12. Bear, Otter, and the Kid

I SUCK at saying good-byes. It seems like I’ve said too many of them in my lifetime, and one would think I’d be a pro at it by now, that it wouldn’t affect me as much. But I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be. Saying good-bye can hurt, because you don’t know when and if you’ll ever see the other person again. You don’t know what will happen to them, what their lives will be like after you part. So I try to avoid them at all costs. Unless it’s inevitable, like this is.

It’s almost time for you and me to say good-bye.

I don’t know when we’ll see each other, or if we’ll ever talk like this again, you know: you and me. Besides, aren’t you just sick and tired of hearing from me by now? Christ, I know I can go on and on. Sometimes I get sick of hearing myself, so I know how it must be for you. Who knows, maybe it’ll be someone else’s turn to tell you about themselves. There’s so many other stories out there aside from my own, and I think it’s time to see what else there is to hear, what else there is to be told.

It’s not like—
Sorry, what was that?
The Kid? What about the Kid?

Oh. Right. I got custody. Duh. Did you really think I wouldn’t? Come on. I know that sometimes it got sad (totally not my fault, by the way. I just told it as it was—don’t blame me if you looked like a Wookiee when you cried), but even I wouldn’t end it on such a downer. Please tell me you never had any doubt. Of course I got the Kid. He’s mine, and no one can say otherwise.

As I was saying, it sucks that—
Sorry, didn’t catch that?

The wedding? Oh, come on. You don’t want to hear about that. It was just—

Really ? Oh, Jesus Christ. You act like you’ve never been to a wedding before. It was pretty much the same as every other wedding ever. There was a beach and cake and balloons and tears and trite vows and tuxedos and smiling, happy people. Okay, there might have been some differences. Well, maybe quite a few, now that I think about it. Fine, it really wasn’t like any wedding you’ve been to at all. You happy now? I mean, how many weddings have you been to with a vindictive seagull, bad poetry, and placenta? Well, I can proudly say I’ve been to one, and that it was my own.

All right, all right. You win. I can’t tease about custody and placenta, for God’s sakes, and not follow through with it. I’m not that big of an asshole.

So, one last story, then.

 

One last story before we say good-bye.

ON A day in March that looked like any day that had come before it, Eddie and Georgia gave their final report to the judge, a surly-looking man named Theodore Higgins. I had told myself not to be intimidated each time we’d gone before him but had failed spectacularly, knowing that he was judging me (ha!) every time he laid eyes on me. It didn’t help that his eyebrows had commandeered his face and grew out in great tufts that twitched when he moved his face from side to side. He looked like the quintessential villain; the only thing he was missing was a handlebar mustache and an eye patch.

Intimidated, indeed.

Georgia and Eddie sang our praises, testifying that the Kid had a good home in the Green Monstrosity, and that he had good role models in Otter and me. It’s odd, really, to hear other people talk about you like you’re not in the room, speaking to another who could change your life with a single decision. It didn’t help that I was absolutely convinced that the judge hated my guts for reasons I couldn’t quite figure out. I was sure he glared at me every time I entered the courtroom, my tie choking the life out of me (“Geez, Bear,” the Kid had said. “Stop acting like a freaking drama queen!”), the look on my face obviously indicating that I would be an unfit guardian to Ty. I told Erica I didn’t think I was going to do so well under cross-examination. She told me that there wouldn’t be cross-examination. I told her that there is always cross-examination on lawyer shows on TV. She told me to stop watching TV.

Only Erica and Otter knew of my mother’s visit to the hospital. We’d led the others to believe that she had mailed the papers to Erica’s office. It wasn’t meant to be a lie, nor did we want to purposefully deceive the others, especially The Kid. It was a decision born out of the need to protect, the desire to keep her as far away from the situation as possible. I’d been nervous when I first told Otter, sure that he was going to get pissed off at me for not telling him sooner. I’d waited until he was home and settled before I finally worked up the courage to tell him. I should have known what his reaction would be. He was angry, oh yes, probably angrier than I’d ever seen him, but it was not directed toward me. If anything, part of it was directed toward himself, that frustration again building from his missing week, where he felt he had let me down, when he wasn’t there to protect the Kid and me from the world around us. I’d rubbed his back as he gripped me tightly, again whispering that he had us, that he would never leave, and that he was going to be the strong one for me, for us. I didn’t want to push it any further, knowing that flash in his eyes when I told him about Jonah’s part in all of this meant that he was giving serious consideration to committing firstdegree murder. So I let him think he was consoling me, when I was actually clutching at him to keep him from flying out of the house in a violent rage. He told me later that he’d suspected as much about Jonah’s involvement. I almost allowed myself to become angry with him for keeping that from me, but he was already kicking himself because of it, like it’d been all his fault, and I just didn’t have it in me to make it worse.

We made the decision, between the three of us, to leave my mother’s visit and confession out of any discussion having to do with Tyson. When I showed him the paperwork, that his mother had given him up, I expected there to be anger there, too, maybe even a few tears. It’s not every day you receive a piece of paper showing that the woman who gave you life doesn’t want you anymore. A piece of paper with a signature was the last piece of the puzzle started almost four years ago. But none of that came: no anger, no sadness. There was a sense of relief on his face as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes and grinned at me and jumped into my arms and babbled in my ear, I knew we’d be okay.

We had the signature, we had the support of Child Protective Services, we had the clearance from a licensed counselor. We had the backing of our friends and family, all of whom wrote letters to the judge indicating that there was no better role model for Tyson than myself. Erica told me that she thought everything would be fine and that by the end of that day in March, the Kid would be mine and that would be the end of it.

So of course I was a nervous wreck. Of course I didn’t believe a goddamn word I was told, knowing that there would be some last-minute intervention where everything would go to shit and the Kid would be torn from me and put into a foster home that was really just a cover for a sweatshop that forced children to slaughter farm animals and carve their tasty cutlets out for mass distribution. I could easily imagine the look of horror on the Kid’s face as he was forced to take a nail gun and put it against the skull of a baby cow he’d named Beverly Bovine and pull the trigger. The light would fade from Beverly’s eyes as she slumped to the floor, and the Kid would then get handed a butcher knife and be told that once he was finished, Beverly’s parts would be sent to Burger King, where she’d become a Whopper with cheese.

I told the Kid as we walked in that I’d never let Beverly go to Burger King. He asked me who Beverly was. I told him not even to worry about it, because he’d never have to find out, not on my watch. He asked Eddie if he was able to write scrips for antipsychotics. Eddie said he could not, but that he knew a guy who knew a guy. Georgia and Erica glared at him. Eddie said he was just kidding. I don’t think Eddie was kidding.

We sat in the courtroom, and Judge Eyebrows looked evil as he glared at me, not even seeming to listen as Georgia and Eddie told him how fucking spectacular I was. I whispered to Otter and asked if he thought that the judge hated me for some reason. He whispered back that the only reason the judge hated me was because my eyebrows looked plucked, and his looked like they were eating his face. This caused me laugh out loud before I could stop myself, and I tried to cover it up by coughing, but that led to me half swallowing my tongue, and court was halted until everyone was sure I was not going to die as my face turned red and saliva dripped out of my mouth. Otter smirked at me as I wiped my chin with my arm, and I asked Erica if we could ask for a recess so I could murder my boyfriend.

“Fiancé,” he reminded me with a crooked grin.
“Whatever,” I grumbled.

Finally, Georgia and Eddie finished their “Bear Rocks” speech, and Judge Higgins asked Tyson to stand for a moment. The Kid took a deep breath and did just that.

“I understand that you are very intelligent,” the judge said. “You’ve recently skipped a grade?”

 

“Yes, sir,” the Kid said. “I’m not one to brag on myself, but since you said it first, yes: I’m very intelligent.”

I thought this was funny. Apparently, I was the only one, so I quieted down quickly. Judge Higgins glared at me again before turning back to the Kid. “So you understand the severity of this situation, then. That your brother is trying to become your legal guardian.”

The Kid shrugged. “He already is.”
“What was that, young man?”

“Look,” the Kid said. “We all know that we’re doing this so nothing can take me away from him again. But, really? It’s just a piece of paper with your signature on it. Bear’s been my guardian longer than you’ve ever even known who we were. He’s my brother. He’s always been my guardian, and not even your word can take that away from me.” He sat back down, obviously pleased that he’d been allowed to have his say.

I would have been rendered speechless if the judge hadn’t called on me next. I stared down at the Kid as I stood. He looked up at me and winked. Christ. I tore my gaze away and looked up at the judge.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud noise coming from outside the courtroom. We could hear voices through the door. I recognized them almost immediately and prayed that the bailiff would arrest them all and take them to jail.

“Look, it’s got to be this one, right? Courtroom Four,” Creed said. “I can read, you know,” Anna snapped at him. “Are you sure Bear said four?”

“Well, there can’t be that many courtrooms,” her mom said. “This is Seafare, after all. It’s not like there’s a lot of crime or other stuff that happens here.”

“You say that now,” Jerry Thompson said. “But remember when they broke up that meth lab over on the west side? Maybe we need more courts, because apparently tweekers like the beach.”

“I can’t believe my dad just said tweekers,” Creed moaned. “You’re so hip, Pops.”

 

“I am pretty cool,” Jerry agreed.

 

“So is this judge the guy that Bear said had eyebrows that looked, like, evil?” Alice asked. Quite loudly. “I think I need to see those for myself.” “Yeah,” Dominic rumbled. “He said that he wants to bring in garlic and holy water each time he has to face him.”

 

“Can you even buy holy water?” Stephanie Grant asked. “It doesn’t seem like you could go to a store and just buy a vial.”

“No, I’m sure there’s a store somewhere called Christ ’N Things that you could go to and get holy water,” Creed said. “I mean, where else would they get it? It’s not like priests just go to the kitchen sinks before mass and fill up that huge bowl with tap water.”

“Should we just go in?” Alice asked. “I can’t see through the cracks in the door.”

 

“We’re a couple of minutes late,” Jerry said. “But they probably haven’t even started yet. Lawyers don’t do anything on time.”

 

“Go in,” Anna said.

 

“You go in,” Creed replied. “If they’re mad at us for being late, just blame it on the fact that you’re pregnant and the baby is eating your brains.” “I still can’t believe you guys are going to have a baby,” Stephanie sighed. “You’re both just so young.”

“Yeah, well,” Creed grumbled. “Let’s not go into that again. I haven’t got the lecture out of my head from all of you in which you tried to show me how I should accurately put on a condom. I’m still insulted that you used a carrot to represent me. At least you could have used a soda can.”

Anna snorted. “Oh, please. Like that’s accurate.”

“I don’t want to talk about my son’s anatomy anymore,” Jerry said firmly. “It’s bad enough that they’re making us grandparents way before we ever thought we’d be. Leave Creed’s penis out of this.”

“Well, if he’d done that in the first place, then Anna wouldn’t be pregnant,” Alice observed.

 

“Ha!” Ian Grant laughed. “Good one! High five!” Hands slapped together.

“What should we do?”
“Just go in!”
“You go first!”
“Dammit, fine, move. Let me peek my head in.”

The door slowly opened, and Creed stuck his head in and found everyone in the courtroom staring at him. Okay, well I was glaring at him, Otter was trying to maintain composure, and the Kid was rolling his eyes. Erica looked like she popped a blood vessel, Eddie looked like he wanted the conversation to go on, as he was taking notes, and Georgia looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. The court stenographer kept clacking away, like that whole conversation was necessary to put in the transcripts (I immediately found myself plotting ways to have that stricken from the record, but then I realized I hadn’t gone to law school, and I didn’t even know what “stricken from the record” meant). Judge Higgins apparently didn’t think that my family was amusing in the slightest.

“Hi, Bear!” Creed stage-whispered, oblivious to his impending death at my hands. “We’re here!”

 

“Can we go in?” someone asked from behind him.

 

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, they haven’t even started yet. I think they were waiting for us to show up.”

The doors swung open, the seven of them smiling at us. They moved quietly into the benches and sat down, and some of them waved at us while others waited expectantly for court to begin.

I turned back to the judge. “I don’t know who any of those people are,” I said hastily.

 

Immediate protests.

Judge Higgins arched an eyebrow, which, given what they looked like, I thought he was about to put a curse on me. “Now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to take a moment to talk with you, Derrick. You’re… twenty-one, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”
“And you are in school and work part time as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have the help of your… partner, who’s here with you?” “Fiancé,” Creed coughed quite loudly.
Goddammit. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me something, Derrick. You’ve had Tyson for the last three years. You’ve survived this long, and your life seems to be more stable, at least according the reports from CPS. You have a… supportive family.” They preened and grinned. “And you have the backing of a social worker and therapist who I’ve worked with for years and know don’t take any bullshit from anyone.”

“Can he say bullshit?” Creed whispered loudly.

 

“It’s his courtroom,” his mom whispered back. “He can do whatever he wants.”

 

“But I want to know, Derrick. Why do you want this? What do you hope to achieve?”

I didn’t even have to think. “I want this because he’s my brother,” I said honestly. “And I hope to help him grow up to be the best man who ever walked the face of the earth. People think that I did something noble. They say I saved him by raising him.” I shook my head. “They don’t realize that he was the one that saved me.”

The judge watched me for a moment, and I wanted to squirm under his gaze, but I forced myself to stand where I was and stare right back. Finally, after what felt like days, Judge Higgins nodded. “Good answer. Are there any further issues that I need to be aware of? Any last details before we move forward?”

Silence.

“I’ve learned at my time here in family court,” he said, “that life can be hard on children, that choices are made for them that are not always in their best interests. I have seen the very worst in people, who have inflicted pain and violence against the ones entrusted to them. It hurts to see those cases, because it makes you wonder when it will all end, when there will be a day when you think it will all be okay.

“I think today may be one of those days. Derrick, from everything I’ve heard, and from speaking to Tyson myself, you’ve raised a remarkable young man. And while the focus may have been on Tyson and his wellbeing throughout this process, you yourself deserve the credit for who he is. When he makes something of himself, it will be because of you, and that is one thing that I hope you never forget.”

He looked at Tyson, who had a slow grin starting to spread across his face. “And you, Tyson. I’ve heard what you’ve been through. Your mother made an egregious decision, one that has affected you greatly. But do not allow that to define you. You are so much more than that. I also understand you’ve suffered a recent loss of a dear friend. Just know that I’m sure she would have been proud of you, just as much as everyone in this room is. You will listen to your brother, yes?”

He nodded. “Yes. Unless he tells me that I have to eat a hot dog. Then I’ll be back in here petitioning for emancipation.”

The judge smiled, if only for a moment. “Of that I have no doubt.” He turned back to me. “Derrick, I am hereby appointing you as legal guardian to Tyson McKenna. The CPS visits will continue for a short while, and I would recommend that you continue with the therapy as well. But that choice is yours now. And every choice that follows. It is a great responsibility, but one I think you will shoulder as you’ve always done. Do you have any questions?”

“That’s it?” I demanded, unable to stop myself. “He’s mine? That’s all it took?”

Judge Higgins chuckled. “Well, you’ll need to sign a couple of things with a notary, and we’ll want to set a schedule for CPS, but yes, Derrick. That’s it. He’s yours.”

“Holy shit!” I shouted.

 

The judge frowned. “Not in my courtroom, Mr. McKenna. But you’re right. Holy shit.”

And that was all I heard from him because I’d already turned and grabbed the Kid and pulled him up to me and held him close, and as we both trembled, as we both realized that this was finally it, our family closed in around us, and there was laughter and congratulations and even a couple of tears. But it was him in my arms that I focused on, Otter’s hand at my back. The Kid put his forehead against mine, and everything else faded around us, and the Kid said the only thing that needed to be said.

“It’s about damn time, Papa Bear.”

I WOKE up one morning in August, the sun not yet risen, wondering why my body saw fit to wake me so damn early in the morning. And then it hit me.

I’m getting married today, I thought. Well, fuck me sideways.

I shot straight up in the bed, and stared down at the man next to me, one huge leg draped over mine, his arm across my lap, snoring as if it was going out of style and he had to make sure everyone knew how good he was at it. I’m getting married to this guy today.

Jesus, it grumbled. You act like you’re surprised. It’s been on your mind ever since you saw that damn ring. Believe me, I know. I’m stuck in here. Oh, please. You love it as much as I do.

 

That’s a flat-out lie! Sort of!

My loving gaze turned into a glare, wondering just how the hell the big guy could continue to sleep on what was supposed to be one the most monumental days ever. Bastard. I extricated myself from his grasp and pushed him on his back and straddled his waist. I ground my hips down with just enough pressure to let him know I meant business. He stopped snoring and groaned. I pressed down harder. He cracked open his left eye. “What you doing?” he rumbled.

“How can you be asleep?” I scowled.
“Easy. I close my eyes and it’s done.”

“Oh, well. If you want me to stop, then I can.” I made to move, but his hands came up and gripped my hips.

 

“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled at me, his fingers digging into my flesh.

 

“Nowhere,” I managed to get out, rolling my ass against his hardening dick. “Just gonna stay right here until you realize what today is.”

That got him. His eyes went wide and he sat up, holding me in his lap as his arms went around me. “Oh, crap,” he breathed. “We’re getting married today.”

“Yup,” I said, leaning forward to lick his jaw. I reached down and palmed his dick through his pajamas, and he started breathing heavy in my ear, and I was so totally about to get laid—

And then he threw me off of him, and I landed on the bed before bouncing and falling off to the floor. “Ow,” I said as I stared up at the ceiling.

He peered over the edge. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

“Just because we’re getting married, doesn’t mean you can start abusing me,” I reminded him as I rubbed my elbow.

 

“You were trying to sex me up,” he accused me.

 

I rolled my eyes. “I really wish you’d stop being trapped in the nineties.”

 

“We can’t have sex before the wedding,” he said, completely serious. “It’s tradition.”

 

My eyes bulged. “What? Fuck tradition! We’ve had plenty of sex before the wedding. You’re not exactly a virgin, you jerk.”

He shook his head as he pulled me up and back onto the bed. “Not on the wedding day,” he insisted. “We have to save it for tonight. Because then you’ll be my husband.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gag,” I said. “That sounds even worse than partner.” “Lover?”
“What are you, a sixty-year-old woman who raises ferrets?” “That doesn’t even make sense. Soul mate?”
“Gross. Kind of.”
“Yours?”
“Better. But I still want sex.”
He snorted. “You can wait until tonight, horndog. It won’t kill you.”

“It might,” I groaned as I rubbed my dick through my shorts. I made sure his eyes were on my hand as I arched my hips. He licked his lips. And then looked away.

Bullshit.

I slid my hands down my shorts and grabbed my cock, starting to stroke up and down, letting him know how good it felt with my voice, how I wished it was his hand, his big strong hands wrapped around me. I reached up and tweaked my own nipple, and I cracked an eye open to find he was watching me again, breathing awfully heavy for one who was planning on saving himself for marriage.

“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely.

“Jerking myself off,” I grunted. “You won’t do it, so gotta take care of myself, you know.” The moan that followed was completely unnecessary, but I could see his resolve crumbling as I stroked the slit with my thumb and brought it to my lips to taste the pre-come dripping from my dick. I groaned again, and Otter lost it completely.

He snarled at me and batted my hand away, and then his mouth was on me, moving up and down as my back arched off the bed. He was rough with my balls as he sucked them in his mouth, first one and then the other, his hand sliding up my stomach and chest and pressing there to hold me down, to keep my from bucking into his mouth. He liked control, my Otter, and I was glad to give it to him. Before long, I was spilling down his throat, a blissed-out grin on my face as he came up and kissed me savagely.

“That doesn’t count,” I reassured him. “You swallowed, but your virtue is still intact. Even if my swimmers are now being broken down by your digestive tract.”

“Fuck tradition,” he growled at me as he reached for the lube. “Fuck tradition,” I agreed, grinning up at him as he loomed over me.

AND fuck tradition is exactly what we did. The wedding was held down on the beach, as it was the only place that made sense to the two of us. Otter figured that it was a place that started many things for us, both good and bad, and that it was there that we would build this memory as well.

The Kid begged to lead the ceremony and went so far as to go online to try and become an ordained minister. Apparently, it only takes, like, five minutes to do, and I honestly considered it for a moment, before I realized that his sermon would probably go on for days and cover such topics as the Japanese slaughtering dolphins and how he had finally picked out a wig to go with his stage name, Minerva Fox. He disagreed with my assumption, telling me that he would promise to keep things short and sweet if I allowed him to, at the very least, wear his new I THINK THEREFORE I AM VEGETARIAN T-shirt, and would allow him two minutes to educate the guests about the wonders of donating to PETA. I countered with no. He came back with what if he could just write a poem that he’d dedicate to Otter and me? Then he gave me that wide-eyed dazzling grin face thing he does so well, and I fell for it again, reminding myself that next time would be the last time.

We decided against having anyone officiate the ceremony, deciding that we’d just say our own things and go from there. After that, we’d register as domestic partners (gag!) with the state of Oregon. The Kid told us daily how the tide was changing and pretty soon we could get married for real. I couldn’t tell him that I wouldn’t care about that, that this was real enough for me, that the following week, we were going to have our last names changed over to Thompson.

And I couldn’t tell him I was terrified.

Don’t give me that look. That terror had nothing to do with doubts or earthquakes or oceans or any other metaphors that I’ve ever thrown in. It had nothing to do with my infinite neurosis. No. I was terrified because I was going to be standing in front of my family, and I would have to open my mouth and say words that were meant to be sweet and binding and everything else that was in my heart and soul? Are you fucking kidding me? I remember staring at Otter when he said we should just write our own vows, but my ability to speak had fled, and he’d taken my silence as consent and two days later had come to me and let me know that he was finished already. I asked to see his, hoping to just copy his down and maybe change a couple of the words. He told me there was no way in hell. I told him I wanted a divorce. He just laughed.

So I thought about what I was going to say, okay? I really did. I even wrote down a few things to try and get my mind going, to get something out on paper that would be even remotely doable. But everything I wrote turned into a laundry list of why I thought Otter was hot and made me sound like I was the most superficial asshole in the world. So I thought and thought and thought some more.

And I was still thinking when I was walking down the hill on the sand, everyone watching me as I made my way down to the beach, my tux flapping in the warm breeze, my feet bare and digging into the sand. I passed through the chairs on either side of me, vaguely aware of the people there: Erica, Eddie, and Georgia (the Custody Trio, as I referred to them), Stephanie and Ian Grant (looking way too happy considering how their daughter’s former boyfriend was getting hitched to a man right in front of them), Jordan and the bar gang (and weirdly, Isaiah and David Trent were practically in each other’s lap, which was pretty hot, if you like that sort of thing—I don’t), Alice and Jerry (Alice already sobbing and Jerry leaking a tear or two), Creed and Anna (Anna looking as big as a house, getting ready to pop any second), Dominic and the Kid (Dominic’s arm on the Kid’s shoulder, the Kid grinning from ear to ear).

There was one empty seat, one that would not be filled, at least physically. I passed by that last chair and paused, just for a moment, telling Mrs. Paquinn quietly that I loved her and that I hoped God let her drive stock cars like she always wanted.

But it was him I saw the most. The gold and green were as bright as they’d ever been as I stood in front of him, my hands trembling as he took them in his own. He watched me for a moment, and then he proceeded to make everyone cry like a little bitch with his wonderfully thought out, totally manipulative speech. I could see the glint in his eyes as my lower lip trembled when he said, “You are my soul mate.” I saw the way his lip curled into a half smile as his mother started sobbing when he said, “I’ve always known that I would love you.” He was trying to hold back his laughter as his father broke down as well when he said, “And I promise to take care of you, because you are my family, and I will protect you with everything I have.” By the time he finished, even stoic Dominic was wiping his eyes.

And then it was my turn.
I didn’t know what I was going to say.
That’s never stopped you before! it laughed. Just go with it! So that’s what I decided to do.

I opened my mouth to pledge myself to this man… and a seagull shit on my shoulder.

I kid you not. I was staring into his eyes and was ready to pour out my heart and soul in front of our friends and family when something wet and hot landed on my suit coat. Otter’s eyes went wide, and everyone in the audience suddenly found themselves no longer crying, but gasping, their jaws dropped. I looked over on my shoulder and saw the grossest pile of crap that I’d ever seen in my life. My shoulder began to get warm and my eyes narrowed, and I looked up to see a lone seagull floating on a breeze overhead.

But not for long.

As if it could feel me watching it, it lowered itself toward the earth and landed on a table next to where we stood. Right on top of the food. Right next to the candles flickering in the breeze. Right next to the stereo softly playing music of no importance. This… I’d been here before. Déjà vu, and I knew what was going happen.

“You,” I snarled. “You son of a bitch!”

I ran over to the table, desperate to finally kill the bird because I knew it was the same one as before, that my nemesis was back to exact its revenge on me for not allowing it to eat the food from that night so many months ago. I didn’t understand how a bird could have memory, much less be vindictive, but it didn’t matter, because we were now at war, it and I. I heard everyone start cracking up behind me, and I heard Otter say astutely, “That bird really hates your guts, Papa Bear,” before he dissolved into his own mirth, and I told myself that once I was done ripping the seagull’s head off, I would turn around and give a speech so saccharine that even Eddie wouldn’t be able to console them when I was finished. I would destroy them, and they would drown in an ocean of their tears.

But first the seagull.

 

Of course, I failed spectacularly.

The seagull saw me running toward it with my hands waving above my head, trying to make myself look bigger than I was. I’d seen at least eighteen different nature shows with Mrs. Paquinn to know that you always want to make yourself bigger to scare things away. It squawked angrily at me, and until the day I die, I will insist that at that moment, right when I knew I had the upper hand, the bird looked me straight in the eye, lifted a single wing, and pushed over a candle onto the tabletop.

And of course the tablecloth caught on fire. Which led to the balloon strings and given how fast they burned, you would have thought they were soaked in gasoline. Which burned up to the helium-filled balloons surrounding us. Which led to all of them exploding in such rapid succession that it felt like we were in some war-torn third-world country being attacked by enemy insurgents. Once I picked myself up off the ground (only because I tripped, obviously not because the balloons exploding around me made me think the helium inside would burst and light everything on fire, including me—I tripped, okay?) the seagull had already taken off and was again floating lazily above us, calling down to me, mocking me. I screamed up at it that one day, and one day soon, it would be on my barbeque, its little feet sticking straight up into the air, and I would eat the fuck out of it. The Kid looked sufficiently scandalized and invoked Mrs. Paquinn for a moment when his hand went to his throat and he muttered, “Well, I never.”

And then, “Oh, shit.”

Creed, in hysterics: “Dude, Anna laughed so hard she literally pissed herself! Oh my God, I am going to make fun of you forever for this! No one will even remember that time I said I kinda wanted to fuck Bear! It’ll be all, like, ‘Hey guys, you remember that one time when Anna wet her—’”

“My water just broke, you moron!”
“Ha, ha! That’s what I’m saying! Your water bro—wait, what?” And then we were all running.

It was seven hours later that Creed returned to all of us in the waiting room, decked out in scrubs, looking shell-shocked and worn. But then a crooked smile so much like his brother’s bloomed on his face, and he told us that he had a son. Joseph (God love him) Jean Thompson. JJ, for short. Seven pounds four ounces. He said that the little guy looked squishy and why hadn’t anyone told him what placenta was, because sure as shit, that was the grossest thing he’d ever seen. And then he fainted in the middle of the waiting room at Mercy Hospital.

Out of everything I remember about that day, out of all the happiness, the sadness, the sadistic seagull, and the fact that I was now married, there’s one thing that’ll stick with me for the rest of my life. No, it’s not when Otter and I finally kissed and made it official there in the waiting room. No, it wasn’t when the Kid landed in my lap, following that kiss, and hugged me until I thought my face would fall off. Those are important, yes. But there is one thing that I’ll remember above all others. It was the moment when Otter held Joseph in his arms for the first time, the little hand wrapped around one big finger. The look of wonder on his face shredded my heart. He leaned down and kissed the baby’s forehead, and that’s when I knew that regardless of what I wanted, regardless of what I thought on the matter, I’d give anything to Otter that I could. Including this.

Fuck me, I thought. Maybe the Kid will get a little brother after all.

SO THAT’S it.

Okay, that’s not really it. How can it be with so much to look forward to? I’m almost twenty-three years old. I’m married to the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m the guardian of the smartest ten (!!)year-old ecoterrorist-in-training in the world. Of course there’s going to be more. This isn’t it, not by a long shot.

I don’t know, however, that I believe in the idea of happily ever after. It seems clichéd to end this on such a trite note. Will we live happily ever after? I don’t know. Maybe. It seems naïve to think that everything will be perfect all the time. You know what, though? I’ll make you a promise: I promise you that we will be happy. I promise you that we will live. I haven’t come this far to let everything fall by the wayside now. And you can hold me to that promise.

I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime, learned things I don’t think a man my age should ever have to learn. I wouldn’t change any of it, but I still wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. And if there’s a few things that I hoped you learned from all of this, it would be the following: first, seagulls have long, long memories. Don’t fuck with them. I’m being serious. I don’t go back to our beach without keeping an eye on the sky, because I’m afraid that that fucking asshole will go all kamikaze on my face. He hasn’t gone for me yet, but he’s waiting for the right moment, I just know it.

The second thing?

The second thing is this: family is not defined by blood. It’s not always who you’re born to that you’re stuck with. It’s what you want it to be, what you make of it. It’s the people around you who see you at your worst and are not afraid to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. It’s the people who can call you on your bullshit. It’s tough to hear, but if you do hear it, it means that someone gives a damn about you and chances are you should probably listen. It’s the people who look at you each time they see you like they haven’t seen you in years. It’s the people who you fight for. It’s the people you’d lay down your life for. It’s the scariest thing in the world, but, if you let it, it’s also the greatest. If I could have you remember anything from our time together, it would be that it’s not about where you come from. It’s about who you are.

For better or worse, this is us.
For all of our wrongs and for all of our rights, this is us.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, Ty finally got to give us his poem that he wrote for the wedding. He was kind of miffed that something as contrived as Anna going into labor would delay the reading of his latest masterpiece. But he did get to read it, eventually, and now it’s framed and sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. He’d be pissed if I forgot to mention it (“What do you mean you didn’t show them my poem? I’m the only reason people started listening to you to begin with! You really think they wanted to stay in your head the whole time? You really think they want to read about your coitus? Gross! Wait till it’s my turn to tell the story! They’ll be like ‘Bear who?’”) and you know as well as I do that I’d never stop hearing about it.

So here, at the end, I’ll leave it for you to read.
I….
Shit, this is harder than I’d thought it’d be.

Fuck it. Okay, you and I can make a deal. Let’s not say good-bye. It sounds so final and stupid and blah, blah, blah. Even though I told you this will probably be the last time you and I talk like this, I could be full of shit. Who knows? Weirder things have happened. I’m sure there’s plenty more drama down the road. I’m a gay bug zapper, remember?

So, instead of good-bye, let’s just pretend for now that I’ll see you later. I think it’s easier that way. For me, at least.

 

So.

 

See you later?