Say Never (12 page)

“It’s his pacifier,” Danny explains. He grins at Tebow who is currently grasping my brother’s stubbly chin. “Let’s go find your nummy, buddy. Then you can help Daddy get ready for work, okay?”

“Isn’t he a little old for a pacifier?” I ask, even though I know nothing about the subject.

“We’re working on it. Want some help up?”

“No! Just get out of here, okay? And take that boob-sucker with you!”

Tebow giggles as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Danny kisses his forehead and starts to leave the room.

“Wait,” I call to him. “I need some clothes. Could you leave a pair of your sweats at the door?”

“
My
sweats? Come on, Meg. You fit into Caroline’s stuff. Why don’t you just borrow some of hers?”

Because I’d rather hack off all my limbs than wear something of hers again.

“I’m sure my luggage will be here soon,” I say sweetly. “Just give me something to tide me over, okay?”

“Whatever.”

As soon as he closes the door behind him, I struggle to get to my feet and unwrap the bedding from my body, then throw it back onto the bed in a heap. I put my hands on my hips and glare at the bedside clock which reads 6:47. Seriously? It’s not even seven o’clock? This is going to be a very long day.

The door swings open and my brother peers in. Shock paralyzes me and I can only stand there, naked and speechless.

“What color sweats do you—oh, crap! Sorry!”

“Booby!” my nephew exclaims delightedly.

Fuck me.

This time, I don’t say it out loud. Because I couldn’t form the words if I tried.

* * *

When I enter the kitchen a half hour later, in a pair of grey sweats that are three sizes too big for me and a black AC/DC shirt, I find my niece at the table, enthusiastically eating cereal and chewing with her mouth open. She wears a pair of Dora pajama bottoms and a Disney Princess pajama shirt. Between enormous bites, she sings a song I don’t recognize.

“We’re going on a trip in our little rocket ship, going through the skies, Little Einsteins.”

I’d like to be going on a trip, too. Back to my blissfully quiet,
empty
apartment.

“Good morning, McKenna,” I say brightly. The five-year-old doesn’t even look up, just continues to
crunch crunch crunch
. Loudly. “I said good morning, McKenna.”

She finally tears her attention away from her cereal and narrows her eyes at me. “What are you doing here?”

Oh, boy.
There better be some coffee in this house, or I’m going to seriously hurt someone.

I manage to smile through clenched teeth. “I’m staying here for a little while, to help take care of you and your brother while your mommy’s away.”

“We don’t need your help.” She shoves a heaping spoonful of the multi-colored cereal into her mouth while I count to ten. “My daddy can take care of us.”

“Your daddy has to go to work,” I remind her. Then add, “And don’t talk with your mouth full, McKenna. You really should take smaller bites, too. If you eat too much, your baby fat will turn into adult fat. And no one wants to see a fat ballerina.”

She blinks rapidly, her eyes filling with tears.

Oh, crap.

“I’m not fat!” she says defiantly, her lower lip starting to tremble.

“I didn’t say you were. I just said you have to be careful what you eat. You won’t be five forever.”

“I’m not FAT!” she wails.

The phone rings. I glance at the clock, then shake my head with disgust. (Anyone who calls my home before seven-thirty in the morning is asking to be murdered.) Abruptly, the ringing stops, and I’m left to hear my niece’s sobs in stunning stereo.

“McKenna, just calm down and finish your breakfast,” I tell her.

The tears spill down her cheeks and she starts to hiccup. I take a step back, fearing that the hiccups are possibly a precursor to projectile vomit. And even though I’m wearing my brother’s sweats, I’d like to avoid being hit twice in two days.

“I (
hiccup
) don’t (
hiccup
) want (
hiccup
) to eat (
hiccup
hiccup
) my breakfast!”

“Yeah, no, honey, everything’s fine.” My brother strides purposefully into the kitchen holding Tebow under his arm like a football and cradling a cordless phone in the crook of his neck. “I did…Yes, honey, I did.”

He drops Tebow into his high chair, then stands and regards McKenna and me. After a glance at McKenna, he turns his attention to me and gives me the fish eye. “I will. I wrote everything down for her…Yes, with all of the emergency numbers and the contact numbers. Yes, I’ll tell her to. I promise.”

He picks up the box of cereal from the kitchen table and dumps a handful of Fruity O’s onto the high chair. Tebow instantly dives in with both hands. I wonder to myself whether Melanie is rolling over in her grave. She totally sucked as a mother in almost every way, but she was very big on manners. Even at four and three, my brother and I were perfectly polite, said ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ ate with a fork and knife, and
always
chewed with our mouths closed.

McKenna continues to hiccup and sob and Danny tries to cover the receiver with his hand. He grimaces.

“No, honey. No. Yes, that’s McKenna…Oh, well, she’s, uh, laughing at Tebow.” He glares at me. “Right now? Oh, um, she’s eating her breakfast. Can you talk to her later?” He sighs, relieved. “The nurse just walked in?” He mouths
You are so lucky
to me. I roll my eyes. “Okay, babe. Sure, call when you’re done. Love you.”

He hangs up and sets the phone on the counter. “What’s going on?”

“She called me fat!” McKenna cries miserably.

“I did not! I just said she needs to be careful if she wants to be a ballerina.”

Danny rolls his eyes (yes, it’s a family trait—wait till you meet Buddy. He’s the king of the eye roll). McKenna jumps out of her seat and rushes over to him, throwing her arms around his legs.

“Don’t leave me with her, Daddy! Please! Don’t go to work! I don’t want to stay with her! I hate her!”

I flinch as though I’ve been slapped. I know there are many people who hate me—for starters, all of the guests I’ve publically humiliated on the
Barry and Meg Show
. But no one has ever announced this sentiment in my presence. I know she’s just a little kid, but still. As thick-skinned as I like to think I am, her proclamation stings.

I move around the table and cautiously approach her, then sink to my knees to put myself on her level. She clings more tightly to Danny and tries to shrink away from me.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, McKenna. You see, I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. You shouldn’t listen to anything Auntie Meg says until after she’s had coffee.”

“That’s great, sis,” Danny says. “My five-year-old really understands caffeine withdrawal.” McKenna continues to sob into his pant leg.

“Well? It’s true!” I wrack my brain to come up with some way to placate her. It takes me a minute, but I finally access something that’s been stored in my memory banks for a long time. “Hey, McKenna. Do you want to see a neat trick?”

My niece turns her head to peer at me suspiciously. She says nothing, but I can tell that I’ve piqued her interest.

“If you can find me a spoon—a
clean
spoon—I’ll show you a really cool trick.”

She doesn’t move, but the hiccups have stopped.

“I can find a spoon,” Danny says, playing along. “Here.” He reaches into a nearby drawer and withdraws a teaspoon. He hands it to McKenna. She shakes her head vigorously. “Come on, my girl. Give the spoon to Auntie Meg. Don’t you want to see her do a trick? I know I do.”

Hesitantly, she takes the spoon from her father and thrusts it in my direction.

“Thank you,” I say. I make a show of puffing a couple of hearty breaths at the spoon, then polish it with my shirt. I blow a few more wide-mouth breaths at it, getting it nice and moist, then place the concave section over my nose. I release my hold on the handle and put my hands in the air.

“Look! No hands!” I proclaim proudly. McKenna stares at me, stone-faced, as the spoon dangles from my nose.

It occurs to me that I have reached a new low. Never before have I humiliated myself like this. Not in all my years in radio, and in the beginning of my career I had to do some pretty stupid shit. But not like this. And for a moment, I’m worried I’ve made an ass out of myself for no reason. Then I see the corners of McKenna’s mouth curve upwards, ever so slightly.
Ha!

I jerk my head and catch the spoon before it hits the floor. “Betcha you can’t do that!” I say, goading her.

“Betcha I can!” she replies. She lets go of Danny’s leg and turns to face me.

“Okay. Do you want to try it with this one or get a spoon of your own? I think you should probably get one of your own because I might have germs.”

“Or cooties,” she says with certainty, as though I definitely have them. If I weren’t trying to get into her good graces I would argue the point.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I want my own spoon.”

I look up to see my brother staring at me with a closed-lip smile on his face.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Think you could get McKenna her own spoon?” He nods at me, still smiling, and I mouth the words
small spoon
to him. His eyebrows rise with understanding and he withdraws a tiny sugar spoon from the drawer. McKenna takes it from him and starts blowing on it madly, as though she is trying to put out candles on a birthday cake.

“Wan-see!” Tebow hollers from the high chair. “Wan-see!”

Danny steps around McKenna and pulls Tebow from his seat.

McKenna rubs the spoon on her nightie, then blows on it again. She gingerly sets it on her nose. It swings like a pendulum and falls to the floor. She picks it up and tries again, with the same result.

“You want to know the secret?” I whisper and her blue eyes go wide. “Don’t blow on it like a candle. Blow on it like you blow on a mirror to make steam. Like this. ‘Ha.’ Then it gets nice and sticky.”

She nods solemnly, makes the ‘ha’ sound a couple of times, then hangs the spoon on her nose, this time with success. When she realizes it’s staying, she mimics my hands-in-the-air move. Danny, Tebow and I clap for her.

“Well done!” I congratulate her.

“I did it!” she agrees.

“Way to go!” Danny says.

“Vorglon!” Tebow exclaims gleefully.

“You too, sis,” my brother says, giving me a meaningful look. “Nice job.”

I stand and toss my spoon into the sink. “Thanks.”

Danny puts Tebow back in his high chair while McKenna carefully makes her way to the table, the spoon still dangling from her nose. (Actually, I’m kind of impressed she’s made it this long, with her little button of a shnoz. But then, kid-saliva is probably akin to Monkey Glue.) She finally pulls off the sugar scoop so that she can return to the task of shoveling cereal into her mouth with her normal-sized spoon. So much for my warning about her girth.

“You used to do that with me, you know,” Danny says quietly. “When I was upset. You’d do the spoon trick.”

I shrug. “I remember…I guess. It was a long time ago.”

We stare at each other for a moment. His smile is melancholy, and I recognize the look in his eyes. He wants to say something to me. Something I definitely do
not
want to hear. Probably something mushy and sentimental that will make me want to smack my head into a wall.

I plant my hands on my hips. “Who do I have to kill to get a cup of coffee in this place?”

McKenna freezes, her spoon suspended inches from her mouth. “You’re going to kill somebody, Aunt Meg?”

My brother’s smile instantly shatters and is replaced by a frown.

“Just when I thought it was safe to leave you alone with my kids.”

“Oh, relax,” I say with a sneer. “I promise not to traumatize them. At least, not for life.” I look down at my niece and give her a tight smile. “Auntie Meg would never kill anyone, McKenna. It’s just an expression.”

“Okay,” she says doubtfully, then shoves the spoon into her mouth and starts crunching enthusiastically.

I hear scratching sounds at the back door, followed by a pathetic whine. Until this moment, I’d completely forgotten about the damn dog. Danny moves to the door and opens it, and Godiva bounds into the kitchen, jumping and snuffing and shuddering with joy, as though she hasn’t seen her family in decades. She races over to me and gives me the crotch sniff, and I bat her away.

“Seriously, Danny. About that coffee…”

My brother makes a show of glancing at his watch. “Oh, my. Look at the time. I really have to get moving.” He takes a few steps toward the archway.