Sneaking around his own house was still something to which Jim wasn’t quite accustomed.
“Promise you’ll stay upstairs,” his careening-closer-to-adolescence-every-day daughter had instructed him and her mother.
And they’d promised. They’d even sent the twins off for a sleepover with Grandma (and Grandma’s new boyfriend, Herb).
But they couldn’t quite help themselves.
Jim had been elected representative to venture into the kitchen, under the guise of getting a snack. After all, grown ups got hungry after 10:30 sometimes.
So there he was, in the kitchen, tiptoeing around in his socks, making up a couple of turkey sandwiches on wheat (and yes, listening for sounds of anything requiring parental intervention), when he hears footsteps and moments later, Cecelia comes in.
“Don’t shoot,” he stage whispered, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m just taking the sandwiches up to Mom.”
Cece shuffled her feet in her blue floral print pajama pants and yellow t-shirt and shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said, and she sounded sad in that way that 11-year-olds sound when they’re trying not to sound sad and it just makes them sound more sad.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shrugged again and he was really starting to worry that she was going to develop some sort of shoulder issue, because shrugging seemed to be her primary method of communication these days.
“Nothing.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Cee.”
Again, a shrug.
“Ava and Ashtynn keep sending text messages to Jake Foster and I wanted to watch that old movie, but Gemma said it was lame that we don’t have a 3D TV. And no one wants to play any of the games.”
Her eyes were welling up and sometimes he really missed those days where he didn’t have to say much more than “share” and “play nice” and “don’t bite” in reference to social interactions.
Jim nodded. “Okay,” he said, keeping his voice level. “Do you want to drink some beer and invite boys over?”
Cece’s mouth dropped. “Really?”
Sometimes she so resembled him and Pam, he forgot she was only 11. Dry humor was sometimes lost on children.
“No, not really,” he laughed. “I know I’m the world’s coolest dad” - she rolled her eyes - “but I’m not quite that cool.”
Another sigh, another eye roll, an imploring look.
“How about…” he thought for a moment. “What if Mom and I take you girls to the midnight show at the drive-in?”
Cece wrinkled her nose. “No. You and Mom will get all mushy about when you were young and make out the whole time. Just, ick.”
Jim laughed. “First of all, your mother and I weren’t born in the 50s. We’re about 35 years too young to have spent our Friday nights making out at the drive in. And second,“ he smirked, “what’s wrong with a little mush?”
She mimed vomiting in response and there was his answer.
“Okay, okay,” he put up his hands in defense. “What if I let you watch that On Demand concert you’ve been begging to see?”
Cece’s eyes lit up. “You said I couldn’t see it unless I got all A’s on my report card!”
Jim shrugged. “Well, we’ll think of something else you need to earn with all A’s. Like maybe getting your ears pierced?”
She groaned. “Dad! Mom said I could get them pierced for Christmas.”
He was well aware of this. Cece had been begging to have her ears pierced for years and they’d decided she was finally old enough to be responsible. But it didn’t hurt to make her think her heart’s desire was contingent on good grades, did it? He felt a little bad at what he knew was blatant manipulation, but really, he thought, how much longer would he be able to pull it off with her?
So he nodded solemnly. “And you can. If you have a good report card.”
Cece pursed her lips. “We can watch the concert tonight?” She twisted on her socked feet.
Jim nodded. “I’ll even let you watch on the big TV in the living room.”
She looked from one side to the other, like there were spies watching and beckoned for him to come closer. He leaned down to her level.
“Can we have a beer?” she whispered, and unlike his earlier wisecrack, she didn’t seem to be kidding.
“Don’t push it, Cecelia Marie,” he warned. “There’s no way in-” he stopped himself in time - “heck that I’m giving you and your friends beer.”
There went the rolling eyes again. “Gemma’s father let us try his beer.”
Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Jim took a deep breath, not wanting to lose his temper in front of his daughter. He’d be having a little talk with Gemma’s father, but no need to mention that to Cece right now. He knew that in the world of 11-year-olds, interparental communication ranked high on the nightmare list.
So he just shook his head firmly. “Milk, juice or soda,” he decreed, and by his tone she knew his word was final.
“Go get your friends,” he told her.
She started to run out of the room, but spun around inside the doorway and jogged back. When she reached him, she gripped the shoulder of his t-shirt, tugging to make him lean down.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
He winked and shooed her out of the kitchen, then moved to the living room.
Soon Cece and her friends made their giggling way into the living room, dragging blankets and pillows with them. Once they were situated on the couch, Jim started going through the process of setting up the pay-per-view concert on the big screen TV.
“Mr. Halpert, you’re the coolest dad,” said Ava, and he noticed there were no cell phones in sight.
“Yeah, you rock, Mr. H,” Ashtynn added, and Gemma echoed her particular brand of thanks as well.
“Love you,” Cece mouthed and he kept up the cool dad pretense by not going over to kiss her goodnight.
“Cool,” he knew, was fleeting at 11.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just for the record, trying to remember what was cool at age eleven was not easy. I hope I was quasi-close.
Chapter End Notes:
So?
