[fic] just like you
It’s not that Kris didn’t expect that their daughter would have more in common with Adam than with himself when she was born, it was just that he never expected it to bother him so much.
And it doesn’t, really. He loves watching Adam and Olivia together, loves how they communicate so easily and how they giggle over the same things. Just sometimes, when he lets all of their similarities pile up, it irks him a bit.
Adam, he realizes, offers much more in the way of advice that Olivia can use when she’s older- on make-up, on clothing, and, let’s face it, Kris thinks, he knows a shit ton more about boy problems than Kris could ever dream.
Adam is more adept at getting her dressed in the morning, scoffs when Kris sends her down in a plaid jumper and polka-dot tights.
When Olivia comes back down five minutes later, in a denim dress with pink tights (and Kris admits, she looks far more put together than she had before), he finds himself pouting. He tried, and shouldn’t that be what counts? Would it kill Adam to let her go out of the house being less than perfectly matched just once in her life?
Besides, if Adam would just let him buy the kid some jeans and t-shirts once in a while, dressing her wouldn’t be that hard.
But Adam just kisses him, pats him on the ass and says “It was a nice try, honey. I didn’t marry you for your fashion sense anyway,” and, with a barely-noticeable glance to the right, counsels, “Not the purple shoes, Liv, the green ones. The purple ones don’t match.”
Her personality is like Adam’s, too. She’s over-the-top at times, loves playing dress-up and dancing around to whatever music is coursing through the house at the moment. Family gatherings inevitably become her own personal time to put on a show for her friends and relatives, and the audience isn’t captive because she’s so damn cute- they’re captive because she’s actually a fairly skilled entertainer, singing the songs she learned in preschool as she bounces around with a not-unappreciable level of rhythm.
She’s emotional and strong-willed, which Kris knows will be wonderful traits for her to have later in life, but damnit, as a parent? Sometimes when he tells her they’re getting apple juice at the grocery store because they already have grape juice at home, he wants her just to say “Ok, daddy,” instead of, “But I. Like. Grape juice.”
The added stomp of her foot is so something he could picture Adam doing as a child. He’s come close as an adult.
And she’s boy-crazy like Adam, too. She’s three years old and she has a slew of “boyfriends” at school- rude-looking little snotnoses, who Kris eyes every time he picks her up with a practiced measure of “I’m from the south and I’m not afraid to use a shotgun.”
Adam just laughs and says, “That’s my girl!” and rolls his eyes at Kris’s protectiveness.
“She’s a baby, honey. When she starts bringing home boys with non-matchbox-sized cars, that’s when I’ll pull out my protective daddy face. I’ll even throw a shotgun over my shoulder if it’ll make you feel better. But for now? It’s cute.”
And maybe Kris is overreacting- he knows he is, but isn’t he not supposed to have to worry about this for another ten years? Isn’t she supposed to think boys have cooties until she hits eighth grade?
She’s like Adam, he thinks, and if the two people he loves the most on this planet are similarly wonderful, he can’t really complain.
But still, it would be nice to have someone to watch football with on Sunday afternoons who would understand the game, or someone who could strum a guitar next to him when he’s writing music.
When he brings it up to Adam one day, Adam snorts at him,
“You think she’s like me? Baby, just watch her closely and you’ll see how much she’s like you.”
So he does. He watches her when she gets tired, when her eyes are drooping but she’s fighting sleep, and he does see a bit of himself there. They both get snuggly and a little bit silly when they’re tired.
One of Kris’s favorite things to do is to lay in bed with Adam and Olivia when it’s past Olivia’s bedtime and he’s worn out from a long day in the studio.
“Daddy, I… I want to eat all the candy… all the candy in the world, daddy. But not the green ones. I don’t want the green ones.” And Kris agrees wholeheartedly,
“Oh, I know, Livvy. The green ones are just… no. But you can’t eat all the candy because it’s not good for your… No, no, you can eat all of it but the green ones.”
“Dada can have the green ones. He likes… green things.”
“Yeah,” Kris giggles, “He likes green things.”
And Adam laughs and laughs, kisses both of them and shakes his head.
They have the same sense of humor, Kris realizes. It’s understated, quips and one-liners, made apparent at completely unexpected times.
He’s reading her a book before bed and when the story goes, “What do you say when Daddy tells you, ‘good night and I love you?’” he expects her to say, “I love you too.”
Instead she quips,
“Get out.”
He nearly falls over laughing at that one, and when he tells Adam the story later, Adam just quirks an eyebrow and says, “She’s so you.”
She likes peace and quiet like he does. Saturdays are often spent on the couch, lounging in pajamas as Olivia colors and Kris strums on his guitar. Adam will join them, but gets antsy after an hour or so- has to go for a run to clear his head, or down to his studio to listen to music, as if he can’t handle the stillness anymore. Olivia stays by his side for hours, though, entertaining herself in the quiet of their living room in a way that he’s pretty sure most three-year-olds can’t.
So maybe she prefers princesses to football, likes to shake her little butt instead of making the music, likes to be the center of attention instead of blending in, but it’s ok.
He leaves a miniature guitar in the corner of her room for if she ever shows an interest, a Razorbacks Jersey in her closet for if she ever gets sick of her princess movies, an open promise of anytime, Liv for problems that he may be better-equipped to solve than Adam.
If they never get used, it’s fine. He fell in love with Adam once. Falling in love with a miniature Adam in a pretty dress and a pony-tail doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
.
And it doesn’t, really. He loves watching Adam and Olivia together, loves how they communicate so easily and how they giggle over the same things. Just sometimes, when he lets all of their similarities pile up, it irks him a bit.
Adam, he realizes, offers much more in the way of advice that Olivia can use when she’s older- on make-up, on clothing, and, let’s face it, Kris thinks, he knows a shit ton more about boy problems than Kris could ever dream.
Adam is more adept at getting her dressed in the morning, scoffs when Kris sends her down in a plaid jumper and polka-dot tights.
When Olivia comes back down five minutes later, in a denim dress with pink tights (and Kris admits, she looks far more put together than she had before), he finds himself pouting. He tried, and shouldn’t that be what counts? Would it kill Adam to let her go out of the house being less than perfectly matched just once in her life?
Besides, if Adam would just let him buy the kid some jeans and t-shirts once in a while, dressing her wouldn’t be that hard.
But Adam just kisses him, pats him on the ass and says “It was a nice try, honey. I didn’t marry you for your fashion sense anyway,” and, with a barely-noticeable glance to the right, counsels, “Not the purple shoes, Liv, the green ones. The purple ones don’t match.”
Her personality is like Adam’s, too. She’s over-the-top at times, loves playing dress-up and dancing around to whatever music is coursing through the house at the moment. Family gatherings inevitably become her own personal time to put on a show for her friends and relatives, and the audience isn’t captive because she’s so damn cute- they’re captive because she’s actually a fairly skilled entertainer, singing the songs she learned in preschool as she bounces around with a not-unappreciable level of rhythm.
She’s emotional and strong-willed, which Kris knows will be wonderful traits for her to have later in life, but damnit, as a parent? Sometimes when he tells her they’re getting apple juice at the grocery store because they already have grape juice at home, he wants her just to say “Ok, daddy,” instead of, “But I. Like. Grape juice.”
The added stomp of her foot is so something he could picture Adam doing as a child. He’s come close as an adult.
And she’s boy-crazy like Adam, too. She’s three years old and she has a slew of “boyfriends” at school- rude-looking little snotnoses, who Kris eyes every time he picks her up with a practiced measure of “I’m from the south and I’m not afraid to use a shotgun.”
Adam just laughs and says, “That’s my girl!” and rolls his eyes at Kris’s protectiveness.
“She’s a baby, honey. When she starts bringing home boys with non-matchbox-sized cars, that’s when I’ll pull out my protective daddy face. I’ll even throw a shotgun over my shoulder if it’ll make you feel better. But for now? It’s cute.”
And maybe Kris is overreacting- he knows he is, but isn’t he not supposed to have to worry about this for another ten years? Isn’t she supposed to think boys have cooties until she hits eighth grade?
She’s like Adam, he thinks, and if the two people he loves the most on this planet are similarly wonderful, he can’t really complain.
But still, it would be nice to have someone to watch football with on Sunday afternoons who would understand the game, or someone who could strum a guitar next to him when he’s writing music.
When he brings it up to Adam one day, Adam snorts at him,
“You think she’s like me? Baby, just watch her closely and you’ll see how much she’s like you.”
So he does. He watches her when she gets tired, when her eyes are drooping but she’s fighting sleep, and he does see a bit of himself there. They both get snuggly and a little bit silly when they’re tired.
One of Kris’s favorite things to do is to lay in bed with Adam and Olivia when it’s past Olivia’s bedtime and he’s worn out from a long day in the studio.
“Daddy, I… I want to eat all the candy… all the candy in the world, daddy. But not the green ones. I don’t want the green ones.” And Kris agrees wholeheartedly,
“Oh, I know, Livvy. The green ones are just… no. But you can’t eat all the candy because it’s not good for your… No, no, you can eat all of it but the green ones.”
“Dada can have the green ones. He likes… green things.”
“Yeah,” Kris giggles, “He likes green things.”
And Adam laughs and laughs, kisses both of them and shakes his head.
They have the same sense of humor, Kris realizes. It’s understated, quips and one-liners, made apparent at completely unexpected times.
He’s reading her a book before bed and when the story goes, “What do you say when Daddy tells you, ‘good night and I love you?’” he expects her to say, “I love you too.”
Instead she quips,
“Get out.”
He nearly falls over laughing at that one, and when he tells Adam the story later, Adam just quirks an eyebrow and says, “She’s so you.”
She likes peace and quiet like he does. Saturdays are often spent on the couch, lounging in pajamas as Olivia colors and Kris strums on his guitar. Adam will join them, but gets antsy after an hour or so- has to go for a run to clear his head, or down to his studio to listen to music, as if he can’t handle the stillness anymore. Olivia stays by his side for hours, though, entertaining herself in the quiet of their living room in a way that he’s pretty sure most three-year-olds can’t.
So maybe she prefers princesses to football, likes to shake her little butt instead of making the music, likes to be the center of attention instead of blending in, but it’s ok.
He leaves a miniature guitar in the corner of her room for if she ever shows an interest, a Razorbacks Jersey in her closet for if she ever gets sick of her princess movies, an open promise of anytime, Liv for problems that he may be better-equipped to solve than Adam.
If they never get used, it’s fine. He fell in love with Adam once. Falling in love with a miniature Adam in a pretty dress and a pony-tail doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
.