Page 26 of Dream House
“For the picture that’ll be stuck to Mom’s fridge for the next thirty years of him with that odious haircut.”
Grayson raises his chubby hand to his head while Maggie scowls. “Lark, I swear to G—” She clamps her mouth shut with obvious effort. Bear saunters in from the direction of their bedroom wearing his royal blue uniform shirt with the Schlumberger logo over the breast pocket.
He eyes me sideways. “Little brother, are you pushing my wife to lose her religion?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Mmm. Those look good, baby.”
I roll onto my back again, trying to muster the will to actually get up. “I’m just mapping out the consequences of her choices.”
Bear frowns at me. “What choices?”
I jab a finger at Grayson’s head. “Beatlemania.”
Bear looks at his son as if he’s seeing his absurd haircut for the first time. He turns to Maggie. “I thought we were going to get his hair cut before pictures?”
“We?”Maggie brandishes the spatula in a way that makes me concerned for my brother’s eyesight. “I leak milk from my boobs every time I hear Lola cry. Do you want that to happen to me at Supercuts?”
Bear’s mouth falls open and he flicks his gaze down to her generous breasts before making eye contact with her again. “N-No. I—”
“Youwant his hair cut?” she snarls. “Youcan take him.”
He nods. “Yes. You are right. My love.” As soon as Maggie turns back to her pancakes, Bear tries to shoot lasers out of his eyes at me.
That’s my cue to get up. I fling the blanket off me, and Bear’s eyes bug.
“Jesus, Lark!”
Maggie looks over and shrieks before shielding her eyes with the spatula. “Lark,why?!”
I look down at my boxers.
Oh.
“It’s just a little morning wood. What’s the big deal?”
“Lil’ mownin’ wood,”Grayson echoes, almost to the tune ofI’m a Little Teapot.
“GAH!” Maggie screams.
“Grayson!” Bear barks.
“Lil’ mownin’ wood,”Grayson sings again. If nothing else, three-year-olds are great mimics. Musical, too.“Woody mownin’ wood…”
Maggie uncovers her eyes and screeches at her son. “Grayson McCarthy Bienvenue. Stop singing that.” She aims her demon face at me, wielding the spatula like a pitchfork. “And you. Put some pants on!”
Bear grabs her elbows from behind. “Turn around, honey.” He looks at me with a wild mix of distress and hysteria. “Lark, man, close your fly.”
I look down again.
Oh.
Oh shit.
It’s not just a little morning wood. And why the hell did I saylittle?My boxer fly is gaping open, and nothing about it is little.
I grab the blanket for cover and jump to my feet. “Sorry, Mags. Sorry.”
Snatching my duffel bag off the floor, I head for the bathroom. Grayson follows.
He stands in the entrance, keeping me from shutting the door.
