Page 1 of Best Frenemies

Friday, March 18th

Mack

Mark Twain once said,“Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.”

I don’t know about tasting squishy guts from a biology project literally, but Iaman expert in the exercise metaphorically. I’ve been training with Claude O’Connor at Shamrock Boxing Club first thing in the morning for the past five years, and I’ve yet to leave his gym without at least two new and mysterious pains.

You’d think that would be reason enough to stop going, but I’ve always been an addict for anything that challenges me on a physical level and gets my heart pumping with adrenaline. As a rule, aches and pains are normally a consequence of that.

To be honest, aches and pains and inconveniences are a huge part oflife. With over seven billion people in the world, it’d be pretty impossible for everyone’s everything to go to plan.

My sister Lizzy says my outlook is the result of a privileged upbringing—one she likes to remind me was shockingly different from her own, despite the same set of parents. But when Randy and Beth Houston had me in their forties, everything about their world view shifted.

Suddenly, it wasn’t about the recommended milestones and keeping up with the Joneses—or anyone else, for that matter.

My mom said I was an unexpected gift, and come hell or high water, she wasn’t going to let any of us waste it. And since my dad defers all of his opinions to his wife, my life has been pretty fucking special.

I proudly march to the beat of my own drum, even if my march has a limp on my way to the subway entrance at 59th Street.

With my AirPods in my ears and the sweet sounds of Led Zeppelin providing the soundtrack for my early morning, I scan my MetroCard and step on to a nearly empty train with my gym bag and a drink carrier filled with three meticulously planned Starbucks coffees.

The morning rush hour has yet to commence, but that’s mostly because it’s so early—not even six thirty yet—and the people who actually care about sleep are getting in every last wink they can.

For me personally, the world’s full of too much stuff to spend any more time than I have to looking at the insides of my eyelids.

Just as the subway takes off for its next stop, my phone buzzes with a text. It takes a juggling effort to free it from my pocket and check the screen, but at this hour of the day, I’m too curious to let it go without looking.

My inbox has three unread messages, and after scrolling past the two from last night fromMary-Jamba JuiceandCallie (Whole Foods Columbus Circle),I click the one I’ve just received from my larger-than-life cousin.

And trust me, I know the way I save women’s numbers in my phone might make me sound like a total dick, but what can I say? Sometimes, it’s hard to keep track of who is who. I’m a single guy who likes to date around. I love women and I love spending time with women, but that time usually ends after one or two dates.

Thatch: Got a favor, cuz. Need you to help Gunnar get home from school today. Both Cass and I are slammed with work. Ace will be home when you drop him off, though, so you and your dick can hopscotch right back into your bachelorhood without too much delay.

Thatcher Kelly is my eldest cousin from my mother’s side of the family—his mom and my mom are sisters—and I’m the youngest at the ripe old age of thirty-one. Ace is his eldest son and currently in his first year of high school, and his youngest son Gunnar goes to the private elementary school where I’m a music teacher.

I love both of his kids, and I’m more than happy to help his smallest wild child get home today, but that doesn’t mean I can’t mess with him a little before I officially agree. Quite frankly, as I’m sure you can tell by the tone of his message, he’d be disappointed by anything less.

Me: What’s in it for me?

Thatch: My undying love and anything you can pilfer from my pantry.

Me: That’s it?

Thatch: I’ll let you get in a few good punches the next time I fit in a session at Shamrock, so you can know what it feels like to be a real man for once. I know you normally have to put your thumb over the tip of your vagina to pee like you’re spraying a hose, but maybe if you get a few hits on me, your dick’ll swell enough to let you hold it.

A few times a month, when he’s not too busy running his bajillion-dollar financial empire or keeping up with his unpredictable wife Cassie, Thatch joins in on my training sessions with Claude. I’d like to say he’s full of shit about “letting me get a few hits in,” but he’s a big motherfucker—and that’s saying a lot, considering I’m 6’2”. Boxing with him is like boxing with a tree that punches back.

Me: Meh. My boyish charm is one of my strongest attributes, and I use the hose as a party trick. Got anything else to offer?

Thatch: Name your price, Macarena. I can’t get Gunnar myself, and I’ll be spraying a hose with you if Cassie finds out I didn’t get coverage. You’ve got my dick over a barrel, and you know it. Let’s just cut to the chase.

The thing is…I would get Gunnar home without payment anytime. I’m not a parent myself, but I know well enough from my older sister that childcare isn’t the kind of shit that falls off trees. But it’s not that often that I have something to leverage against my wealthy AF cousin, so I’m not going to waste the opportunity.

Me: Okay. I need you to get the ball rolling on some potential investors for me.

Thatch: Finally ready to take that little music project seriously, huh?

The little music project he’s talking about is actually a music foundation that I’ve been trying to get started for the past two years. Music education is always the first thing that goes when schools have to cut budgets, and this foundation will help avoid that tragic situation that I’ve seen occur far too many times. Especially in the under-resourced inner-city schools that are struggling for funding in the first place.

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