Page 7 of How To Tackle A Crush
Jack
“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
“Are you listening properly?”
I smile and lean back in my chair, shutting my laptop without even thinking about it. Emails can wait. Directors can wait. The press can wait.
He cannot.
“I’m properly here,” I say. “You’ve got me.”
There’s a small silence while he decides if I mean that. Alfie always checks. Not because he doubts me. Because he used to have to.
“Okay,” he says. “Do you remember the one with the spikes?”
I do. I definitely do. This is day four of dinosaur briefings since the museum trip with my mum. Same enthusiasm every time. Same careful explanation like I might have forgotten overnight.
I pretend I might have.
“Remind me,” I say.
“The Stego… stego…”
“Stegosaurus?”
“Yes.” Approval in his voice. “That one.”
“The one with the big back bits?”
“They’re not bits,” he says immediately. “They help with temperature.”
I smile. Same correction as yesterday.
“Right,” I say. “Temperature.”
“And his brain was only this big.”
I picture his hands automatically. He did the gesture over dinner yesterday. Fingers about two inches apart. Very serious face. Explaining evolutionary design flaws to me like he’s presenting to a board.
“That’s quite small,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “Not very good.”
“No. That sounds like bad planning.”
“And his tail had spikes. For fighting.”
“That sounds useful.”
“I wouldn’t fight him.”
“Good choice.”
“I would run away.”
“That is also a very good plan.”
