by Alan Katz
He decided he wouldn’t. Not at all.
He also decided that somehow, some way, he’d have to get all this disgusting brotherly hugging to stop.
He ran to the family computer and Googled “how to stop long-lost brothers from hugging” and got . . . nothing. Not a single handy-dandy tip on how to stop twin brothers who hadn’t seen each other in a decade and a half to let go of each other and act normal. Well, normal for them, anyway.
He ran upstairs and got the whistle from the one and only time he’d refereed kindergarten basketball (and no, it wasn’t his fault that Jacob Reiss had ended up stuffed into the home team’s basket). He ran back downstairs—where the Martin/Myron hug was still going on—and he was about to blow the whistle when . . .
Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt walked into the house.
“Hello, boys; hello, Martin; hello, Myron,” said Mrs. Wohlfardt, extremely matter-of-factly.
“Yes, good evening to all four of you,” said Mr. Wohlfardt. “Anything interesting happen to anyone today?”
Nathan and David just stared at their parents. As for Myron and Martin, well, they kept right on blubbering and hugging, and didn’t even notice that the couple had entered the room.
“We’ll just run upstairs and get washed for dinner,” said Mrs. Wohlfardt. “I’m sure Martin and Myron will whip up something delicious.”
“Indeed,” added Mr. Wohlfardt.
With that, they both climbed the stairs.
Considering that Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt had often told their boys to pay close attention to things, it was quite shocking that neither parent had seemed to react to suddenly having Martin back in their living room.
“What the heck?” Nathan said to the lamp he’d hugged.
“Yeah, what the heck?” David said to the lamp he’d hugged.
It wasn’t surprising that their lamps, like their parents (who were already upstairs), didn’t respond.
The thundering footsteps sounded like a sea of cascading bowling balls on the stairs.
“Martin? MARTIN? Are you back, Martin?” Mrs. Wohlfardt screamed as she descended.
“Myron? MYRON? Is that your brother you’re hugging, Myron?” Mr. Wohlfardt screamed as he accidentally stepped on the back of Mrs. Wohlfardt’s shoe and popped it off while also stomping down the stairs.
Mrs. Wohlfardt shouted, “Ow, my foot!” so loudly that it caught Martin’s and Myron’s attention and they stopped hugging. It also caught the Taylor family’s attention three houses down and they stopped eating, but that really wasn’t important at the moment.
Martin smiled, bowed his most regal bow (which, in fact, he’d learned by watching a fried chicken restaurant commercial), and smiled a big smile at Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt. He stepped toward them and kissed Mrs. Wohlfardt’s hand, then shook Mr. Wohlfardt’s.
“I am, indeed, back,” Martin said, speaking in an accent that wasn’t quite British, wasn’t quite Scottish, and wasn’t quite believable. “I have returned from the land of who-knows-where, where who-knows-what happened to who-knows-who. Or to who-knows-whom, I should say.”
Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt seemed to be impressed by that statement, even though clearly it was impossible to follow and meant absolutely nothing.
“We are glad you’re here, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said.
Mr. Wohlfardt energetically nodded in agreement, slightly aggravating a crick he’d had in his neck for weeks.
Myron silently listened to all this “welcome back, Martin” chatter. He was smiling at the fact that he and his brother were in the same room for the first time in over 5,400 days. He was certainly glad to see him. But then, suddenly and without warning, two horrifying thoughts popped into his head:
1.What if Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt are so happy that Martin has come back that they instantly rehire him and send me out into the freezing cold?
2.What if Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt are so happy that Martin has come back that they instantly rehire him and send me out into the freezing cold?
Myron was so troubled by what he was thinking that he didn’t actually stop to realize that thought number 2 was exactly the same as thought number 1. But he decided to take action to prevent the “Martin hired, Myron fired” plan from happening. He knew the trick would be finding just the right moment to jump in—because everyone was still busy talking about Martin’s surprise return.
“I—” Myron said, before getting cut off by Mr. Wohlfardt.
“Boys, you must be delighted to see Martin,” Mr. Wohlfardt said. “This reminds me of the time my pet ran away when I was a boy, and oh, was it a happy moment when we were reunited!”
Martin was so giddy at the family’s reaction to his return that he didn’t even notice that Mr. Wohlfardt had just compared him to a childhood pet.
“I—” Myron said, before again getting cut off by Mr. Wohlfardt.
“Of course, it was my pet snail, Roberto, so he really hadn’t gotten far,” Mr. Wohlfardt said. “He had only run away about ten feet. And it wasn’t really running, I suppose. Might have only been six feet, now that I think of it. Still, I can imagine that you are feeling the same sense of jubilation that I felt when Roberto and I found each other again.”
“I—” Myron said, before getting cut off by David.
“It’s a good thing, Dad,” David said.
“I—” Myron said, before getting cut off by Nathan.
“Yeah, Dad,” Nathan agreed. “It’s great to see him.”
“Now we have twin boys in the house,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said, “and twin nannies, too.”
Uh-oh, thought Myron. If Martin heard her, my goose will be on the loose. Or cooked. Or fried. Or whatever that expression is.
“Um, did I hear that correctly?” Martin wanted to know. “What do you mean by ‘twin nannies’? ”
Four people then spoke to him—all at the same time.
“Waaaaaiiiitttt!” Martin yelled, this time without a foreign accent. “Since you all talked at the same time, I didn’t understand a word any of you just said.”
The two kids and their parents started saying the exact same things at the exact same time once again.
“Hold it! Hold it!” Martin said. “One at a time, puleeze!”
Nathan and David and their mom and dad looked at each other, trying to decide who should speak first. But before any of them could utter a sound, Myron stepped forward and said, quite dramatically:
“I have something to say. Martin, it is delightful to see you. Truly. I have missed you and thought of you often, and looked forward to the day we would once again stand face-to-face, toe-to-toe, and index-finger-to-index-finger. I’ve greatly enjoyed our monthly one-word e-mails over the years, and seeing you in person is even better. But . . . however . . . alas . . . I have terrible news for you.”
“I know,” said Martin. “I know.”
“You do?” said Myron. “Won’t you please tell me, dear brother, whom I have not seen since much before these fine Wohlfardt lads were born?”
“Yes, I do,” Martin replied. “It’s very clear to me that as the years have passed, you’ve become very wordy. But we can work on that on my days off, once I unpack and resume my job as the Wohlfardts’ nanny.”
“Many people have told me I am wordy, long-winded, and the type of person who uses many, many, many words when just a few will do,” Myron said. “But that is not the case. I am not wordy, no way, no chance, nohow, not now, and at no time in the past. . . .”
“Zzzzzz,” Martin snored.
Myron continued, “At any rate, that is not my terrible news. The news I have is only terrible for you, I’m afraid. Because, you see, . . . the job as the Wohlfardts’ nanny is filled . . . by me, moi, your non-wordy brother . . . Myron Hyron Dyron.”
“No! I want my job back!” boomed Martin.
“You can’t have it!” boomed Myron. “But there is one thing you can have back!”
“What’s that?” Martin asked.
“Your hug!” Myron told him. �
�Because I don’t want it anymore! Grrrr . . .”
“Grrrrrrrrrrr,” Martin replied, rolling his Rs quite dramatically.
As an airline pilot, Mr. Wohlfardt had quite a bit of experience settling feuds. He was especially proud of the time that twenty-seven passengers had all been booked into the same aisle seat and he calmly settled the matter before any voices were raised. In case you’re wondering, eighty-three-year-old Mildred Williams of Kenosha, Wisconsin, ended up in 17C, the prized aisle seat.
He stepped in to try to settle the nanny vs. nanny debate currently brewing in his living room.
“Myron! Martin! Please!” Mr. Wohlfardt said, standing so close between the men who were arguing that their mustaches tickled his ears. “We must restore peace and order at once! Think of your relationship! Think of how this looks to my boys! Most of all, think of how warmingly delicious a steaming cup of hot cocoa would taste right now.”
He wasn’t sure why he’d said the last part, but somehow, it was that line that got the men to stop bickering. Mr. Wohlfardt led them, along with his wife, into the kitchen. He directed Nathan and David to go to their rooms to do homework, or clean, or do something productive. They both clomped up the stairs, disappointed at missing the “good stuff,” as Nathan called it.
When they got to their door, David yelled, “Here we go into our room, where we won’t be able to hear what you’re saying!”
He winked at Nathan and then slammed their bedroom door so that the adults downstairs would think that the boys were in their room . . . when, in fact, they were standing silently outside their bedroom door .
David put on his Super-Spy Super Hearing Glasses that came in his Super-Sleuth Detective Kit. The glasses didn’t actually imp rove his listening abilities one bit—because they went on his eyes . But Nathan stood by hopefully and silently, anxious for updates.
Once in the kitchen, Mr. Wohlfardt began whipping up some steaming hot cocoa as he and his wife addressed the fighting nannies.
“Martin, Myron, what we have here is a dilemma,” he told them.
“Indeed we do,” his wife continued. “On the one hand, Martin was here for quite a long time, and he gave our boys a fresh start.”
“They’re having fresh tarts,” David whispered to his brother, both assuming that he could hear what Nathan couldn’t. Nathan gave him a thumbs-up.
“But on the other hand, Martin,” Mr. Wohlfardt said as he plopped the chocolate into the pan, “you quit, went away, and left us, well, nanny-free.”
“I believe the correct term is ‘nannyless,’ ” his wife said. “At any rate, all the positive steps our boys had taken quickly disappeared when you did, Martin. Their grades suffered. Their behavior suffered. Their tidiness suffered . . .”
“And we all suffered,” Mr. Wohlfardt added.
“Dad said, ‘We’re all having supper,’ ” David whispered to his brother.
Mrs. Wohlfardt went on to explain that when their nannyless lives spiraled out of control, she lost her biggest account at Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, and Glerk. With great passion, she even said that if that hadn’t happened, by now the name of the business might have been changed to Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Glerk, and Wohlfardt. Or perhaps even Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Wohlfardt, and Glerk, because no one especially liked Glerk.
“No one especially likes Glerk,” David told his brother.
“I heard that!” Nathan whispered. “Those glasses are so powerful, even I can hear better when you’re wearing them!”
“Our world was sliding downhill faster than a skier on ice skates covered with banana peels,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said.
“They’re skiing and having banana peels,” David informed his brother.
“And then,” Mr. Wohlfardt continued, “just when things seemed darkest, into our lives came Myron.”
“It seemed too good to be true,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said. “A nanny who looked like you, acted quite a bit like you, and inspired the boys to do better—just as you had, Martin.”
“A perfect description of the excellence that is Myron Hyron Dyron, if you ask Myron Hyron Dyron,” Myron Hyron Dyron said.
Martin just said, “Harrumph . . .”
Upstairs, Nathan sneezed. David elbowed him.
“Bless you, David,” Mrs. Wohlfardt called upstairs.
“It was me, Nathan. Thank you, Mom,” Nathan said.
“You’re welcome, Nathan,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said.
“Thank you, Mom,” David said.
The debate downstairs raged on. Mr. Wohlfardt, eager to be the voice of reason, poured four cups of hot cocoa, passed them around, and said, “I am sure we can work out this rather sticky situation. Let’s look at it this way, shall we?”
Mr. Wohlfardt shook up a can of whipped cream and sprayed a generous amount into Martin’s cup.
“That whipped cream represents Martin’s job here as our nanny,” he said.
“I didn’t really want whipped cream,” Martin said.
“No, but you did want the job,” Mr. Wohlfardt told him. “And now you want it again. So please go along with this.”
“Very well,” Martin said. “You are the boss, boss.”
“Thank you. Now remember, this whipped cream represents the job,” Mr. Wohlfardt continued as he scooped out the whipped cream from Martin’s cup and plopped it into Myron’s. “It was Martin’s; it’s now Myron’s.”
“So the whipped cream is mine, the job is mine, and that’s the end of the story,” Myron said, slurping up the whipped cream and getting quite a bit of it on his mustache.
“Big deal,” Martin said. “I’ll just spray myself another portion.”
Martin grabbed the can and sprayed a huge layer of whipped cream onto his cocoa. (He so wanted to spray some into his mouth, but he knew there’d be plenty of time for that later.)
“There,” Martin said. “Now I have whipped cream. And if the whipped cream represents the job, I have that, too.”
“No, no, wait, no,” Myron sputtered, his arms flailing.
Mr. Wohlfardt hushed Myron and calmly said, “Now, that may seem possible, Martin. But remember, the whipped cream only represented the job. As you well know, the fact is, we can’t just buy a can of children at the grocery store and spray out two additional boys for you to care for.”
“We’re getting two more boys,” David whispered.
Martin put on his best sad face; it was the one he’d last shown back when he’d lost the kindergarten spelling bee because he couldn’t spell I .
“So I’m out? Gone? Kicked to the curb? Vamoosed?” Martin asked.
“We’re getting a moose,” David whispered, scrunching up his face and wondering if he could still get a refund on his Super-Spy Super Hearing Glasses.
“Well, not exactly vamoosed, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said. “Because, you see, it’s time to start a new chapter.”
Mrs. Wohlfardt could see that her husband’s use of whipped cream may have been delicious, but it certainly wasn’t leading toward a happy resolution of the two-nanny problem. She could also envision everything going wildly out of control, with Myron and Martin ending up in a frenzied whipped cream–squirting battle. The thought made her want to laugh, of course, but she knew this was no laughing matter.
So she gave her husband a look that said Let me try, and she proceeded to make a speech similar to one she had recently made when she found two office workers photocopying their bare feet at Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, and Glerk.
Upstairs, the boys slithered, snakelike, to the top of the stairs, remaining just out of sight, for a better chance of hearing the conversation. It wasn’t a good thing for them to do, because private adult conversations are supposed to remain private adult conversations. But frankly, Nathan and David wanted to know more about the moose they were getting.
Mrs. Wohlfardt started her remarks in a very businesslike manner. “Men,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said, “we all want what is best for the company, er, the boys, don’t we?”
Myron and Martin nodded. Mr. Wohlfardt did too.
Mrs. Wohlfardt continued, “Nathan and David come first. But also, we want what’s best for you, Martin, and you, Myron. You deserve consideration. You deserve to treat each other with love and respect. And most of all, after being apart for so long, you deserve to be together.”
Myron and Martin nodded. Mr. Wohlfardt did too.
“Sending one of you away would, of course, make our boys sad. It would also put an end to your newfound brotherlinessness,” Mrs. Wohlfardt added, wondering if perhaps she’d said one “ness” too many.
Myron and Martin nodded. Mr. Wohlfardt did too.
“And so, I suggest that you both stay for thirty days,” she continued. “You jointly take care of Nathan and David, working side by side as total equals. You take time to enjoy each other’s company. And within those thirty days, I’m quite sure we’ll find an answer that will satisfy everyone. Good, Myron? Good, Martin?”
Myron and Martin pondered the idea.
Mr. Wohlfardt shook his head.
“Dear,” he whispered to his wife, “having two nannies also means we’d be paying two S-A-L-A-R-I-E-S.”
Mrs. Wohlfardt whispered back, “Yes, but only for thirty days, dear . . .”
“Even so,” Mr. Wohlfardt mouthed to his wife.
Noticing Mr. Wohlfardt’s concern, Myron and Martin quickly worked together to figure out what S-A-L-A-R-I-E-S spelled. Once they got it, they immediately huddled and whispered back and forth to each other. In a matter of seconds, with hands cupped over their mustaches, they discussed the fact that if Martin had gotten the job back, Myron would’ve been out of work, and out of a salary. Similarly, if the Wohlfardts had decided that Myron would stay, Martin would be unemployed and unpaid. So they quickly decided that spending thirty days together was a smart way for each man to show that he should be their one and only nanny.
“We accept,” both men said to Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt.
“This means the problem is solved,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said.
“This means we once again have peace and harmony in the house,” Mr. Wohlfardt said. He and his wife then went upstairs to share the news with the boys (who had already heard and were busy slithering back to their rooms at record speed).
