THIRTEEN

Luca turned thirteen last month (I know I know, get in line if you want to complain about lack of postings). It was his first disappointing birthday. You know, you get everything you asked for and think, “Is this it?” Not in a spoiled brat way, but I think in a “I can see the next 60 or 70 of these stretching out before me” way. 

It was slightly depressing. 

Luckily, we called in the giant blob of arms and legs and B.O. that make up Luca’s friends.  The birthday activity included bowling and a sleep over. I’m still not sure how many showed up. Ten? Fifty?

 

Bowling was appropriately hilarious. Some bros were mad at other bros and one bro ate off a private party’s table and another bro (possibly the same one) was suspiciously polite, and one bro bowled a miraculous strike despite a shoulder injury.

Diana and Elijah attempted to escape the sleep over portion, feigning nervousness over Jerry and the boys. But when it was revealed they weren’t actually taking Jerry anywhere, and were just planning a stay at a luxury hotel, I put my foot down. 

A huge pile of pizza arrived and we hit a manageable level of pandemonium. Most of the bros screamed at the X-box in the basement, while a few meandered around peeking into our jewelry boxes. 

Diana and I opted to order something less unhealthy than pizza for dinner. I think we chose burgers. While we waited I thought, “No one would notice if I took one small corner of a pizza.” 

I grabbed a steak knife and sliced of a little bite. As I was concealing my crime, Luca’s friend rounded the corner at top speed and into the knife. I watched it enter his hand at the knuckle. 

We locked eyes. 

We had a silent, mental conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So, I just stabbed you.”

“Yes, I am aware of it. You see, blood is now coming out of my hand.”

“Do you think this is a hospital type situation? Stitches and such?”

“I don’t think so. But I will make you pay dearly for this over the next three to four years.”

“Like how?”

“Minimum? I get to spend the night every time I want.”

“Understood.”

“And I will take four donuts tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Deal. One more thing. Can you keep this between you and I?”

“Okay.”

The friend (after I put on a bandage) returned to the basement. I was glad his dad was the doctor dad and not the injury lawyer dad. 

I poured myself the biggest glass of wine in the world and heard Luca bellow from the basement,”"DAD???? DID YOU STAB MY FRIEND???”

Yes. Yes I did.