GRIP

“ still not as fat as your head,  d.  ”

bianca squints,   confused.

“ crook-eyed? you must be the one that’s crooked-eye if you think that’s in any shape or form,  correct.  stand aside,  ‘daddy’.  momma got this. ” she makes her way across the nursery,  pausing at his side as she reaches down to adjust the hearing device in their daughter’s ear and brushing over fuzz of curls growing on her head.  it’s been a rigorous few months,  in-between dony’s victory against drago and her own continued success,  rocking forward on billboard charts.  their interviews,  separate,  together;  finding time to simply be,  has grown substantially more difficult.  so she stands still for a second,  relishing in the warmth of her small family.  the triumphs after what felt like repeated failures and errors.  “ you wanna learn or you wanna play hardheaded, d. ”  and he could truly be hardheaded,  more than anyone she had ever met.  if her daughter inherits that,  she’s in for double the headache in the future.