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“If he knew better, he’d know that you’re fucking lost for me.”
“Fuck you if you haven’t figured it out yet.” “Then say it,” I shout. “It’s because I fucking love you, okay?” he roars back. “I want to know because I actually give a fuck. I want to keep you safe, but I can’t if I don’t actually know what the hell is going on.”
She’d wanted to name him Angel, and when I vetoed that, she came up with an angelic name that sounded suspiciously like Kyle. I told her that I didn’t want my kid punching through drywall and crushing Monster cans against his head, and she’d laughed and asked me if James was okay since the name was so close to my dad's.