Cowlick
"Neil!" Cora called toward the staircase, setting the casserole dish down on the table. "Dinner's ready, sweetie!"
There was no answer, and after a few moments Tony walked over to the stairs, cupping his hands theatrically around his mouth. "I'm comin' up after you, kiddo! You better not be into anything you shouldn't be, or there's going to be ticklings!"
That got a response, and both parents grinned. "I'm coming!" Neil replied from somewhere upstairs, sounding vaguely panicked. "No tickling, I'm coming!"
From the kitchen, Cora could see her husband at the foot of the stairs, and could hear her son come padding toward their top. Suddenly Tony's jaw dropped, at what, she could not see; she felt a little trill of fear go through her. "Is something wrong? Neil, sweetie, are you all right?"
"I'm fine, mommy!" the boy answered as he came thumping down the stairs. She smiled, watching him come into view -- first his feet, still clad in socks with dinosaurs printed on them; his legs and body, one little arm reaching up to grip the bannister; and lastly, his head --
"Oh dear," Cora managed, before dissolving into shocked laughter.
Tony favored her with a mock glare, then squatted down beside Neil. "Now, son, I know you want to be just like me when you grow up. And that makes me feel really good as a dad, believe me." He paused. "But from now on, don't give yourself any more haircuts, okay? Let us take care of that."
"Okay, daddy," Neil answered cheerfully. Cora resisted the urge to giggle again at the sight of them together, both of them now bald as eagles, save one springy cowlick on each head.
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