Jesus on a saltine. I glance at Hailey, who is silently shaking with silent laughter as she focuses on her task of bundling silverware inside napkins. The woman could get a job rolling cigars. She’s very good with her hands.
I need to switch the channel in my head from Hailey’s manual dexterity back to the topic. “What’s the big deal? You have other grandkids you can fawn over.”
My oldest sister, Amy, snorts. “It’s because you’re the boy.”
“That’s not true,” Mom argues. “You only become a parent once for the first time. This is special. And don’t twist my words, Amy. I love each and every grandchild with my whole heart.”
“Oh, please. Tom’s always been your favorite.” Lori takes a big sip of her own wine. I notice two empty bottles on the counter already.
“I don’t have a favorite,” Mom attempts to defend herself. After brushing her hands on her apron, she settles them on her hips, glaring at my sisters.
Amy and Cara refuse to look at me. We’re close, but old family dynamics still exist. Lori’s the baby, I’m the boy, and Amy has always been an adult. Cara’s a classic middle child, lost between the bossy older sister and the obnoxious younger brother. She’s great at making peace but even better at wisely picking her fights.
“I can’t help it if I’m the most charming, smartest, and good looking of all.” I’m safe to speak the truth because Hailey’s the only one with access to knives at the moment.
Small objects pelt the side of my head and torso. Cara and Amy are throwing pecans at me.
“Ouch! I’m under attack.” I dive behind Hailey, using her as a wall of defense.
“You’re hiding behind your pregnant wife?” Amy scoffs. “Oh, Tom. You still haven’t learned to stand up and defend yourself. When he was little, he’d always start crying and immediately run off to Mom or Gramma the second we picked on him.”
“It’s true.” Nodding her head, Cara agrees.
“Keep talking about me like I’m not here and we’ll have a repeat of the Great Mashed Potato War from two years ago.”
Hailey ducks her head to smother her giggles.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Mom brandishes a spoon at me. “I can still see the spots on the wall.”
“I knew better than to dare enter your lair.” I eye a bowl of crab dip sitting on the counter. “I’ll leave you to your lady party.”
Stepping closer to the dip, I give my mom a quick kiss on the cheek. “Love you.”
Before she realizes what I’m up to, I grab the dip and run out of the room.
“Share that with the rest of the guys!” Amy yells from the kitchen.
Like I’m going to eat an entire bowl of Gramma’s famous crab dip by myself.
Okay, it’s happened before, but only once.
Flopping on the couch next to Dad, I set the bowl on the coffee table. Among my own kind, I relax into the cushions.
Hailey’s dad is in the recliner. Nick and Doug, two out of three of my brothers-in-law, are on the other side of the sectional. Sam, one of the nephews, is sprawled on the floor in front of Dad’s giant TV.
“Where are the chips?” Nick asks.
I blow out a breath. “Shit. You’re going to have to get them yourself. I can’t go back in there. Maybe ever.”
Nick and Dad laugh at me before Nick suggests, “Send Greg when he gets back from the bathroom.”
Excellent. Brothers-in-law are safe from the hen pecking because of their lack of shared DNA.
A few minutes later, Greg steps into the room. Tall and working a dad bod, he’s an all-around “good guy,” who happens to resemble Seth Rogan’s more handsome brother.
I stop him before he can sit down. “While you’re up, can you grab the tortilla chips and maybe some more of those crackers in the kitchen?”
He gives me a sidelong look. “You were supposed to get them. Did you get yourself kicked out of the kitchen again?”
Everyone but me thinks this is hysterical.
“No, but for the future peace of familial relations, it’s probably best I stay right here for now.” I slide down until the back of my neck rests on the top of the cushions.
Greg shrugs and ambles into the den of lionesses. He returns a minute later, carrying chips, crackers, and a tray of cocktail weenies stabbed through their middles with toothpicks.
I try not to take it personally, but reflexively cross my legs anyway.
“What happened in there?” Dad asks quietly.
“Why is it always my fault?”
“Baby stuff getting to you?” he asks, picking up a tiny hot dog and twirling it around.
“Busybodies are pressuring us to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl.” I eye the wee sausage and decide it’s the most appropriate snack for everyone’s obsession today.
“I don’t really understand it. Sure, I wanted a son, but I was happy when each of my kids were born healthy.” Dad happily munches on the new snack.
“Is that true or just something you say?” I hand him another weenie and the bowl of bbq dipping sauce.
“You’ll find out soon enough how quickly your life can change. We never thought you’d settle down, then Hailey blew up your world. If you think you feel love now, wait until you hold your child.” I swear his eyes get a little misty as he speaks.
We sit quietly as halftime finishes and the game starts again. Lost in my head, I barely pay attention to the plays and couldn’t tell you any details of the game other than who’s playing.
My two-year-old ginger nephew, Noah, comes tearing into the room like a shopper into Walmart’s Black Friday sale. Takes me a few seconds to realize he’s butt-naked from the waist down.
“Hey, little dude.” I trap him with my legs as he tries to round the coffee table.
Lightly squeezing, I immobilize him. Tiny man has some serious finger strength as he grabs at my jeans and attempts to free himself. I grimace when he manages to pull on my leg hair through the fabric, but I don’t release him. When his face turns the same color as his hair, I know he’s going to blow.
“Hey,” I speak slowly. “Where are you going?”
He pauses in his attempt to free himself and says, “Fuck.”
Pretty sure there isn’t a place in the scrapbook for Baby’s First Curse Word.
Dad snorts beside me while Nick coughs and sputters on his beer.
“You teach him that?” Dad asks as Noah repeats himself.
“He’s saying truck,” Nick answers with a sigh.
“Sure he is. Do you want your truck?” I ask my pantsless nephew.
“Fuck,” Noah says in his little voice. “Fuck!”
“Noah Donnely Crawford!” Lori shouts from the door. She’s standing there with a fresh diaper in one hand and tiny pants in the other. “Diaper and pants first, then you can play with your truck. Tr-uck.”
“Fuck?” Noah repeats.
“Tr,” Lori stresses the t and r.
“Fuck?” Noah asks.
I can’t take much more without full out laughing.
“If you think this is so funny, one of you can finish changing him.” Lori hands Nick the pants and diaper.
He tosses them to me. “Tom needs the practice.”
“Seriously? Everyone acts like putting a diaper on is super difficult. We spent an hour on diapering and swaddling at Baby 101.”
“Then you should be a master. I’ll time you.” Nick pulls out his phone.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“Asso,” Noah echoes. “Asso.”
“Wonderful,” Lori says from behind us. “At least put his diaper on before he pees all over you.”
My legs spring open, allowing Noah to escape. On the loose again, he stalls as he tries to scramble over my dad’s feet, giving me the chance to scoop him up.
“No,” he pleads as he struggles in my arms. “Noo.”
“Listen, we do this fast and you get your truck sooner.” I use my no nonsense allowed voice.
&nb
sp; Nick softly snorts. “Never bargain with a toddler.”
Parenting advice from a guy whose kid swears like a pantsless trucker? Give me a break.
“I’ve got this.” Holding Noah under one arm, I grab the diaper and his pants with my free hand.
“Ten bucks, someone ends up covered in piss.” Dad’s serious.
“I’ll take that bet and double it if he hits the ceiling, an eye, or more than one of us,” Greg says, then adds, “It’s happened before.”
“In the eye?” I’m both disgusted and impressed.
Noah wiggles around like Gramma’s Jell-O salad.
“Work with me, dude.” I stand him up and brace him against my chest with my right forearm while I try to open up the diaper and align it with his bottom. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
With ninja skills I never knew I possessed, I open, peel, bend, flip, slip, slide, and contort my arms as I diaper the human version of a water weenie. At one point, I have Noah flipped over my shoulder and at another he’s face up on my lap. There’s laughter and even a few tears. Mainly from me. Victory is one adjustment and a sticky tab away when I feel a foreign warmth spreading across my chest.
No, it’s not the satisfaction of proving Nick wrong. Or an overwhelming love for another human. I wish.
“Dammit.” I manage to get the flap closed to stem the stream. “Noah, we had money in the bank.”
Dad, Nick, Greg, Lori, and even Noah laugh.
“Sure. I see how this works. You and Grandpa were in cahoots the entire time, weren’t you?” I hold him away from me and my wet shirt.
“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Dad offers, taking Noah from me. He addresses the smiling toddler, “Your uncle did the same thing to me. More than once. About time he was on the other side of things.”
I swear Noah gives my dad a tiny fist bump.
“You’re all assholes,” I tell the group as I stand.
“Assos,” Noah says, clapping his hands.
“You’re welcome.” I glare at Lori and Nick.
I pull off my shirt as soon as I’m in the hallway, passing the kitchen.
“Hey there, hot stuff,” Hailey purrs as I pass. “What happened to your shirt?”
Her eyes are focused on my abs. Can’t blame the familiar expression of lust on her face. Pregnancy definitely makes Hailey horny. Her eyes have a glazed look and her mouth twists like it does when she’s having dirty thoughts.
“I’m covered in urine,” I warn her.
In a flash, her face goes from “let’s sneak up to your old room, put on the Backstreet Boys, and make out like teenagers” to disgust.
“Ew.” Her mouth purses like she’s sucked on a lemon. Or her formerly hot husband is covered in piss.
“Apparently, I got off lucky. Nick got it in the eye once.”
Her mouth drops open.
“Yeah. I’m going to take a quick shower and borrow one of Dad’s shirts.”
Ten minutes later, clean and urine free, I bound down the stairs in a #1 DAD baseball style T-shirt. It’s tight and I wonder if it’s from the eighties when we were little.
“I plan to keep this one,” I announce when I reclaim my seat on the couch.
“That’s not how it works. You need to earn that title,” Dad chides me with a laugh.
“I don’t think anyone takes proclamations on clothing or mugs seriously. You think Al down at the boatyard is really the number one boss? Or anyone would ever vote for him? Yet he has a #1 BOSS mug.”
“Who’s ready to eat?” Mom asks, skimming over me while she addresses the room. “Why are you wearing that shirt?”
“Got pissed on,” Dad and I say at the same time.
Shaking her head, Mom scans the room. “Okay. Better it happened before we’re all seated. Ellie, would like to say the blessing this year?”
I’m not sure if she thinks I peed on myself or not, but I don’t bother to clarify as we all take our seats for the family feast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Weather’s forecasted for a helluva wind storm this week. Maybe bring some ice with it.” I rub my hands together before cupping them and blowing warm air over the frozen skin. The sky is heavy with dark clouds, dimming the afternoon light and making it feel much later than two o’clock.
“Can smell the snow in the air.” Olaf sniffs loudly. In his red plaid shirt and matching hat with ear flaps, he’s the world’s crankiest elf. Or the dwarf named Grumpy.
“You know you’re not a real snowman, right?” I press my luck in poking him. I’m still not banned from the Dog House, despite many threats over all these years, but I like to test the limit. Especially after Hailey and I got ourselves kicked out of the Inn after last year’s Donnely Boats’ holiday party.
I stand by my statement that if you have a party at a hotel with bedrooms and you don’t want shenanigans to occur in said rooms, keep the doors locked. Newlyweds is apparently enough of an excuse to avoid charges, but not enough to keep us out of the police log. I’ve got the incident report framed and hanging over the toilet in the downstairs bathroom.
No shame in loving my wife.
“Damn cartoon,” Olaf grumbles. “One of those ribbon and wreath ladies offered to have some high school art kid come paint my windows with Disney characters.”
“What did you tell her?”
“This is a tavern, not a daycare. People don’t care if the place is festive as long as I don’t run out of beer.”
I almost mention that we’re out here in the cold hanging up pine garlands around his tavern’s windows and doors. The annual holiday stroll is tonight and O’s reluctantly agreed to do his own decorations to avoid too much “fancy bullshit” from the official event committee.
Up on a ladder, I’m doing the lifting and hanging while he grumbles from his spot on the sidewalk. After his heart attack last year, he’s not allowed to over exert himself.
“Speaking of daycare, you know you can’t bring your babies in here when you come to play pool? Not even if you have them strapped to you like a bomb.” He scowls as he unfurls more garland to hand to me.
I snort and don’t bother to cover it. “Bomb?”
“Ticking-time bombs. Any second they can explode with ear piercing sounds or projectile body fluids.”
Shaking my head and still laughing, I hang the last of the swag on this window and lean back. “How’s it look?”
“Festive,” he spits out the word like an unwanted lemon seed.
“Then I think we’re done out here. My hands and balls are about to freeze off. I believe you mentioned earlier about rewarding me with a beer if I helped you.”
“Bullshit. You volunteered. Or Dan forced you to come down here because he thinks I’m old and feeble.” He holds the ladder as I step down. “Fine. Put your gear in the truck and meet me inside. Don’t leave anything laying around or someone will pretend to trip on it just to sue me.”
He mutters about the downfall of society as he opens the door and steps inside.
I stroll to the middle of the crosswalk and examine our handiwork. The old red-painted clapboard exterior with its white trim does look festive with the long boughs of evergreen framing the front windows and doorway. Multi-colored lights twinkle in the gloomy afternoon light. Glancing to my right up the street, I see the colorful buildings and storefronts of Langley similarly decorated. The charm is nearly unbearable. Downtown has been transformed from quaint to holiday quaint.
Next year, we’ll have a kid to bring to these events. Standing in the middle of the road, I’m struck by how much life’s changed and how it feels like everything’s speeding up.
A car honks at me and I wave my hand over my shoulder to tell them to go around. Can’t they see I’m having a moment?
Brushing my hand over my scruffy beard, I stare up at the Dog House as my past flashes before my eyes. Three years ago, Hailey and I kissed for the first time here. Two years ago, I proposed to Hailey the night of the annual Sip n’ Stroll.
&nbs
p; Our history is tied to this old building and these familiar streets.
A loud rapping on glass snaps me out of my memories. Olaf’s mouthing something as he slams his fist against the window.
When I step through the door, he gives me a disapproving shake of his head. “One minute you were complaining about the cold and the next you’re standing in the middle of the busy street with your mouth hanging open. It’s a bunch of dead branches. Don’t let it go to your head.”
As I slide onto a stool at the bar, I chuckle despite his intended insult. “Got lost in some old memories. You invite me in here for my free beer?”
“Beer’s free, but I still expect a tip.” He picks up a pint glass from the shelf behind the bar. “IPA?”
“Sure.” I watch as he pulls the handle and angles the glass to get the perfect head.
Finishing the pour, he sets the pint in front of me on the bar. Under his breath, he mumbles, “Thanks for your help.”
It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me and I’m stunned speechless for a beat. “Um, you’re welcome.”
He busies himself with wiping down the already clean wooden bar top. “How’s Hailey doing?”
“Good. I think. Tired and complains about her back. And ankles. Has to pee every ten minutes. Eating weird foods together. Like clams and ice cream. Which might explain the farting when she sleeps, which is a lot.”
“Whoa, I didn’t ask for all the details.” He flicks the white towel to his shoulder and holds up his hands, palms facing me. “Best advice is to keep some mystery between a man and a woman.”
I sip my beer to keep from laughing at the horror in his eyes. “Times have changed since you were a new dad.”
“You mean other than the whole world going to shit?” He barks out a snort. “Back then, when people had more sense, the men smoked in the waiting room until someone announced our name over the speaker. By the time I first saw my sons, they were squeaky clean and safely stored in their plastic baby tray in the nursery. Much more civilized.”
I can’t imagine any of that scenario. “You could smoke in the hospital?”
“Sure. In those days, you smoked anywhere you wanted.” He nods, proud about this fact.
Very Merry Wingmen Holiday Collection Page 10
