loved. It was well past 9 when I realized she had school in the morning.
“Time for bed, young lady!” I called from the kitchen.
“Awww, Dad! One more movie, please!” she protested. I was tempted to let her stay up and watch one more, but I knew that if she was late to school in the morning, there would be hell to pay when Remy found out.
“Nope, sorry, Punkin; it’s time to shut down Chez Gaston and call lights out,” I said, feeling like an ogre.
“But Dad,” she began.
“Don’t ‘but Dad’ me, young lady,” I said, a little more sternly than I’d intended. “You’ve got to get your grades up before Christmas break, and getting a good night’s sleep is an important part of that process.”