Page 70 of Say Uncle

Cass tucked himself away and joined us. “I’m proud of you, my big, brave boy. I know that took big guts.”

“Please,” I snorted. “He’s capable of anything when he’s horny enough.”

“Even still, it took courage. If you want, Daddy will buy you any stuffie you want, one with no hole in its mouth.”

Nicky shook his head. “No thanks. I want this one. We’re bonded now.”

“Is that right?” Sam asked, sitting next to me. “You know, you’re not allowed to use his mouth when we’re not around.”

Nicky glared at him hatefully. “That’s mean, but I still want him.”

“You know what?” I asked. “We should sing the fishy song. For old times’ sake.”

Nicky giggled, but then protested. “No way. You’ve already ruined my stuffie. I can’t let you desecrate my favorite childhood song.”

EPILOGUE

“Come on…Mattie…it’s…almost time…” he panted, breathless from jumping on my bed.

“You’ve been saying that for days. Quit jumping!”

“I swear, today is the day. I can feel it! Daddy won’t let me jump on our bed, so…”

“So, what? My bed is a loophole?”

Nicky shrugged. He leapt one final time and landed on his ass, bouncing onto the floor on his feet. “I gotta go make snacks.”

I followed him to the kitchen. A magnetic chalkboard was stuck to the fridge door. It said, ‘eleven days ‘till winter break.’ Nicky was counting down to the end of his semester. This was the first year Sam hadn’t taken off for the west coast in the off-season. He’d made a promise to wait until Nicky and Cass could join us.

Although part of me was anxious to see a wholeother side of Sam, to see how he lived when he wasn’t sailing, another part of me was completely satisfied and relieved that we hadn’t left Cass and Nicky for months. I wasn’t sure I could go that long without them.

Nicky handed me a bowl. “Can you fill that with goldfish crackers?”

He filled his bowl with popcorn. I emptied the bag of crackers into the bowl and tossed the package in the trash. Nicky moved around me, grabbing sodas and water from the fridge. He arranged everything on a tray and carried it into the living room. Just as I joined him, Cass walked through the front door, smelling like diesel fuel and covered in a grease-stained shirt. He’d come straight from work at the marina, and he’d probably spent the day underneath a boat engine from the looks of it. Nicky and I plopped down on the couch and made ourselves comfortable while Cass went straight for the shower. Sam came through the door balancing a heavy-looking cardboard box and a duffel bag.

“That’s the last of your stuff from my sister’s place. Run everything through the wash before you put it away.” He dropped his load by the front door, kicked it closed with his foot, and leaned over the back of the couch. Sam nestled his nose in the crook of my neck. “Everything in the box stinks. Your old room stunk to high heaven. Did you never shower?Eau de jock?”

I laughed, running my knuckles over his scalp harshly. “You love the way I smell. At least, that’s whatyou said last night when your nose was buried between my ass cheeks.”

“Might have to take another whiff to be sure.”

I let him up, and he released his hold on me. “Come sit down and watch this fucking tank with me before Nicky loses his shit.”

“Gotta go get my shirt, hold on.”

He disappeared into our room, and when he came back out a moment later, he had on a black T-shirt with a seahorse that read ‘Proud Grandpa-to-Be.’

“Nice shirt, gramps,” I snorted.

“You’re a fucking brat. I was hard-pressed to find one that explained our exact dynamic, so this was the next best thing.”

It was better than Nicky’s shirt that read, “Always be yourself, unless you can be a seahorse. Then always be a seahorse.”

I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, pushing aside several issues of Salt Life magazine and other travel mags that featured my pictures. Work had slowed down lately now that we weren’t sailing, but I was looking forward to photographing a whole new landscape when we got to the West Coast. In fact, Nicky had encouraged me to sign up for a photography course when he returned to school in the spring.

When Cass joined us, fresh from the shower with a plain T-shirt that didn’t have anything to do with seahorses and wet hair, he pressed a kiss to Nicky’stemple and reached for the goldfish crackers. “I feel like we need music. This is kind of boring.”

Laughing, I grabbed my phone and connected it to the wireless speaker. Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On’filtered from the speakers, and everyone but Nicky laughed. Maybe it would inspire Salty the seahorse, and put him in the mood for making babies.

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