Page 1 of About Time

Chapter One

Charlie Present- Age 53

Time isthis elusive thing we can’t quite figure out how to deal with.Fuck, we can’t even figure out how we want to use it most of the time. We try to save it, waste it, hell even kill it, but if you ask just about anyone they’ll still swear not to have enough of it. We don’t know how much of it we may have, but still, past a certain age, most people have a sense that they’re running out of it.

For me, the hardest part isn’t the concept but the reality staring me in the face. The evidence of it is easier to see. It’s in the gray peppering through my dark brown hair and the lines that pop up around my eyes when I smile. It’s watching the two babies I once cradled in my arms run around in the backyard.

There’s no denying the passage of time, only the speed of it. There have been times when every minute felt like an eternity, those were the moments I spent alone. Then there’s every minute since I managed to convince Hattie to give me another chance. Those moments are flying past faster than I’d like.

“I hate to tell you that laser vision doesn’t exist.” I jump a little when Griffin comes up behind me without warning.

“What the fuck are you going on about? Laser vision? What drugs did you take this morning?” I ask my best friend of over forty years. Griffin has the patience of a toddler hopped up on Pixie Stix.

His kids run across the lawn to join my girls in playing on the fancy playground equipment he and I built between our two houses. Liam, Griffin’s oldest son, lives with his wife and kids on the opposite side of Griffin and Wren. All of our kids are very close in age, and we all get along great…now.

There was a time, a bit over a decade ago, when that was far from the case. Griffin was hiding his obsession for his daughter-in-law, his son was hiding the fact he was cheating on her, and I was hiding everything.

A rubber bouncy ball hits the side of my head, and I finally turn to give him the attention he’s demanding. “You’re fifty-two years old, will you quit acting like a child.”

“My kids have been up since the ass crack of dawn. I’ve had an entire pot of coffee. And you’re a suck ass uncle to my boys if you don’t know about the different powers of superheroes,” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Maybe if you didn’t impregnate your wife like you were responsible for repopulating the earth you’d have the luxury of sleeping in,” I toss back.

He shrugs. This back and forth is our usual, although we normally save it for the garage when we’re at work. “Sleeping in is overrated if I can’t knock Wren up anymore.”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re fifty-two?” I ask.

“And? My wife is thirty-three, what’s your point?” he asks, and unfortunately for Wren, I think he means it. He’s even got their new baby, Elisa, strapped to his chest, and he’s already planning another one.

“You’re having a vasectomy. Five kids are enough,” Wren shouts, and I see her off on the side of her house messing with one of her flower beds.

“Liam doesn’t count, he’s an adult and not your child,” he yells back.

“Yeah, just my ex-husband and now my stepson,” she says like we don’t already know.

I had front-row seats to that particular disaster. Although, parts of it worked in my favor.

I shake off the thought and watch one of the neighbors go out of their way to avoid the sidewalk in front of our homes. I overheard one of the ladies refer to our cul-de-sac asincest circle. I’d have argued with them, but with Wren calling Griffin daddy every time the kids are in bed and the jokes about being her ex-husband’s stepmom, I don’t really have much to work with.

“We’re never going to make friends with the neighbors,” I grumble.

“Thank fuck. Those old ladies are irritating,” he bitches.

“Those ladies are our age, asshole,” I point out.

He rolls his eyes. “On the outside. Those women are ancient on the inside. That’s what counts.”

I need to change the subject before he manages to bring this back to him needing to have more kids. I swear his breeding kink is out of control. Speaking of breeding kinks that makes me wonder about our missing family member.

“When is the kid supposed to get here?” I ask Griffin.

He grumbles. I know what is coming next. He’s going to chastise me for calling Scott “the kid” but he is only twenty-one. Of course, with a kid of his own on the way, I guess I need to find something else to start calling him. He’s too nice to call him an asshole, and besides that’s Griffin’s name. I’m sure I’ll come upwith something. We need street names when the dad gang gets going.

Griffin gives me the side eye. “Don’t call him the kid. He’s an adult with a kid on the way, and our friend.”

Yep, called it. I keep that to myself though, because I’m not sure he’s had that much coffee, and while I like messing with him, even I know when to back off. We might not have matured past our twenties, but we can’t recover from kicking each other’s asses like we could back then. Makes settling arguments a lot more time-consuming.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re thinking about that idiotic dad gang crap again, aren’t you?”

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