Then There's Wilbur

Chapter 8

Wilbur

"-so you should encourage Victoria to interact with kids her age. You understand what I'm trying to say here right Mr Gibson?" Tory's homeroom teacher finished.

I nodded and looked out to see Tory through the window. I came to pick Tory up when her teacher asked if the two of us could talk. Of course I knew what her teacher was trying to say. Our neighbourhood wasn't exactly an ideal environment to raise a kid. We don't have gangs or paedophiles hanging around the streets. In fact, the only joke of a mafia man we knew was James. We could have moved to my parents' house but Tory refused to leave the apartment. When I suggested it, she cried almost every night until I told her that we could stay until she decided to move at my parents' place. I remember our neighbours having kids her age the last time we visited.

"If you two don't have plans this evening, I could treat you two to dinner. I mean if -" She placed a few strands of hair behind her ear. "-you don't have any plans."

I leaned back and started tapping my fingers on the table. I was fully aware that I was being riled in. It's like a game to them, this situation that I'm in. And Tory was the bait.

I wasn't given the chance to answer when the door opened and Tory peeked inside.

"I'm hungry," she said.

Like a predator sensing its prey, her teacher looked at me.

"Can we eat at that diner with the happy chef displayed outside? The cashier told me they'll have pork ribs tonight," Tory continued.

I wanted to hug my little saviour right there and then. I turned to her teacher and thought about it for a moment. It was like one of those situations when somebody asked you on how you were doing and you felt obliged to ask them back.

"I'm vegan," her teacher quickly said when I turned to make my offer. I tried to look disappointed and told her that I was thankful for her offer still.

When Tory walked out of the door, I placed a hand on top of her head. She remained quiet the whole way back to the car I borrowed from James. It was after she put the seatbelt on, that she spoke.

"I knew she was vegan," she said with a hint of guilt.

I raised an eyebrow at her as I started the car. Tory had never done anything like what she did back there. Before, when I introduced her to a woman I was thinking of dating, she locked herself in her room and never spoke to me for a week.

She was my priority. So when that one woman I took home told me that I was spoiling Tory too much, I didn't even hesitate to let her go. She wouldn't understand the kid like I do. And Tory wouldn't let anyone understand her unless she thinks that person's worth it.

I've teased her about being an old lady before, but she not-so kindly reminded me that I was the one who had a strand or two of white hair behind my ear. Those bastards didn't seem to get the memo that they weren't supposed to appear before I was at least thirty years old.

"Don't you want free dinner?" I asked her jokingly.

She frowned and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. "I hate vegetables," she murmured.

Hearing her reply, I reached a hand towards her to mess her hair. It was funny how similar we were. When I was kid, my mother threatened to tie me down all because of broccoli. Green was a traumatizing color. "I hated veggies too," I started, "but you have to eat them. Your grandma's going to make you eat them and you know it."

She frowned but never answered back. She never complained about my cooking, where I wasn't exactly an expert on. But we survived two years without her mother, didn't we? And neither of us got too sick to be taken to the hospital. So I guess I was doing something right. Or to put it bluntly, I haven't messed up yet.