JК
Breaking Dawn :: Meyer Stephenie
Страница: 84 из 429”
Claire squealed and threw her bucket at Quil’s knees. “Down, down!”
He set her carefully on her feet and she ran to me. She wrapped her arms around my leg.
“Unca Jay!”
“How’s it going, Claire?”
She giggled. “Qwil aaaaawl wet now.”
“I can see that. Where’s your mama?”
“Gone, gone, gone,” Claire sang, “Cwaire pway wid Qwil aaaawl day. Cwaire nebber gowin home.” She let go of me and ran to Quil. He scooped her up and slung her onto his shoulders.
“Sounds like somebody’s hit the terrible twos.”
“Threes actually,” Quil corrected. “You missed the party. Princess theme. She made me wear a crown, and then Emily suggested they all try out her new play makeup on me.”
“Wow, I’m really sorry I wasn’t around to see that.”
“Don’t worry, Emily has pictures. Actually, I look pretty hot.”
“You’re such a patsy.”
Quil shrugged. “Claire had a great time. That was the point.”
I rolled my eyes. It was hard being around imprinted people. No matter what stage they were in—about to tie the knot like Sam or just a much-abused nanny like Quil—the peace and certainty they always radiated was downright puke-inducing.
Claire squealed on his shoulders and pointed at the ground. “Pity wock, Qwil! For me, for me!”
“Which one, kiddo? The red one?”
“No wed!”
Quil dropped to his knees—Claire screamed and pulled his hair like a horse’s reigns.
“This blue one?”
“No, no, no…,” the little girl sang, thrilled with her new game.
The weird part was, Quil was having just as much fun as she was. He didn’t have that face on that so many of the tourist dads and moms were wearing—the when-is-nap-time? face. You never saw a real parent so jazzed to play whatever stupid kiddie sport their rugrat could think up. I’d seen Quil play peekaboo for an hour straight without getting bored.
And I couldn’t even make fun of him for it—I envied him too much.
Though I did think it sucked that he had a good fourteen years of monkitude ahead of him until Claire was his age—for Quil, at least, it was a good thing werewolves didn’t get older. But even all that time didn’t seem to bother him much.
“Quil, you ever think about dating?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“No, no yewwo!” Claire crowed.
“You know. A real girl. I mean, just for now, right? On your nights off babysitting duty.”
Quil stared at me, his mouth hanging open.
Claire squealed and threw her bucket at Quil’s knees. “Down, down!”
He set her carefully on her feet and she ran to me. She wrapped her arms around my leg.
“Unca Jay!”
“How’s it going, Claire?”
She giggled. “Qwil aaaaawl wet now.”
“I can see that. Where’s your mama?”
“Gone, gone, gone,” Claire sang, “Cwaire pway wid Qwil aaaawl day. Cwaire nebber gowin home.” She let go of me and ran to Quil. He scooped her up and slung her onto his shoulders.
“Sounds like somebody’s hit the terrible twos.”
“Threes actually,” Quil corrected. “You missed the party. Princess theme. She made me wear a crown, and then Emily suggested they all try out her new play makeup on me.”
“Wow, I’m really sorry I wasn’t around to see that.”
“Don’t worry, Emily has pictures. Actually, I look pretty hot.”
“You’re such a patsy.”
Quil shrugged. “Claire had a great time. That was the point.”
I rolled my eyes. It was hard being around imprinted people. No matter what stage they were in—about to tie the knot like Sam or just a much-abused nanny like Quil—the peace and certainty they always radiated was downright puke-inducing.
Claire squealed on his shoulders and pointed at the ground. “Pity wock, Qwil! For me, for me!”
“Which one, kiddo? The red one?”
“No wed!”
Quil dropped to his knees—Claire screamed and pulled his hair like a horse’s reigns.
“This blue one?”
“No, no, no…,” the little girl sang, thrilled with her new game.
The weird part was, Quil was having just as much fun as she was. He didn’t have that face on that so many of the tourist dads and moms were wearing—the when-is-nap-time? face. You never saw a real parent so jazzed to play whatever stupid kiddie sport their rugrat could think up. I’d seen Quil play peekaboo for an hour straight without getting bored.
And I couldn’t even make fun of him for it—I envied him too much.
Though I did think it sucked that he had a good fourteen years of monkitude ahead of him until Claire was his age—for Quil, at least, it was a good thing werewolves didn’t get older. But even all that time didn’t seem to bother him much.
“Quil, you ever think about dating?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“No, no yewwo!” Claire crowed.
“You know. A real girl. I mean, just for now, right? On your nights off babysitting duty.”
Quil stared at me, his mouth hanging open.