Tied(17)

Frank just won’t let it frigging go. “When this blows up in your face, Matthew, don’t come crying to me.”

Matthew replies with a mixture of anger and hurt, “Don’t worry—I would never f*cking consider it.” He glances at his mother. “Sorry, Mom.” Then he walks out of the room and I’m right behind him.

The ride home is quiet. James falls asleep before we hit the highway. My friend and his wife hold hands in the backseat, whispering apologies and reassurances to each other.

Delores cries.

I don’t like it. It makes her seem so . . . human.

I offer my take on the situation. “I think we can all agree that sucked sweaty balls. But Frank’s not going to be a dick about it forever. He was blindsided—and he’s worried about you.” I make eye contact with my best friend in the review mirror. “Remember when you bought the Ducati?”

Even though Matthew was twenty-two at the time, the way Frank blew a gasket when he saw his son’s motorcycle, you would’ve thought he was sixteen and taking out a Lamborghini for a joyride. The first time Matthew rode it to the office, Frank bribed the maintenance guys to remove one of the f*cking tires.

Even though Frank went about it the wrong way, it stemmed from his concern for his son. Trying to protect him—desperately not wanting to see him become roadkill. This situation isn’t any different.

“I remember,” Matthew begrudgingly admits.

“It’s the same thing. He’ll get over it.”

Matthew’s jaw clenches. “Well, maybe I f*cking won’t. He insulted my wife. And this isn’t a motorcycle, Drew. This is my kid.”

I sigh, ’cause I knew he was going to say that. “I know. But I bet once my parents and Lexi get through guilt-tripping him, he’ll be kissing your ass come Monday. Frank’s going to see the error of his ways and apologize. To you too, Dee. Just watch.”

Only . . . he didn’t.

Matthew and Frank didn’t speak to each other for two whole weeks.

Then adoption day came.

They flew to Transylvania or one of those small Eastern Bloc countries, and they came back with a beautiful baby boy. The weird thing is, he actually looks like them—bright hazel eyes and brown hair with natural-blond highlights.

Estelle broke the standoff. She threatened to leave the stubborn bastard if he didn’t tell Matthew and Dee how sorry he was—how wrong he had been.

The day after they brought the baby home, they threw a small family party so everyone could meet the new addition. I watched Frank from the second he walked into Matthew’s apartment.

Proud. Distant. Hard.

Until he saw his son, holding his own son.

And all of his proud ideals about how things should be just kind of melted away.

The Discovery Channel has a show about gorillas. At first, male gorillas feel threatened by their offspring. They don’t understand them, sort of ignore them, or bang their chests whenever they’re around. But then, after a couple days, they get used to them. And God f*cking help anyone who tries to mess with them.

It was a lot like that.

After that first visit, from the moment Frank held the baby, he decided that this was his grandson in every way. And he’d happily beat the crap out of anyone who said otherwise.

It’s been smooth sailing ever since.



Now, back to Matthew’s groveling.

Delores comes to his rescue and kneels down in front of Mackenzie. “I understand why you’re upset, Mackenzie. I didn’t have any girl cousins, either.”

Mackenzie throws her arms up in the air. “I just don’t get it! You got to pick your baby! It wasn’t like with Aunt Kate and Mommy, where we just had to take what we got. Why couldn’t you have picked a girl?”

Dee smiles softly. “We didn’t pick Rain, sweetie. He picked us. And even though he didn’t grow in my body, he grew in my heart. He was supposed to be our son—there really was no choice.”

Mackenzie breathes deep. “Well, the next time you decide to grow a baby, could you please tell your heart we need another girl around here?”

Matthew pulls her in for a hug and squeezes her tight. “I’ll do my best.”

Personally, I’m relieved they got a boy. You know that saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? That’s all wrong. It takes a village to raise a girl. Pick a headline—any headline. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus—it’s not their fault they’re train wrecks. It’s because they didn’t have people in their lives who cared enough about them to teach them. Prepare them for what is still mostly a man’s world.

Boys are easy. Keep the fridge stocked, smack them around once in a while, discourage them from jumping off the roof into the swimming pool, make sure they use soap when they shower. That’s pretty much it.

Girls are a whole other animal. You have to worry about low self-esteem and poor self-image, eating disorders, cutting, drug abuse, sluttiness, catty mean-girl attitudes, and the horde of adolescent bastards who are just dying to get their dicks wet and won’t give a damn if they leave a broken heart, pregnancy, or an STD in their wake.

Even though Mackenzie is coming along nicely, once puberty hits, all bets are off. The fewer distractions I have when those days come, the better.

As Matthew and Delores get up off the floor, I ask, “Where is Michael, anyway? With Helga?”