Misfits

73: Divorce

I open Instagram to find a video of my sweetheart with our littlest love. Brent doesn't post too much of the girls on Instagram, but when he does it's usually something too damn cute, or a proud daddy moment.

His finger creeps down Finn's face and pulls her nose up–her top lip going along with it. She looks into his phone and laughs her little ass off. She laughs so damn hard she snorts, which makes her daddy laugh just as hard.

They're in the pool. He's most likely lounging on the second step, while Finn's standing next to him. Her Barbies near his phone from what I can tell from hair and a foot, one's floating behind them. She's shoveling grapes into her mouth. B's hair is mussy from the water, and Finn's little ponytail is wet at the end. Her tan line shows under her little baby blue bikini top because I'm a bad mother who doesn't use sunscreen. I can't stand the smell or the feel of it... Its not like Brent goes after the girls and applies it. So really, which one of us do you blame?

"Daddy..." She holds a grape above his mouth, dropping it in when he opens. "They're super sour..." She shakes her head and shoulders.

Brent chuckles. "Are they?" He pops a few in his mouth, giving no reaction, except raising his eyebrows at her when she looks at him.

"They're sour to me!" She squishes his scruffy cheeks and kisses him on his puckered lips that were waiting for a Finly kiss. "Daddy, your lips are super, super sour!"

"Your lips are super sour!" He argues.

"Your lips," Finn falls to him, and Brent quickly wraps an arm around her. "Are super, super, duper sour!" She giggles before Instagrams video limit cuts them off.

* * * * * *

"Dad, I can't reach the top..." Indy tells B. He lifts her up to the top cabinet which she opens and sets a mixing bowl in, and slams it shut. "Thank you!" She runs to the dishwasher once he sets her back down. "I don't know what this is." She holds a fruit zester up.

"It goes in the drawer with the tongs." He tells her. Indy nods and opens the third drawer from behind. Next, she hoists up the heavy cutting board and Brent grabs it before she drops it on her feet. "I'll trade you." He hands her a few drinking glasses to fill the top rack of the dishwasher.

One by one she lines them up. "Are we almost done?"

"Uh!" B looks behind his shoulder. "A few more things, baby." He slides the cutting board into the divided cabinet near the stove and grabs the dirty knife from the counter. Indy reaches for it. "Please be careful." He hands it over, blade down.

I look up from the kitchen table, folding kitchen towels. She fakes a slice and says, "ow! Dad, I cut myself."

"Indy Laine," Brent kneels down. "I told you to be care–you're not bleeding." He flips her little hand over.

She giggles. "I tricked ya." Then she proudly smirks before she lays the knife on the top rack.

"That was a good one, baby." I tell her. She looks behind and smiles at me.

"We're done!" Brent hands Indy a dishwashing tablet and she chucks it into the dishwasher, shuts the door, and starts it by herself. "Wait, come here..." He grabs her shirt and kneels down. "Thank you for helping."

Indy smiles with a nod. "Of course, daddy."

I lay out clean placemats on the kitchen table. "B, I'll take the bigger items," I nod towards the pots and pans.

"You sure?" He asks.

I nod. "Yes, I'm sure." Since I'm the one who cooks, he'll do the dishes and the girls help clean up, but he and I both cooked dinner tonight, we can both do the dishes.