Grip
He watched the shorter man pace the length of the living room in agitation, having been kicked out of the room by his irate wife for the moment. He tried to warn the midget, but nothing could have prepared Kyle for the sheer terror that was Isabel in labor.
He snickered as a bead of sweat dripped along the side of his friend's face and setting his sleeping daughter into her car seat, he stood up, crossing over to him to distract the alarmed man.
Clasping Kyle's shoulder, Michael was about to tell him to stop worrying, when a particularly loud shriek had even him cringing. Kyle startled and grabbed onto the nearest thing, which just happened to be the man behind him.
Michael, huffing in exasperation, pried Kyle off and pushed him away. "Jesus, Valenti, when I told you to get a grip earlier, I didn't mean literally," he griped, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the pinched skin bruised during Kyle's death grip.
Kyle ran a hand through his hair, his horrified face flushed with embarrassment. "That never happened. And if you say anything, I'll deny it to my dying breath."
"Yeah, well judging from the screaming in the other room, you don't have long to live anyways, so suck it up, get back in there and take your punishment like a man," Michael smirked, reveling in his friend's discomfort. Payback was such a bitch.
~...~
Snow
She walks over to the white, blanketed ground with trepidation, brown curls dancing in the cool winter breeze, reaching delicate fingers out to touch it with hesitant wonder. Snatching her hand back, she stares at her cold, wet fingers, eyes wide and her mouth pursed in amazement as she looks back at me.
Brown eyes look back at the ground in contemplation, her analytical mind running a mile a minute and then swing back to me again.
"It cold, Daddy."
Smiling at my daughter, I watch as she takes a running leap into the bank and then look up at Liz. She's right, experiencing snow for the first time through our daughter's eyes is priceless.
