Tied(13)

She comes over and takes an apple slice for herself. “How are my two favorite guys doing?”

“So far, so good.” I nod toward the phone in her hand. “What’s up there?”

“I’m texting Billy’s manager Steven and Alexandra’s address. The one he was given is for a pawnshop in the middle of the Bronx. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

My parents are watching all the grandchildren for the weekend. Since Steven and my sister’s two trumps our one, the whole gang’s meeting at their place and taking a car to the airport together.

I play innocent. “Who me? Nope—I know nothing.”

She doesn’t look as if she buys it. “He could’ve missed the car to the airport. Maybe the whole flight.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been a shame.”

“Be nice, Drew.”

“He’s coming, isn’t he? I think letting your ex-boyfriend tag along to my bachelor party is above and beyond the call of nice.”

Kate motions with her hands as she attempts to defend donkey dump. “You’re always complaining about how close I am with him, but maybe if you tried a little harder, he wouldn’t depend so much on me. And besides, Billy doesn’t have a lot of guy friends.”

“Which makes perfect sense. He’s a *—and females tend to flock together.”

Kate rolls her eyes.

James decides to join the conversation. “Poosy.”

Oh, crap. That’s not good.

But still, I start to laugh. How can I not?

Kate frowns at me. “Great.”

Most kids speak their first word around the eleven-month mark. Because my son is a genius, his first word came at nine months. And it wasn’t Mama or Dada or anything typical like that.

James’s first word was shit. Kate was not pleased.

Between you and me, though, we got off easy. It could have been so much worse.

She turns to James and admonishes gently, “No, James.”

He shakes his head, trying to understand. “No poosy?”

I crack up harder. Now Kate is glaring. She puts her hands on her hips. “Yes—and that’s exactly what Daddy’s going to be getting if he doesn’t stop laughing right now.”

James’s eyes go wide and he tries to warn me. “No poosy, Daddy.”

Now I’m full-out laughing my ass off.

Kate throws her hands up in the air. “Well, that’s just perfect! Now he’s going to spend the next two days with your parents talking like a foulmouthed little hooligan. What’s your mother going to think?”

I sober slightly, still smiling, taking her hand in mine and holding it against my chest. “Considering she’s the woman who had to raise the first foulmouthed hooligan? I think she’ll have an enormous amount of sympathy for you.”

Kate grins. “Which is totally deserved. I swear, between the two of you, I don’t know how I keep my sanity.”

“It’s the sex. If raisins are nature’s candy, screwing is its antidepressant. It’s the best way to maintain good mental health.”

An orgasm a day keeps the psychiatrist away.

Kate crosses her arms doubtfully. “Sure it is. That sounds an awful lot like when I was pregnant and you told me women who performed oral sex more often were less likely to develop preeclampsia.”

I point my finger at her. “That was totally true! I read an article about it.”

How awesome is that? If I wasn’t sure before, after that I was certain—God is definitely a guy.

“In what magazine? Playboy?”

“Men’s Health.”

Feeling left out, James tries to get another laugh out of me. “Poosy!”

I ruffle his hair. “Now you’re just showing off.”

Kate scoops him out of the chair and holds him close. “Are you done with breakfast, baby? Do you want to sing with Mommy?”

He claps his hands.

Most of James’s likes and dislikes mirror my own. He hates broccoli. Female sportscasters get on his nerves. And he despises televised figure skating. But he loves Kate’s voice.

Oh—and her boobs. See how he bends down to rub his face against them? Reveling in their symmetrical, cushiony softness.

I nudge his shoulder. “Dude, we’ve been over this—they were loaners. You’re cut off now.”

Kate breast-fed for the first year. Weaning was hell. Not that I blame the kid—if Kate told me her perfect tits were off-limits? I’d pitch a f*cking fit too.

James’s little face scrunches up—like Damien from The Omen.

He grabs on to Kate’s shoulders with both hands and yells, “Mine. Is my mummy!”

I pull her a little closer to my side. “Technically, she belongs to both of us, buddy. We can share. But those?” I point to Kate’s breasts. “Those are mine.”

He ups the volume. “No. Is mine!”

Sigmund Freud would have a field day in this house.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Is my mummy!”

Getting into a yelling match with a two-year-old is not a good idea. That’s a battle that cannot be won.

Kate pushes my chest. “Stop teasing him. And go shower—we’re gonna be late.”