Bear, Otter, & the Kid 03 - The Art of Breathing (16 page)

“At least it’d be good for you,” I say. “Maybe that’s what the mashed peas baby food is.”

“That is foul and offensive,” Corey says. “Most likely correct as well.”

“Thank God this is already starting,” Bear says. “We’ve been home for a minute and we’re already discussing the Jolly Green Giant jacking off for baby food. For once in our lives, could we please have a normal conversation before we enter a social gathering?”

“Bear’s just upset because now that’s all he’s going to think about,” Otter explains to Corey. “It’ll probably make him feel a tad bit aroused.”

“Gross!” I groan. “I do not want to think about Bear getting turned on because of the Jolly Green Giant. Or for anything. You guys keep your weird role playing to yourselves.”

“We don’t role-play Jolly Green Giant!” Bear says, sounding insulted. “Canned-food-mascot sex is not one of my kinks.”

“You have kinks?” Corey asked, ears perking up. “Dish. Now.”

“Never in your dreams,” Bear assures him.

“You can tell me,” Corey says. “I’d listen.”

“That’s my brother,” I say as I smack him. “And my Otter, who is my sort of dad-brother. That is not okay.”

“We could get, like, a green body suit,” Otter tells Bear. “And tape green leaves and asparagus to you or something. That’d be kinda hot.”

“This is why I have to go to therapy,” I say to Corey. “Because of stuff like this. It happens all the time.”

“You want to tape asparagus to me?” Bear asks. “I could probably get into that.”

“It’s good to know that even old people can get funky,” Corey tells me. “Gives me hope when I’m their age in like forty years.”

“That was probably not the best thing you could have said,” I say as Bear starts to sputter indignantly.

“
Old
? I will punch your kidney right out of your body, you little—”

“He won’t really,” I say. “He just likes to sound tough. He couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Isn’t it normally
wouldn’t
hurt a fly?”

“Normally. But this is Bear. He couldn’t even do that.”

“Once again,” Otter says, “I don’t quite know how we got to this point.”

“That seems to be a common occurrence with you guys,” Corey says. “I can’t wait until we go to dinner. I’ve heard Bear gets loaded on wine and cries, and then the whole thing dissolves into a big case of what-the-fuckery where everyone talks at once, and it usually ends in overshared feelings and hugging.”

“That was
one
time!”

“What about the Kid’s high school graduation dinner?” Otter asks.

“And when you got that teaching contract?” I ask.

“And when the
New Yorker
bought that photo of that homeless encampment I took?” Otter says.

“And when I made the dean’s list my first year?” I say. My first and only time.

“I might have a drinking problem,” Bear mutters.

“And an emotional-style vomiting problem,” Otter says.

“And a verbal diarrhea problem,” I say.

“It was the Green Monstrosity,” Corey says, trying to reign us all in. “That’s how we got here.”

Bear shrugs. “We talked about repainting it, especially when the paint started to peel on the siding. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. Didn’t feel right.”

“It took the Home Depot paint guy at least three weeks to match it,” Otter says. “I’m pretty sure he had to go to the Russian black market to find the components to get the color right.”

Bear rolled his eyes. “It’s wasn’t
that
hard. He just wanted you to keep coming in so he could flirt with you.”

“You were just projecting your insecurities on him, dear. He wasn’t flirting with me.”

“Oh
really
? Was I? So I suppose it totally matters to paint color when he asked you how much you worked out and that he thought you were just so
vascular
. He laughed like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
at every single thing you said!”

“I’m funny,” Otter says. “
And
vascular.”

“You’re not that funny. And when your veins stick out, it’s gross.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Bear grins and rolls his eyes.

“Last night?” I say in horror. “In the
hotel
? We were sharing the same room!”

Bear shrugs. “That’s why the bathrooms have locks.”

“Home Depot guy definitely wanted your penis,” Corey says.

“Here we are,” I mutter. “Back to the penises. I’m never going to get out of therapy. I’ll be in my nineties and still haunted by the memories of Bear and Otter as sexual beings.”

“Way sexual,” Bear says.

“Super sexual,” Otter agrees. “Asparagus and all.”

“I hate you all.”

“Teenage angst is hysterical,” Bear says.

“Such a little drama queen,” Otter says.

“They’re funny,” Corey tells me. “You’re very lucky.”

“Go fuck yourself, sunshine,” I reply.

“Hey!” a voice shouts from outside the car.

We all look.

Creed Thompson stands at the door. What can only be described as a miniature version of him stands next to him, imitating the crossed-arm pose of his father. One looks intimidating as all hell. The other is Creed.

“You guys just going to sit there all day?” he yells at us.

“Yeah, all day, you guys?” JJ shouts in echo.

Others begin to pile up behind them: Anna. Stephanie and Ian Grant, her mom and dad. Alice and Jerry Thompson, Otter and Creed’s parents.

I begin to wonder why it took me so long to come back.

The rain stops as I open the car door.

I
WALK
through the front door, and this is what I see:

Stairs, leading up to the second floor. For a long time after his accident, Bear and I hovered around Otter every time he attempted to climb them, even though he weighed more than both of us combined. We always thought we could at least cushion his fall.

The sunken living room, a relic of the seventies, where the old couches are. At Christmas, Bear and Otter sat on those couches and listened as I regaled them with the most epic Christmas poems in the history of the world. Santa/Satan never stood a chance. I think I still have them. Somewhere.

The kitchen where I burned the Thanksgiving turkey on purpose one year, with no thought to potentially burning down the house. Everyone had to eat edamame. I think Otter almost cried. I counted it as a win. I might have been a slightly manipulative little shit when I was younger.

The hallway around the corner where I found Dominic and Stacey. I look away.

Up the stairs and there’s an open door that leads to my room. Albert Einstein sticks his tongue out at me, though the edges of his poster are now curled. A battered copy of
Brave New World
sits on a shelf next to a shell I picked up the day we let Mrs. Paquinn go into the ocean.

A shirt hangs on the wall, put there when I became too big for it.
MEAT ISN’T NEAT,
it says.

Pictures in mismatched frames are scattered on the desk. I don’t know why I left them behind. I guess I thought I’d always be back sooner than I was.

I’m one, and Bear holds me in his arms, his forehead against mine. I know who took the picture, but she doesn’t deserve my thoughts.

I’m five, and I’m sitting on Bear’s shoulders at the beach, laughing. I don’t remember about what. It doesn’t matter because I was with my big brother.

I’ve just turned nine, and I’m bouncing in a jumping castle at a birthday party I didn’t know was going to happen. I thought then that it was the best day of my life.

I’m nine, and I’m standing with Otter in front of the Green Monstrosity, both of us covered in dirt and sweat. Otter’s arm is around my shoulder as I hug his leg.

I’m ten, and Dominic and I are in the backyard, our foreheads together as we conspire. Over what, I can’t remember.

I’m twelve, and Dominic and I are camping with Bear and Otter. He and I are walking side by side, backpacks hanging off our shoulders. I’m half his height, and for every step he took, I had to take three to catch up.

I’m thirteen, and there’s Dominic.

I’m fourteen, and he’s by my side.

I’m… I don’t know. I’m some random age and Dominic is there. He’s always there.

The last picture is just him, his first day in uniform with the Seafare Police Department. The uniform fit him well. I remember thinking with a dark sense of wonder just how handsome he looked, just how wonderful he was. How big his arms looked. How strong his thighs were.

“Kid?” Creed calls from up the stairs. “You hungry?”

I allow myself to touch the picture just once. It seems only fair.

I
T
DOESN
’
T
take very long before Corey’s prediction of our patented brand of what-the-fuckery to raise its Hydra-like head. I really don’t think it’s a question of
if
anymore, but more
when
. There’s no way you can put this family together in a room without all our crazy coming out to play.

Maybe I should have known when I come down the stairs and see Corey pouring Bear a glass of wine, dropping me a secretive wink as he hands my distracted brother the glass, which is filled to the brim.

Maybe I should have known when Stephanie Grant hands me a dish of asparagus to take out to the back patio, and all I can think about is Bear dressed as the Jolly Green Giant and I throw up a little bit in my mouth.

Maybe I should have known when I walked by Creed telling his son a knock-knock joke that involves a dirty rabbit, all the while warning him that he would put him up for adoption if he ever told his mother where he’d heard it. “And not the good adoption agency,” Creed said. “The bad one where they hang the kids in the closets by their thumbs when they’re bad.”

Maybe I should have known when I went back inside to grab the plates and I heard Otter say to Bear quietly, “We don’t have to do this now, okay? If you’re not ready, then we don’t have to do it. This is you and me, okay? I’m fine if that’s all there is. You know that, Papa Bear.”

Bear nodded and took another drink of wine. He looks extraordinarily nervous about something, which does not bode well for his sobriety.

Maybe I should have known when Alice Thompson handed her husband Jerry another bottle of wine as the first one was almost gone between the old people.

Maybe I should have known when we all sat down and Corey eyed us all with an anticipatory Machiavellian gleam.

Maybe I should have known. But apparently I didn’t.

Did you hear that? That was me sighing.

You should know by now how these things start.

Yeah, that’s right. With the “what we’re thankful for” prayer. Can I get a motherfucking amen? Hallelujah!

“Hey, God,” Alice says after we all join hands and bow our heads. “It’s us again. Thank you for the bounty you’ve bestowed up on us.” I crack open an eye and see that the main entrée in the middle resembles Slimer from
Ghostbusters
. It’s obviously vegetarian, but it still looks like it’s alive. Alice is awesome, but her cooking is a crime against humanity. “I’m thankful for the fact that our family is back together again, finally! Please watch over Tyson as he begins a grand new adventure.”

That’s a polite way of putting it, I guess. It’s the thought that counts.

Ian, Anna’s dad, is next, as always. “I’m thankful for the health of my family, and that my grandson will probably give the Kid a run for his money in the smarts department.” He doesn’t see that JJ is picking his nose with a fork and staring at the ceiling. I’m not too worried about having my position usurped.

Stephanie Grant is next. “I’m thankful for being able to find another job so quickly after being laid off.”

Quiet appreciation.

Anna says, “I’m thankful for my son and my husband, even if they leave dirty socks on the floor in the kitchen.”

Creed says, “I’m thankful that my wife knows my secret hiding place for my dirty socks.”

JJ says, “Hey, Mom! I heard a really funny joke from… some guy… named…. Leed. What do you call a—”

“JJ,” Creed coughs loudly. “This is not joke time. This is thankful time. You need to say what you’re thankful for or we won’t be able to eat the gigantic booger that my mom made.”

“It’s kale and spinach lasagna,” Alice says cheerfully. “Though it doesn’t look quite like the picture.”

JJ sighs. “I don’t know why we have to eat vegetables just because Uncle Ty is here. Dad says that not having meat in a meal is like clubbing baby seals.”

“I didn’t quite say it like that,” Creed says hastily.

“Maybe we can just skip JJ today,” Anna says.

“I can do it! I’m thankful for… for… my Xbox 360 and
Call of Duty
.”

“Which you are not supposed to be playing because it’s too violent,” Anna says sternly.

“Dad said I could but only when you’re not… uh. Never mind.”

“Dude,” Creed groaned. “Not cool.”

“When you see your dad sleeping on the couch,” Anna says to her son, “just remember I still love him very much.”

“Oh,” JJ says. “Does that mean you’re getting a divorce?”

Anna laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. Probably.”

“I’m okay with that as long as I get two Christmases. My friend Jack says that his parents got divorced and now they compete for his love with presents.”

“I’d only buy you dog food,” Creed promises.

“Well!” Jerry says. “I’m thankful that Bear, Otter, and the Kid have decided to move back to Seafare, at least for the time being. It’s been tough having them on the far coast. And I’m thankful Corey has decided to spend the summer here.”

Next to me, Corey grins, his head still bowed. “I’m thankful for everything that has happened in the last four minutes. And for being here.”

He squeezes my hand. “I’m thankful that even with everything changing out there in the world, I can come home and find that nothing has changed here,” I say. Easy enough. Filled with things better left unsaid. They know. Time to move along.

I squeeze Bear’s hand. Only then do I notice it’s sweaty. And that he’s way tense. And that he’s almost vibrating.