When she flew down the steps of the bus and into his arms, he swore she looked older, and told her so.
“Dad,” Cece laughed, shaking her head and letting her sun streaked curls fly around her face, “it’s been two weeks.”
“Well,” Jim insisted, picking up her duffle bag, “you still look older.”
He waited as she bade squealing, hug-filled goodbyes to several girls she’d met at Camp Cayuga in the Poconos.
Then a boy approached, slightly taller than Cece, with glasses and flushed cheeks. Jim watched from his slight distance with a combination of dread and curiosity.
First the boy seemed to be stammering a little. He couldn’t make out any words, but from the way the boy’s lips were moving, Jim could tell there was a bit of stammering going on.
Then Cece was nodding rapidly. She shrugged her shoulders a few times.
She shifted her weight a bit and the boy shifted his. Jim wasn’t sure if he wished he could hear what they were saying or if he wished he weren’t seeing any of this.
He saw the boy take a slight, hesitant step forward. It was a step Jim recognized, having taken it himself many times, back in his teen years and his twenties.
The last time he’d taken that step had been on a Thursday in April, 2007, in the hallway of Pam’s apartment.
It was the “can I kiss you?” step.
Jim’s jaw tensed. This was not something he was ready to see. Cece was too young. He’d loaded her up in a stroller and taken her to feed the ducks just last month, right?
He couldn’t look away.
He watched as Cece’s shoulders tensed slightly and he saw from the back of her head that she’d jerked her chin up just the tiniest bit. Not raised it, but jerked it.
The boy stopped, his eyes widening a bit, shifting around as if looking for something. His Adam’s apple moved, up, down, once, twice.
Then the boy stuck his hand out and Jim watched Cece’s shoulders relax as she and the boy shared an enthusiastic handshake. The boy’s face lost a bit of the tension and Jim saw him grin.
They separated and parted with a wave. Cece turned and ran to Jim, her cheeks stained with a flush he was sure could be attributed to more than just the sun.
“Ready, Dad?” she asked with a bit of impatience, as though Jim had been the one keeping her waiting. She jogged toward the car.
“Who was…” Jim started to ask as he caught up, but Cece cut him off before he could get three words out.
“Can we stop for ice cream?” she asked. “I’m dying for soft serve.
Jim laughed. He should have known better. Pam would get a kick out of this story.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, ice cream sounds like a great idea.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Totally not where I thought this chapter was going to go, but it took on a bit of a life of its own.
Chapter End Notes:
I want ice cream now. Anyone else?
