6. Where Bear Contemplates Brotherhood

“WHEREwere you last night?” the Kid asks Otter the next morning, a look of suspicion on his face, eyeing the both of us in the kitchen.

“I had to work late,” Otter says cheerfully as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzling against my neck. I lean back against his chest as he hugs me tightly, whispering something I can’t quite make out, but it doesn’t matter. I get the meaning. I understand the point of it. We might not be fixed, but we’re on the mend, like stopping a leak with duct tape.

“And that’s all?” the Kid asks. “Nothing else going on that I need to know about?”

Otter squeezes my ass before he sits down at the table with the Kid. “Nothing else you need to know about,” he says with a grin, reaching up to ruffle the Kid’s hair.

“ Otter!” the Kid complains. “It just took me ten minutes to do my hair so that people would take me seriously when I walked into class this morning! Now I have to go redo it, and it’ll make me late. I’ll get a tardy mark on my permanent record, and then I won’t be able to get into an Ivy League school, and I’ll be stuck here with you two for the rest of my life while I wallow in my own self-pity and work at McDonald’s!”

“Bullshit,” I tell him as I hand him his bowl of yogurt and granola. “You wouldn’t work at McDonald’s if your life depended on it.”

“I feel bad for those people,” he says with complete seriousness. “Could you imagine having to listen to the bovine screams all day? I would think it would be enough to drive a person crazy.”

Otter snorts. “I don’t think they actually have a rendering plant at each McDonald’s, Kid. It would detract from the ball pit in the play area, I would think.”

“Bear likes playing in ball pits, or at least that’s what I’ve heard—” “Tyson,” I warn. “We keep it clean now, remember? Child Protective Services and all that. Wouldn’t want them to take you away and put you in a run-down haunted orphanage just because you couldn’t watch your mouth.”

He looks scandalized. “You just said bullshit!”
“No, I didn’t. I said Bolshevists.”
He cocks his head at me. “What’s that?”

Shit, I have no fucking clue. I just heard that word on TV a few days ago on the History Channel while flipping through trying to find Maury Povich. I glance at Otter for help, and he grins at me before turning back to the Kid. “They were a faction of the Marxist Russian Social Democratic Labor Party in the early 1900s.” Exactly. That’s exactly what I meant. I totally knew that. Maury Povich had been a paternity episode. Those are my favorites. The guy was obviously the baby daddy, even though he said he wasn’t. What a liar.

“Really,” the Kid says dryly. “Bear randomly dropped Marxism into the conversation? You should have gone with something a little bit more believable. Like how he was talking about toast, or how much he likes sunshine because it makes his insides feel warm.”

“You better hope you get scholarships,” I growl at him. “Because I’m not paying for you to go to college anywhere since you’re acting like a jerk.”

“Maybe I’ll just find a sugar daddy, like you did,” he retorts.

Otter laughs. I don’t think it’s funny. At all. On so many levels. “He’s not my sugar daddy!”
“Of course not,” the Kid placates soothingly.

“Eat your food,” I demand. “We’ve got to get a move on, especially if you have to go fix your hair again.”
“Er…,” he says. “About that.” He almost looks embarrassed. Or shy.

“Now what?” I sigh.

 

The Kid stirs his granola, thinking hard for a moment. Then his forehead scrunches up, and he looks up at me. All-Important Question Time.

“Derrick?”
“Yes, Tyson.”
“You know how I’ve been doing better, right?”

Huh. Not his usual type of question, but a question nonetheless. “You have been, Kid,” I tell him quietly. “And I’m very proud of you.”

He nods. “And you know how I’ve agreed to go to therapy even though I think it’s so unfair, and I’m not crazy even though you seem to think I am?”

Ah. Now I get it. He wants to ask me for something. “Right. Unfair. Crazy. Therapy. Go on.”

“And you know how I’m nine and one-quarter, which is almost practically ten?”
“Tyson, the quicker you make your point, the quicker you’ll have my decision.”

“I can’t wait until I get a little brother,” he grumbles. “The hierarchy in this house will change, that’s for darn sure.”

Of course, he says this right when I’m taking a sip of coffee, which causes me to inhale and choke, and I spray it out of my nose and mouth back into my cup. I glare at the Kid as I wipe off my face, and he stares right back, as if in challenge. Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m going to touch this one. First I have thoughts about… marriage (precipitated, of course, by Ty’s insistence and my apparent undying fantasy from hell to have a wedding on a beach—talk about lame) and now the Kid wants a baby brother? I can’t even be bothered to correct him that it wouldn’t be his brother, but a nephew, but the lines are so blurred about who we are, that I don’t think it matters. Not that it’s going to happen. What the fuck is going on in this house?

I turn to look at Otter for help, expecting to see him filled with the same incredulity as me, the same expression of unbridled horror, but it’s not there. Of course it’s not. What’s there is a thoughtful expression, one I don’t expect after hearing the Kid’s words. Otter’s watching Tyson, and he smiles quietly, but there’s something behind the gold-green, something that I can’t quite make out, whether by choice or not, I don’t know. He must feel my eyes on him because he turns to me and catches my eye, and I still don’t know what I’m looking at, but it scares the royal crap out of me. This is one thing that needs to be shelved for later. Quite possibly forever. I know we’ve been through a lot and that I’ve already bought my ticket to the forever train (metaphors are like crack—bet you can’t use it just once!), but that doesn’t mean I want to be traveling in the family cabin. Besides, how would we even do that? Would we like adopt an Asian baby like famous people do? Or would we find some woman to pump full of our little swimmers with a turkey baster (ugh, I can’t get that image out of my head)? Where do you find women to do that? Like on Craigslist, or something? I can see it already:

I need a woman to carry our juices!!!!
Hi! My name is Bear. I am a reluctant homosexual (or, at least, I resemble one). My boyfr—er, life partner (gag!), is apparently like a forty

year-old woman, and his biological clock is exploding all over the place, and we don’t know how to turn off the alarm. We need a woman (ha!) to allow us to put our sperm into her so that we can create the miracle that is life! You, as the surrogate, must not be crazy!!!!! Seriously, there is already enough of that with the donors, so to compound that would just make things worse, and the child will already have enough shit they’ll have to deal with by having two dads, so we’re asking for a complete mental health history to make sure you are not bat-shit insane. Also, dark hair would be nice.

No way in fucking hell. Otter can give me those sweet, innocent eyes until they fall out of his head. There’s no fucking way that’s going to happen. I’ve got enough to deal with, what with the smartest vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training (although, he might well be heading to full-blown ecoterorrism by now) on the planet, and the fact that I seem to be thinking about where I’d like to go on a honeymoon (Stonehenge!) after a wedding to a man I’ve known all of my life, but have only been with for four months (Jesus Christ, what am I, a lesbian penguin?). I don’t care if the Kid wants a little brother. I’ll get him a goddamn goldfish instead, and he’ll be happy he’s getting anything.

“Clock,” I mutter at the both of them. “You’ll be happy with a fish, and I am not a penguin who goes to Stonehenge. Craigslist isn’t getting my juices, that’s for damn sure.”

Otter and the Kid glance at each other before the Kid says, “I don’t think even I could figure that one out.”

“Maybe you can buy penguins on Craigslist?” Otter suggests. “I don’t think they have a penguin section,” the Kid says wisely. “Ah,” Otter says.
“What were we even talking about?” the Kid asks.
“I never know,” Otter assures him.
“You were asking me something,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee

before remembering that it had come out of my nose and back into the cup. Dammit.

He flushes. “Oh, right.” The Kid takes a deep breath. “So I know you’re worried, and that makes me worried, and you want to be there for me, but Dominic asked me if I wanted to ride the bus to school with him today, and since the high school is right next to the elementary school, it’s all the same bus! And I’ve never really ridden the bus before, and I thought, what if the very first day of fifth grade is how the rest of my fifth grade will be defined, and shouldn’t I try to act like I fit in even though I really don’t? Most kids take the bus, and I think that if I don’t and you drop me off every day, people are going to think I’m too good to ride the bus, and then they’ll tell everyone I’m stuck up, and I’ll be a social pariah whose only redeeming quality is that I’ll do your homework for you if you let me eat lunch at the same table as you.”

“Thought that one out, did you?” I ask, amused and sad all at the same time.
“For days,” he laments. “Please, Papa Bear? Pleeeeeeeease?” Ah, Christ, he’s trying to give me Bambi eyes while sticking out his bottom lip. It’s an expression I’ve seen a billion times before, and I reprimand myself each time, telling myself that it’ll be the last time I fall for it.

Okay, so next time will be the last time I fall for it.

“Compromise,” I say. “Otter and me will drive both of you to school today. It’s your first day and all, and we want to be there, okay? Any day past today is open for discussion.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I see your offer, and I’ll counter with allowing you to take us today if you’ll allow me at least two days a week to ride the bus.”

“We’ll agree,” Otter says, “ if you don’t complain at all when we have to go to your first therapy appointment tomorrow. You have to give it a chance before you decide you hate it.”

He scowls at the both of us. “You two drive a hard bargain. I’ll say yes if you also give me five dollars.”

“For what?”
“None of your business.”
I pretend to think on it a moment. “Deal.”

The three of us shake on it and adjourn our breakfast meeting for the day.

DOMINIClooks wary but gets in Otter’s Jeep at the Kid’s insistence (as he also proudly proclaims he talked me out of five whole bucks, wasn’t that soooo awesome?), glancing over his shoulder at his front door a few houses down the road before climbing in. Otter reaches back and shakes his hand, and I smile at him. He mumbles hello, looking uncomfortable as he buckles the seat belt over his chest.

Otter and I had decided shortly after the social worker’s first visit that we’d see how it went with Dominic. I still found it slightly odd that he hung around Ty like he did (even though I’d done the same with Otter, as Georgia had so conveniently pointed out), and I was even more worried about how he would act now. While Georgia’s words had been encouraging, that he seemed to be opening up around Tyson more than anyone else, that still didn’t mean that he was in his right mind. Not that I’d blame him. I study him discreetly as he watches Ty (who’s babbling to him about how he hopes that the fifth grade will at least give him some kind of challenge) but I don’t know what I’m looking for. If you saw your mother murdered by your father in front of you, would you show it on your face years later? Would it be embedded in your skin like a memory that wouldn’t go away? How would it shape you as a person?

These are questions that Otter and I asked ourselves but had no answers to. We agreed to allow the Kid to see Dominic, as long as there was one of us around to keep an eye on things and to make sure Dominic didn’t see a pair of scissors he felt he needed to pick up. We’d snickered quietly at this, unable to stop ourselves, both of us blushing at the horror of it all. I wondered if I could do something like that, if the situation called for it. I’d only had to think for a moment about someone going after the Kid or Otter before some baser, more primal thing in me made me understand you’d bet your sweet fucking ass I would do the same. I assume most people would. If need be.

That doesn’t mean you’d stay sane, afterward. Even if you were a child when it happened.
I’m about to look ahead again when I hear the Kid confess quietly that he’s a bit nervous, that he’s worried he’ll get made fun of. I’m about to reassure him that he’ll be fine, that if anything goes wrong, he can call me immediately, when I’m stopped by Dominic’s low voice. He’s speaking to be heard over the noise of the Jeep, and I can make out his words, rough and worn. “You don’t need to be scared,” he says. “I’ll be right next door. If you need me, I’ll come running, okay?”

The Kid nods. Otter and I listen.

“Besides, don’t go thinking the worst in people, okay? They’ll probably be a little weirded out by you at first, and maybe a couple of people will say something to you, but it’s only because they’re jealous. You’re smarter than all the rest of them combined, and some people won’t get that. But I bet the rest think you’re the greatest thing they’ve ever seen. Just remember, though, you have any problems, you tell me, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. No one’s gonna say something while I’m around. I’m a big guy, okay?”

The Kid nods again, looking strangely relieved. Dominic smiles quietly at him and reaches up and pats Ty on the shoulder, once, twice, and then drops his big hand back down onto his lap. I try to ignore that burn of jealousy, so very different from what I’d experienced with Otter. Who is this guy? I ask myself yet again. Who is this guy that can come in and do what’s taken others years to do? He’s mine! He’s mine, and you can’t take him away from me!

I feel shame at having such thoughts.

 

We drive the rest of the way in silence.

WE PULLup in front of Tyson’s school. I tell Dominic to sit tight for a moment, and we’ll drive him next door to the high school. He bumps fists with the Kid, who grins at him and jumps out, seemingly more calm than he’d been before. The Kid insists on walking in on his own (after all, he says, he has done this once or twice), and I almost argue with him, but Otter touches my hand gently and shakes his head. I put on a smile that feels tight and fake and wave at the Kid as he starts to walk away, getting lost in a crowd of other kids. I’ve turned back toward the Jeep when I’m tackled from behind, little arms going around my waist, a face pressed against the small of my back. I reach up and pat the Kid’s hands gently, and he spins me around and pulls me down by my hand, a vise grip on it.

“Can I call you on my lunch break?” he whispers in my ear, a furtive glance toward the car making me understand he doesn’t want his cool new best friend to overhear him. “Just to say hi?”

Ah, man. “You can,” I tell him softly. “Just as long as it’s not going to get you in trouble for using the phone. You call me for anything, you got me?”

He nods, playing with my fingers.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you in?”

The Kid takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I think I can do it. You think I’ll be okay?”

 

I smile at him, and he grins back at me. “I know you’ll be okay,” I tell him. “Even better than that.”

“Hey,” he says as he drops my hand.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back.
His eyes find mine, and he again proves he knows me better than I know

myself: “I love you, you know? Just because Dominic is here doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop needing you. I’ll always need you, Papa Bear, so don’t worry. Okay?”

Christ. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He watches me for a moment, making sure that I believe him, and then lets go of my hand, highfives a waiting Otter and turns back to wave at Dominic in the car.

And then he’s gone.

WE’RE pulling out of the parking lot and getting reading to head next door,

and I’m trying to think about what I want to say, if anything, to Dominic, when he decides for me: “I’m not going to hurt him.”

“What?” I say, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. Otter reaches over and takes my hand in his, his fingers intertwining in mine, squeezing gently. He nods subtly at me, and I turn back to look at Dominic, whose dark eyes are waiting for me.

“That’s what you’re thinking,” he rumbles. “You’re wondering if I’m going to hurt him.”

“That’s not—” I start, but then I stop myself. Anything further would be a lie. He knows it, I know it. He’s probably expecting it. How many people would lie to his face? How many would tell him that of course they don’t believe that, that of course they trust him, how could they not? Those same people are the ones that are probably the most afraid of him. I need him to know I’m not afraid of him. “Can you be sure?” I ask, changing tact.

He looks momentarily surprised at my boldness, but quickly covers it up under that hard exterior of his. He looks out the window while we wait for the light to change. It’s starting to rain a light mist. Otter flips on the windshield wipers, and they brush back and forth.

“Yes,” Dominic finally says. “I would never hurt him. Although, I could see why you’d think so. Georgia told you what happened?”
“She did,” Otter confirms, his voice stern. “But I would have recognized your name, so don’t be mad at her.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad at her. She was right to tell you.” Another thought takes over my mind. “You haven’t told Tyson, have you?”

“No,” he says roughly. “He doesn’t need to hear about that. He’s just a little guy, you know?”
I nod because I do know. I nod because I think the same thing. I nod because I feel a guilty relief that Dominic has not shared his darkness with my little brother, and it’s the only thing I can do without actually saying those hurtful words out loud.

Suddenly, Dominic looks panicked. “You aren’t going to take him away, are you?” he asks in a croak, his voice louder than I’ve ever heard it. “You aren’t going to tell him he can’t see me?” His looks down at his hands, playing with a hole on the thigh of his jeans. He bounces a leg up and down, his hair falling into his face.

“No,” Otter says, “but we are going to want to get to know you, Dominic. I’m sure Ty’s told you at least part of what’s going on, what with custody petitions and all, and we can’t take any chances. With anything. I like you, I really do, but Ty’s the most important thing here. He comes first. Always.”

Dominic nods as we pull into the parking lot of the high school, the rain falling harder now. We get in line behind other cars, waiting until we’re at the drop-off point to let him out. “And that’s how it should be,” he says. He hesitates but then says, “Can she take him away?”

“She could,” I say, knowing there’s no question as to the “she” he’s referring to. “But not without one hell of a fight. You may not know us real well, Dominic, but you have to know that I’ve cared for Tyson long before you came into the picture. He’s mine, and I won’t let anyone take him from me.” I’m speaking about more than my mother, and I think he knows it.

Dominic looks back out the window. “I told him that he has to go to therapy. I told him I’d gone, though I didn’t really tell him why. I made up some stuff about it, about why I live with fosters. But I told him that the therapy will help him and you in the long run, not because he’s crazy or weird, but because he has to do it if you’re going to get him.”

“Has therapy helped you?” I ask before I can stop myself. He looks at me sharply. “I’d like to think so. But then, it’s only been six years. Things like that don’t just go away because we want them to.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that, so I choose not to. “We’re going to need to meet your fosters,” I tell him. “If you’re going to be hanging around our house, then they need to know who we are, and why you’re over there. I don’t want to create any issues for you, but I especially don’t want any problems with Ty. We’re in a position where everything we do is going to be catalogued and scrutinized, and I can’t have any mistakes being made.”

He looks resigned at this. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ll do it for Tyson. Just don’t expect much.”

“What do you mean?” Otter asks as he moves the Jeep forward. We’re almost to the front of the line.
“Patty and Bert are nice people,” he says. “But they’re not the most open-minded when it comes to… certain things.”

“What things?” I ask, honestly baffled.

 

“He means us,” Otter tells me, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Right?”

“Yeah. They’re not… vocal about it, but you can tell it makes them uncomfortable. There was another foster kid with us last year. His name was Jared. He was angry, like most of the kids that come to their house are. He came out with a chip on his shoulder, thought he could just blast the closet door down or something, I guess. Patty and Bert just didn’t get it, and Jared left.” He shrugs. “Just one of those things.”

“Georgia says you don’t talk a lot,” I say suddenly. He looks surprised. “But you seem to talk to us and Ty just fine.”

He looks down at his hands, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say he’s blushing. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “I talk. Tyson was just the first person to listen. And he said you two do as well, and I’ve learned if Tyson says something, it’s true. So….” He trails off. I know he thinks he said too much, but I think he’s said exactly the right thing.

I make a decision. “We’ll pick you and Tyson up this afternoon at three. We’ll take you home and meet Patty and Bert. Will they be home?”
He nods slowly. “Patty will be. Bert will be getting up as he goes to work at six.”

“Good. We’ll talk to them, introduce ourselves, make sure everything is cool. Then, no one can say that there was any sneaking around behind other’s backs. Agreed?”

Dominic looks like he thinks it’s the worst idea in the world, but he nods.

“Don’t be so freaked out,” Otter admonishes him lightly. “Bear may not sound like it all the time, but he can actually be quite charming. You’ll see.”
I roll my eyes. “A lot of the time, I don’t think you’re very funny.” “I’m the funniest person you know,” he reassures me.
“How sad is that?” I sigh.

“Ass,” he says, grinning at me.

Dominic is watching us both with something in his eyes that I can’t quite make out, but then it’s gone, and he takes a deep breath and seems to come to a decision of his own. “Three?”

I nod.
“I’m not a bad person,” he says as he reaches for the door handle, “although, I understand why you’d want to protect your brother. I just want to protect him too.”
“From what?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
He watches me for a moment before saying, “Everything,” and he closes the door, walking out into the rain.

THE meeting with the foster parents goes as well as one would expect if one was asked if he liked little boys. More on that in a minute, trust me.

Tyson looked like he was in a joyous rapture when Dominic showed him the room that he shared with a twelve-year-old boy with a severe case of Asperger’s Syndrome. Dominic’s side of the room was almost bare, the walls empty, a twin bed that looked entirely too small for his massive size pressed up against the wall, covered with a worn quilt and a flat pillow. The room was small and stuffy, but Tyson grinned as he walked in, looking around the room like it was in a mansion, until he faltered a bit and glanced at his friend. “Where’s all your stuff?” he demanded as I started to walk out.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff,” Dominic said quietly. “I’m never in a home for a long time, so I guess I don’t see the point of putting anything up.”
“Well, maybe if you started, you could stay,” the Kid said wisely.

“Maybe,” Dominic said.

I was impressed with how intelligent Dominic seemed, how bright and caring, especially given his history. He’d called his foster parents on the way back to the house to let them know we were coming over, his voice polite, but firm. When we’d arrived, he’d introduced us to Patty and Bert, asking if we wanted anything to drink or eat before taking Tyson to show him his bedroom. I was impressed because I didn’t expect it.

I wish I could say the same for Patty and Bert.
While not outright rude, they were rather reserved. They seemed to be quiet, demure people. I wondered at their reasons for having foster kids in their house, especially since their house almost seemed to be a brief stopping point, if the number of pictures of children on the walls were any indication. What would be the point of getting attached to someone, knowing full well that one day they’d move on? This was a question I didn’t dwell on long, because it seemed to be too close to home for me to want to focus on.

Otter and I kept our hands to ourselves, but you could tell they were expecting more, like we’d skip into the room, holding hands before getting down and fucking right in front of them. Maybe that’s me sounding bitter, I don’t know. But the looks on their faces, not quite disgust, not quite fear, said more than their words ever could. They weren’t short with us, but more clipped and forced. I understood only when Patty mentioned that she’d talked to Georgia, and that Georgia was urging the friendship between Dominic and the Kid. It made me like them just a bit more, because even if they didn’t approve of whatever, they still appeared to have Dominic’s best interest at heart.

“What is it about your brother?” Patty asked me after we heard a rusty chuckle come from Dominic back in the bedroom. “Dominic’s been here for five months, and I think I can count the number of times he’s laughed on one hand.”

“I wish I knew,” I said. “Ty’s… well, he’s Tyson. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Patty hesitated before asking, “And Dominic told us you’re trying to get custody of him?”

Otter nodded. “Maybe that’s the reason they bonded,” he said. “While the Kid may not have seen the same things Dominic has, he’s still been through a lot.”

“Where’s your parents?” Bert asked bluntly. “You two got the same mom, right?”

I nodded, feeling my jaw tense. “We don’t know where she’s at,” I muttered. “She took off three years ago, and that was that.” That was most certainly not that, but they didn’t need to know. I wanted to meet them, not become best friends forever.

“And you two are…,” Bert said, pointing between the two of us. “You know….”

Otter cocked his head. “Know what?”
“Homos, or whatever.”
“Bert!” Patty exclaimed, her face going pink.
“What?” he said, looking insulted. “We got a right to know.” He turned

back to us. “Well?”
“If you’re asking us if we’re together, then yes,” Otter said calmly. “And you ain’t gonna touch Dominic or nothin’?”
“Bert!” Patty shrieked.

Otter felt me beginning to rise up next to him, ready to smash the cheap coffee table in front of us over Bert’s head, wanting to make the splinters go in his eyes and to watch him bleed. I have been accused of being many things in my life: a jerk, a liar, an indecisive asshole. But I’ve never been asked with such nonchalance if I’m a pedophile. I wanted to break his face open just to see what was underneath. But Otter, ever the voice of sanity and reason, grabbed my arm and pulled me back down before I had a chance to do anything, telling Bert rather coldly that no, we weren’t going to touch Dominic.

Bert nodded as if satisfied, completely unaware of his bigoted mouth. “Georgia says it’s good for him, then I guess that’s enough for me. It’ll be nice to get him out of the house. He’s got emotional issues, you know.”

“Don’t we all?” I bit out.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t rightly know about that. I just know he’s a creepy little shit. Can’t blame him, though, not after what he’s been through. Stabbed his dad seven times, in case you didn’t know. And least with the other kids, it’s usually physical. With Dom, it’s mental, and that’s the worst kind. But we get paid by the state just the same, so as long as he doesn’t think about slitting my throat while I sleep, then we’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will,” Otter said, keeping his cool. “We just wanted to make sure you knew where he’d be if he wasn’t here.”
“And Tyson’s welcome here anytime he wants,” Patty said, trying to recover from her husband’s faux pas. She blushed again. “I know a thing or two about kids.”
“Thank you,” I said, all the while thinking that there was no way in hell the Kid would ever be allowed to come over to Dominic’s house. His friend can come over to our house, fine. But Tyson needs to stay clear of a man who just asked Otter and me if we wanted to fuck around with a fifteenyear-old. I don’t know if he’d try to drip any poison in the Kid’s ears with such blatant offhanded comments, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.

“Dominic, get your ass out here!” Bert yelled while Patty smiled at Otter and me. Much was said in that smile, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of that house. These had to be good people if they were allowed to have foster kids, I kept telling myself. Georgia had said they were okay. But then I wondered what kind of people Georgia was used to dealing with, and I’m sure by comparison, Bert and Patty were Parents of the Year. I didn’t know their story, and even though I wasn’t about to ask, I wasn’t going to judge. Too much.

Dominic and the Kid walked into the room, the Kid still chattering away about what either sounded like the Ayatollah or the 1960s space race (he was talking so fast that I couldn’t make out the difference—with the Kid, I’m not sure it matters). Dominic was grinning at him, and I could tell that he wasn’t even caring what the Kid was saying. Or rather, maybe he was, but he just liked to hear the stream of babble that is the Kid’s line of logic. I told the Kid to take a deep breath before he passed out. The Kid looked mortified as to how I could ever have suggested such a thing and muttered dark things toward my person. I told him I could still hear him. He told me I was meant to.

We told the boys that they were allowed to hang out, as long as an adult had been notified and had agreed to it. Tyson did a dance that involved airmiming a hula hoop while Dominic just smiled at him. I rolled my eyes as I looked at Otter, and he just grinned at me, that same grin he’s always had, crooked and bright.

It was weird then, that moment, feeling like I was making a parental decision as a team, as a single unit. Otter and me had discussed, decided, executed, and achieved the results we wanted. The Kid got to hang out with his friend, and I could keep an eye on Dominic.

It should have been a happy moment. A cohesive one.

So why did I feel like shit? Maybe because I thought it was just another step the Kid would take away from me. Maybe it was because Dominic had been in such a situation that I couldn’t trust him to be alone with Tyson. Maybe it was because I still hadn’t resolved everything I felt I needed to with Otter. Maybe because I felt that I was moving forward with this family while leaving my other one behind. Maybe it was because I was no closer to figuring out where my mother was or what her motives were. So many loose threads, so many things that needed to be done and said. I wondered what it would take to tie it all together, to finally look forward and not be trapped in the past. I’ve learned that the past can overwhelm you if you let it.

Like a storm on the ocean.

 

There had to be a breaking point. I just didn’t know what it would be.

“ YOU should consider therapy yourself, Derrick, if what Tyson told me has any indication,” the therapist tells me. His name is Eddie Egan, and I know he’s a certified counselor for the state of Oregon and he’s worked with children before, but I can’t help but feel he’s completely off his rocker and this is only going to make things worse for the Kid. And me.

Example: the beads that hang from his office doorway like you’re entering a 1970s porn den. (“Never have a closed door,” he said when we arrived. “The same philosophy applies to your heart.” I’d asked why he had a door, then, on the room he used for counseling sessions. “Privacy, Derrick,” he said, like it was totally obvious.)

Example: the two monster Persian cats that roamed his office through the entire session sounding like lawnmowers running out of gas as they undoubtedly stalked me because I looked like Fancy Feast Tuna Melt. (“Carl Jung and B.F. Skinner,” he said, pointing at one and then the other. “My heroes. They keep me calm and help to bring a sense of peace to the room.” I didn’t ask, only because I didn’t care.)

Example: The way he eyed the Kid when Tyson sat down in front of him, his scowl evident, his arms across his chest. (“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Tyson. But I wasn’t told how shocking your aura would be. It’s like a blast of rainbows across my eyes, like liquid Skittles raining from the sky.” I had no words for this. I mean come on: liquid Skittles raining from the sky? I’m going to kill Erica for hooking us up with this whacko.)

I’d sat out in the waiting room (“Lounge,” Eddie told me. “Waiting room implies you are waiting for something. Never wait, always seize. No one ever got anything by waiting.” The Kid had asked why it wasn’t called the “Seizure Room,” then. Eddie hadn’t been able to answer that) while Tyson and Eddie had talked, Eddie telling me he wanted to get to know each of us individually before moving forward. Otter had shown up partway through, apologizing for being late, but that a family in for portraits had run long when the three kids had all started throwing up at the same time.

“You must hate me,” I muttered at him as he grabbed my hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss.

 

“Why do you say that?”

“You lived in San Diego,” I reminded him. “Worked in a big studio, met famous people, everyone loved you for your work. Now you’re taking vomiting family portraits back in Seafare. Not exactly a great career trajectory. And today, you’re sitting in a therapist’s office while waiting your turn to go in and have your innermost secrets divulged for all the world to see.” I shook my head. “Bet you didn’t know what you were getting into when you signed up for this.”

“And yet,” he says with a grin, “somehow, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Uh-huh, you say that now. Wait until you meet the therapist.” “That bad?”
“Let’s just say I can’t believe he’s a real person.”
“Like Santa Claus?”

“More like if Santa Claus and Ron Jeremy had a child and then that child had a child with Richard Simmons.”

“So, like a leprechaun?”
“Yes, Otter, exactly like a leprechaun.”

“I’m going to tell him I believe in Santa Claus, just to see what happens.”

“I dare you.”
“Totally going to do it now. What’ll you give me if I do?”

I leaned over and proceeded to fuck with us both by describing (in great detail, I might add) how I’d let him fuck me through the wall when we got home and how I’d moan his name and beg for what I want done to me. I get to the point where I tell him I want his fat cock in my ass, and I allow my lips to graze against his ear, causing him to shudder as a strangled noise bursts from his throat.

I’m such an asshole.
So we waited until the Kid had come out, rolling his eyes, muttering to himself, motioning that it was my turn. He’d climbed into Otter’s lap and

laid his head against Otter’s chest. Otter leaned down and whispered quietly in his ear, and I saw the Kid’s shoulders begin to relax as I walked through the beads.

And this is where the fun begins.
“I think you should consider therapy,” Eddie repeats, reaching down to pet Carl Jung while B.F. Skinner stares at me from his perch on the window, obviously wondering what my eyes would taste like.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “We’re doing this because it’s a requirement of the state in order to petition custody.”
“Are you fine, Derrick?”
I nod. “I think I just told you I was.”
“I see,” he says as he writes something on the notepad in front of him. “Tell me, Derrick, why do you want to adopt Tyson?”

You’ll have to do better than that, Eddie. “Because he’s my little brother, and I don’t want anyone to be able to take him from me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” More writing.
I wait.

Finally, after ages: “And you are the only family he has, other than your mother?”

 

“Biologically,” I agree. “But we have friends that are more than enough family for us.”

“Mmm.” Somehow, the thirteen words I’ve just said translate into him writing a paragraph that’s almost as long as the piece of paper. And his handwriting is small and cramped. “Fascinating.”

I’m starting to sweat, but still I say nothing.
“And tell me about Oliver,” he finally says as Carl Jung starts using my leg like a scratching post. I want to yell at Carl Jung, but I’m worried the

therapist will see this as being aggressive and will note that I’m an unfit guardian, that I’m too quick to lose my cool, even if it’s because a mountain lion is clawing my jeans.

My eyes narrow. “What about him?”
“He lives with you too?”
“I assume you already know that.”
“Sometimes it helps us to say it ourselves.”
I can barely resist the urge to roll my eyes and to punch Carl Jung in the

face. “He lives in my house.”
“Your house? Interesting.”
“Wait. I meant our house.”
“Did you?”

“Yes.” Of course I do. If anything, it’s Otter’s house, seeing as how he’s the one that bought it. He did say he was going to add my name to the deed, but we’ve been so busy he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Well, that’s what he says, at least. For all I know, maybe he’s waiting to see if I go out and fuck someone else like he thought I would. Crap, how the hell am I going to convince him—

“What was that?” Eddie says sharply. “Right there, that thought that just crossed your mind. Say it aloud.”

I open my mouth without giving myself time to think. “I wish there was an Arby’s nearby. I really feel like roast beef.”
He starts writing furiously. “You have a very expressive face, Derrick. It’s like reading a pop-up book about emotions. You pull the little tab and a glut of feeling just launches into the air. Tell me about this Arby’s. Do you think about roast beef often? Is it guilt because your brother chose to be a vegetarian and you yourself daydream of meat?”

This I can do. “Yes,” I tell him. “That’s exactly it.”
He nods like it’s the most profound thing he’s ever heard. “You know, Freud would have said your obsession with meat is about sex. Freud thought

everything was about sex. One might think that the man never got laid in his entire life. Or he was in love with his mother. I was never sure which. But regardless, it does bring up an interesting point, your fascination with the beef industry and this place you call Arby’s. I understand you are currently expressing your newfound sexuality with a man. Your first.”

I glare at him. “And you know this how?”

 

“Tyson was simply a fountain of information,” he says. “The words just spewed from him in a geyser of truth and love.”

 

Somehow, I doubt this. If Tyson had spewed anything to this man, it was not done in truth and love. “I wouldn’t call it expressing—”

“Are you the dominant one in your relationship?” he interrupts. “Depends on what you mean by dominant—”
“Is he bigger than you?”
“Like, way bigger. He’s huge and—”
“Uh-huh. So is he the dominant one?”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“And do you enjoy that, Derrick?”
“Sometimes.”
“Giving up control? Letting someone else handle things?” “I suppose.”
“And does it give you peace that he can provide that for you?” “Sure, why not.”
“Would you consider yourself to be an aggressive lover?”

God, I’m such a prude. “What does this have to do with Tyson?” I ask, mortified.

He throws his hands in the air. Testify! I think wildly. “How can you know what’s best for Tyson if you don’t know what’s best for yourself?”
“I do know what’s best for Tyson because I do know that Otter is what’s best for me,” I snap at him.

“So you let… Otter control you, then.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“You know,” Eddie says, leafing through his copious notes, “in the

animal world, a bear is much more ferocious than an otter.”

This can’t be happening. This guy has to be in on a joke that people are playing on me. Nobody in the real world is like this guy. I almost want to look around to see if I can spot a camera crew who’ll jump out and scream “You’ve just been Rehabilitated! Sundays, on Fox!” They’ve got good hiding places, it would seem. “Is that so?” I say in response to his astute observation about the natural order of the animal kingdom.

“Oh, very much so. I’m sure you’ve never heard of a bear and otter fighting with the otter emerging victorious.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a bear and otter fighting at all,” I mutter.

“So you and Otter don’t fight, then?”
What? “What?”
“You just said you’ve never fought with Otter.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“It’s what you didn’t say that I’m more interested in.” He flips the page

and begins writing even more. “So no disagreements? No petty squabbles? Nothing he does makes you want to rip his face off with your paw and digest his innards? We’re all animals, Derrick. Some of us are better at showing it than others.”

I think this guy might be my new favorite person, it says in awe. Like, in the history of all time.

You stay out of this.
“I don’t want to rip his face off. Of course we fight. Everybody fights.”

“Do they?” he says, arching an eyebrow. “And what do you fight about?”

 

“Just stupid things.” I feel sweat drip down my spine and land in my ass crack. I’m not amused.

 

“Like what? Money? Laundry? Who’s going to top?”

“Otter likes to top more than I do,” I say before I can stop myself. I cringe slightly. Why do I feel the need to share that information with everyone?

“Ah! So do you consider yourself a submissive, then?”
I snort nervously. “Not hardly.”
He flips open his laptop and types something in. “You’ll have to forgive

me,” he says. “I’m what you’d call asexual, so I’m not really up on the lingo of the gay culture.” He types in a few more things, and then I can hear the sounds of rough gay sex coming from his computer. His eyes widen, and he cocks his head to the left. Some guy on the screen growls about how his boy is going to take that baseball bat all the way to the handle, and Eddie leans forward on his hands, and I can hear the other guy wailing in what sounds like writhing ecstasy as I’m sure the bat is going just where the guy said it would. “Do you like baseball?” Eddie asks me, averting his eyes momentarily from the screen.

“Not particularly,” I grind out.

He squints at the screen. “So, would you call yourself a… hmmm, that doesn’t sound appropriate… a ‘nasty come hungry bottom dumpster bitch’?”

I wish life was more like cartoons and a piano would fall on him and his teeth would become the piano keys as stars circled his head. “I wouldn’t refer to myself as that, no.”

“Good… to… know,” he says, as he closes the laptop.
“Are you for real?”
He looks surprised. “What do you mean?”

“This,” I say, waving my hands around. “You. This has to be a fucking joke.”
“I assure you it’s not. I simply like to get to know the families I am counseling.”

“Are you serious?” I snarl at him.

 

“Anger!” he practically shouts. “Good! It shows that you’re alive! What are you?”

 

I wonder if he’s a Sith Lord, because I am angry. I’m Luke Skywalker, temptation personified.

“What are you!” he says again, louder.
“Pissed off!”
“And what are you pissed off at!”
“You!”
“And why is that!”
“Because I shouldn’t have to sit here and answer these stupidly

ridiculous questions! It’s not about me. It’s not about Otter. It’s about Tyson, and how he’s mine, and how my mom thinks she can take him away from me when she’s done nothing to make him who he is. If there’s any good in him, it’s because I sacrificed everything to make sure it’s there. If there’s anything redeemable about him, it’s because I made sure it’s there. Not her. She didn’t do shit! How dare she think she can come back, that she can wreck what I’ve worked so hard to make? I didn’t ask for this! I could’ve run, just like she did. But I didn’t. I stayed. I will never be like her. This is my family she’s fucking with, and I will never let them go! She wants to take me on? She wants to start this fight? Fine! I’ll make her sorry she ever decided to fuck with us!” I stop, breathing hard, pretty sure I’ve just been shouting at this man in front of me and that no beads or door would have blocked out the sound of my voice. Otter and the Kid are probably sitting in identical positions, their faces in their hands as they both think we can’t take him anywhere. At least Carl Jung is not gnawing on my shin bone anymore. I must have scared him off when I went to the Dark Side of the Force.

“Feel better?” Eddie grins at me.
You know what?
I do.
Goddammit!

“Sometimes people just need to shout,” he says with a shrug. “Look, Bear or Derrick or whoever you are today, I’m not here to make your life difficult. I’m not here to make things harder for you or Tyson. Like Georgia, it’s my job to make sure Tyson is safe. But I’m also here to make sure that you and your brother are still somewhat sane after an insane situation.” He sighs and whatever façade he’s had since I’ve walked in the room slowly melts away. “Look. I’ve seen some horrible things, heard some horrible stories. I’ve seen children that have been the victim of such horrendous abuse that I don’t know if they’ll ever recover. I’m a firm believer that children should have at least one parental figure in their lives because it helps to shape who we are.

“That being said, I’ve never come across a situation as… unique, as yours. Bear, you may think you’re angry. You may think you’re confused. I wouldn’t blame you. But I am here to tell you that you’re also one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’ve had to be, to do what you’ve done. Some people may call you foolish, some people may call you brave, but no one can say what you did was wrong. Lesser men would have broken under such a burden, much less agreed to take it on. Tyson is very lucky to have you as a brother. Just remember that you need to love yourself as much as you love him and Oliver.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If anyone here is lucky, it’s me. Otter may be the reason I can live now, but the Kid is the reason I’m alive at all.

Eddie watches me for a moment before clapping his hands together. “Okay! Let’s go get your Otter-man and allow me to talk with him for a bit. You and Tyson can sit tight, and then I’ll pull you all back in to discuss what’s next.” He puts his hands on the doorknob and is about to turn it when he looks back at me. “Why do you call him Kid?” he asks. “I noticed in some of the intake paperwork that you referred to him like that was his name.”

I shrug. “Just something—”
did you hear what he called you derrick
—“that we’ve always called him.”
“We?” he asks.
I lower my eyes. “My mother and I. It started when—”
it sounded like he called you a bear oh oh his first word
—“he was a baby.”

He nods and looks like he’ll say something more but opens the door instead and follows me out. Otter sees us coming and stands.

“Oliver!” Eddie bellows. “It’s your turn.”
Otter eyes him warily. “Give us a moment?”
Eddie nods and walks back into his office.

Otter reaches and grips my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You okay?” he asks, looking frustrated. “I heard yelling and I wanted to come in, but I didn’t know if I should. Did you need me in there?”

I shake my head gently, not wanting him to let go. “I think I handled myself, big guy. He’s not as bad as he seems. I think.”

Otter looks like he doesn’t believe me, like he wants to wrap himself around me and not let anyone at me ever again, and this causes my heart to skip a few beats in my chest, because I almost want him to do it. Fuck me. Maybe I am a submissive bottom bitch dumpster whatever, after all.

But I’m drawing the line at a baseball bat.

He leans forward and kisses me gently, his tongue briefly touching mine before he moves past me and toward the office. “I totally believe in Santa Claus,” I hear him say as he enters the doorway.

“You do?” Eddie asks, sounding impressed. “That’s fascinating. Please, shut the door and tell me more.”
I turn toward the Kid, who’s watching me with those big eyes of his, and I can’t help but think of a time when I was only Derrick and he was only Tyson and how we didn’t come alive until we’d been given our true names, that I was—

I WAS sitting with Tyson on my lap, watching TV as he slept against my chest, waiting for my mom to get home from wherever she was so I could start my homework. Tyson—

is nine months he’s nine months old

—had been fussy all day, and the moment I laid him down, he started crying again, only to quiet when he was in my arms. I wondered briefly if he had nightmares while he slept, and for some reason that scared me, so I figured if he could lay against me while he was asleep, he would know that I was there and that nothing in his dreams was real.

I stared at the television blankly, feeling every breath he took, every twitch of his arms and legs. He sighed in his sleep and smacked his lips, raising a tiny hand in a stretch above his head, letting it fall and rest on my shoulder. I bent down and kissed the top of his head gently, and he yawned then, opening his eyes, first one, and then the other, staring up at me until he smiled and lay back down.

Mom came home two hours later, her eyes glassy, smelling like smoke and booze. I didn’t ask if she’d been driving because I knew she had. She would’ve just told me it was none of my business, so I chose to ignore it. I was starting not to care anymore. She slammed the door behind her and dropped her purse on the ground. Ty startled against my chest at the noise, his hands bunching against my shirt as I stood.

“I have homework to do,” I told her, keeping my voice as level as possible. “I need you to take him for a bit.”

“Homework,” she slurred as I followed her into the kitchen, that ever present cigarette dangling from her lips. “Fat lot of good it’ll do you. I say fuck it! Live a little, Der! You want a drink? I’m going to have a drink.”

“I just need you to take Ty,” I pleaded. “Just for a little while.”

“Put him down in his crib, then,” she snapped as she pulled down her bottle of Jack. “I’ve had a long fucking day. I don’t want to put up with a screaming kid right now.”

“You have to! You have to because—”
you’re his mother
—“he doesn’t want to lie down, and I’ve got a test tomorrow I have to

study for!”
“Jesus Christ, Derrick! I don’t care if he doesn’t want to lie down!
Babies cry themselves to sleep all the time. It’s the only way they learn that

they can’t get what they want by screaming about it. Give him to me. I’ll do it since apparently it’s too much to ask for you to do!”

Tyson watched this back and forth with those big eyes of his, those eyes that had such knowledge in them, such awareness that each day it took my breath away. He saw our mom’s outstretched hands reaching for him, and his grip tightened in my shirt, and he buried his face in my neck and opened his mouth and said my name.

Or, at least as close to my name as he could possibly get. It was garbled and quiet, but it came out in two distinct syllables, “Bear-rick,” and my mother stopped, and I stopped, and we both looked down at the little guy in my arms, who started to mutter the same thing over and over: “Bearrick, Bearrick, Bearrick.”

“Did you hear what he just called you, Derrick?” my mom asked, her eyes wide.

 

“Yeah,” I croaked out as his head bonked against my chin, and he sighed.

“It sounded like he called you a bear,” she said, giggling drunkenly. “Oh, oh, his first word, and he calls you a bear? He must think you’re ferocious!” She started laughing loudly, bending over and slapping her thighs as if it was the funniest damn thing she’d ever heard.

Tyson stared at her for a moment before turning back to me, his hands coming up to my face as he poked my lips and chin, laughing at how he could press my cheeks in. “Bearrick,” he said confidently.

I turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving my mother laughing. I sat him in one arm and dragged his crib from my mother’s room with the other, pulling it into my room, not caring when it banged against the walls, when it gouged out part of the doorway. I shut the door behind me and set him in the crib, and he immediately stood up against the bars, looking at his new surroundings, obviously wondering how and why his bed had been moved, chattering in that way he did, only now punctuated with the occasional, “Bearrick.”

I leaned over on the railing of the crib, setting my face on my arms so we were at eye level. He watched me as I watched him. “You and me,” I finally told him. “It looks like we’re stuck with each other. Just you and me. Derrick and the baby. Fantastic.”

“Bearrick!” he shouted happily.

I grinned and shook my head. “Bear, huh? You know I’m never going to hear the end of that, right? Bear and the baby. Bear and a kid. Christ.” I rubbed my hands against my face. “Well, kid,” I told him. “I’ve got a history test tomorrow. Don’t suppose you can help me?”

“Bearrick.”
“Yeah, Ty. Bear-rick. I hear you. Jesus, you’re going to be a little kid before long. Already talking. Not a baby. What the hell am I going to do with you?”
He smiled.
And then, I made a promise, even though I didn’t know then what it

would mean. “I got you,” I told him quietly. “I got you. You’re just a little guy. Just a Kid.”

Tyson slept in my room from that point on.
I had been named, and I was Bear.
Tyson had been named, and he was the Kid.
Looking back now, I can see that was the beginning.

THEKid scowls at me, pulling me out of my reverie. “Did you see the size of those cats, Bear?” Bearrick. “I swear to God those are just miniature mountain lions. You really think a wannabe cat lady should be giving me therapy? Call Erica back. Tell her to recommend someone else so that we can give him a therapist to go to.”

“I dunno, Kid. He seems to be alright.”

His eyes narrow. “You were yelling at him. He pissed you off somehow, and you think he’s ‘alright’?” Air quotes. Fun. “You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

“Oh, Lord,” I groan. “Where’d you learn that?”
“You DVR’d Maury Povich again, and I couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. Before I knew it, the show was half over, and I needed to find out if Jerome was the father to Sharelle’s son J’real.”
Oooooh. That had been a good one. Jerome apparently had a twin brother that—
My phone rings. Alice Thompson, the display says.
Shit.
“I gotta take this,” I tell the Kid. “Give me, like, two seconds.”

“Oh, sure!” he calls after me. “Go take your secret phone calls! I’ll just sit here and wonder about all these scary feelings the therapist has brought up in me! Maybe I’ll find out I have daddy issues too! Won’t that be special?”

“Hello?” I say as I round the corner.
“Bear, it’s Alice,” Otter’s mom says. “How are you?”

I shrug, but realize she can’t see me. We haven’t spoken since we’d been at their house for dinner. It’s only been a few days, but so much has happened during that time that it feels like so much longer. It’s odd, too, having them back in Seafare after such a long absence. Before they left, we tried to touch base at least once a week. I guess I’d gotten used to them being gone. And, of course, the last time I’d seen her, I’d gotten drunk and told her that I was in love with her son. You know, in case you forgot. “I’m okay,” I reply.

“Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “What are you doing right now? I’d like to meet you for lunch if you‘re available.”

“Uh, now’s not a good time, Alice. We’re at the therapist’s office for the first time, and the Kid and I have already gone, and now it’s Otter’s turn, so he’s in there.”

“Why is Otter speaking to the therapist?” she asked, sounding baffled.

Dangerous ground. I need to tread carefully. “He’s my… partner. The attorney recommended that he be as much a part of this as I am, seeing as how we all live together and he’ll essentially have the same authority over Tyson, even if he’s not listed on any custody paperwork.”

“And he agreed to this?”

I sigh. “It was his idea,” I say. “He made sure the attorney knew how big his level of involvement would be, and he has done everything she’s told him to do. More, really.” I don’t have the words to describe to her just what her son means to me, not in the way that I think she’ll want to hear. I don’t know.

She hesitates. “This isn’t just… a phase… is it?”

This angers me, that someone so intelligent, so articulate, could utter such bullshit. Who the fuck is she to judge her son like that? “No,” I tell her coldly. “It’s not a phase. Otter’s gay. You would think you of all people could accept that.”

She immediately backtracks. “That’s not what I meant, Bear. I meant… about the two of you.”

If anything, it makes it worse. “Look,” I say, trying to keep my cool. “I know this is a shock for you and Jerry. I know it came out of nowhere. You can think about me what you want. But what I won’t stand for is you treating Otter like crap just because he has the balls to know what he wants. You’re his mother, for Christ’s sake. Given the history of this family and mothers, you would think you would tread just a bit more carefully.”

“You always were his biggest supporter,” she says, sounding amused by me more than anything. “I don’t really know why I was so surprised by this, given your history. Even after he went to San Diego and even through the anger you showed, I could see how much you were hurting. Did you know? Even then?”

“Know what?”
She’s not fooled by my hedging. “That you loved him.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’m sure I knew something.”

That’s one way to put it, it whispers. Maybe you should tell her about that kiss, that one little kiss that knocked you on your ass.

 

Yeah. Or maybe not.

 

Alice sighs. “Bear, there’s some things you should know. Things that might cause our… reluctance… to make more sense.”

Ah, Jesus. Not what I need. More secrets. “Why tell me? You should talk to Otter about this. He’s the one that needs to hear it. Not me. He deserves your honesty, Alice, not your indifference. I’m sorry if you can never accept me. But don’t do that to your son.”

There’s a sharp inhale, and I know she’s suddenly having a hard time keeping her emotions in check. “Does he love you, Bear?”

 

I laugh, not unkindly. “If you had to guess, what would you think?” I say this not to come off as arrogant, but to get her honest opinion.

But she doesn’t even go there. She doesn’t have to. “And you love him?”
“With everything I have.”

“Silly boy,” she says with a laugh, her voice cracking. “You are my son, as well. You know this. Don’t forget it. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bear?”
“Yeah?”
“You know why I called you first, right? And not him?”

I think for a moment. “You wanted to make sure I was in this all the way. Because you knew already he was. Otter wears his heart on his sleeve. You can see everything he feels in his eyes. And you saw what he looked like when he watched me. But I’m harder to read. You just wanted to make sure I felt the same.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes.”
“Don’t doubt that. Ever.”

“He’s very lucky, you know. To have found you. Even if you were right in front of him the whole time, he’s still very lucky.”

I hear a door opening, and I look up and see Otter walking out of the therapist’s office, Eddie trailing behind him. Otter’s saying something to Eddie, and he’s got that crooked grin on full display, his eyes dancing, and I know he’s gotten a kick out of Eddie, just like I thought he would. He looks around and sees me down the hallway and arches an eyebrow and drops a wink in my direction as the Kid runs up to him and stands on his right foot, wrapping his arms around one of Otter’s big thighs. Otter reaches down, still talking to Eddie, and ruffles his hands through the Kid’s hair, an act so unconscious that it seems to be like breathing for him.

“No,” I tell his mother. “I’m the lucky one.”

IT’Snothing sordid, you know. The explanation behind Alice and Jerry’s

reluctance. I know you’re probably thinking that there’s some big tragedy in the past that forever shaped this family, and that some dark secret is about to be revealed. While it was tragic, and while it did shape people, it’s not dark or morbid or life-altering, at least for us. It’s just sad. And even though I don’t rightly agree with their actions toward Otter and his coming out, I can still see their point.

Sometimes things have simple explanations, even though the consequences are complex.
Jerry had an older brother, a man named Alan. In 1982, right before Otter was born, Jerry was twenty-three, and his older brother was twentyseven. Alan started coughing one day and couldn’t stop. Soon there was blood. Soon Alan was in the hospital. Soon Alan, an out-and-proud gay man, was diagnosed with what would be referred to later that year as AIDS. The world became a scary place then, as some of Alan’s friends became sick, as people turned their noses up, as Reagan acted like nothing was wrong, even after almost four hundred people had died by 1983. Alan was one of them. He died due to complications from pneumonia on January 19, 1982. Otter was born three days later.

Jerry had idolized his older brother. He had worshipped the ground he walked on. He’d held his hand when he took his last breath, even though he was told not to touch him, that doctors didn’t know how contagious he would be. But he’d seen the fear in Alan’s eyes, the despair, and he didn’t care what happened to him. He didn’t think about his new wife, his unborn son. He held his brother’s hand, and his brother had smiled around the tube down his throat, and right before his eyes closed, he winked at his brother, a look that Jerry had known his brother to give all his life.

He buried his brother on a winter day so beautiful it felt like a slap in the face. It shouldn’t have been so bright out. The sky shouldn’t have been so blue. The day should not have looked like it was celebrating when it should be mourning.

He’d been one of the pall bearers, carrying the casket on his shoulder, the weight there only a reminder of what he’d lost, of what he’d no longer have. Even when the coffin was lifted off him and lowered into the ground, he could still feel it on his shoulder, his back, digging into his skin as the sun shone down, as a gently fragrant breeze blew across his face.

Fast forward to four years ago. Otter came out. Jerry and Alice were smart people, caring people. They were also people with long memories, with scars that had never fully healed. They were scared. They worried. They knew how the world worked, that much had happened since Alan’s death, that such a diagnosis didn’t mean death. But it was still Alan. It was still Jerry’s brother. It wasn’t a nameless face or a statistic. Jerry hurt for his son, hurt for his brother. He didn’t know how to act, didn’t know what to do. So he did nothing. It seemed safer. He didn’t know that sometimes nothing is worse than something.

“I don’t know if I buy it,” Otter told me later that night, after we’d come home from their house. We lay in bed in the dark, Otter wrapped around my back. “Over twenty years later, and they freak out about that?”

“People remember what hurts them the most,” I replied quietly. “It’s hard to forget when it feels like it still chafes.”

He kissed my ear. “Do you remember? What hurts you the most?” His voice was low, but I heard the question behind the question.
I was careful with my reply, knowing exactly what he meant. “I remember that you came back.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “I don’t know if I can forgive and forget so quickly,” he said. “I’m not like you, Bear. After all that I did, you still found some way to forgive me. I don’t know if I can do the same with my parents. It hurts too much.”

I turned in his arms and cupped his face. “I forgave you because I love you,” I told him, that gold-green sparkling in the dark. “I forgave you because I needed to in order to forgive myself. You’ll do the same. You’ll see.”

“And how do you know that?” he whispered hoarsely. “How can you know?”

I smiled at him and gave him the words he’d once gifted to me. “I have faith,” I said simply.
He kissed me, long and deep, but not before I saw the shine in his eyes.

WHAT is it about brothers that make us act so much differently than we normally would? Why is there a bond there that doesn’t exist anywhere else? I can’t answer that, even though Tyson is my brother, even though Creed is my brother, even though Otter has grown to be more than my brother. My brothers shaped me to be who I am, whether or not I knew what was happening, and in return, I’d like to think I had a part in shaping them.

These are the men (and one Kid) that I will need for the rest of my life. They might anger me, they might hurt me, they might make me want to pull my hair out, but I will never forget what I’ve learned from them, because regardless of what else happens, regardless of who we are or what we’ll become, they are my brothers, and they are mine.
SO WEwere told what we were, and although it didn’t immediately fix the tension between Otter and his parents, it was at least a start. You can’t just wipe away years of rigidity with a single conversation, no matter how sincere it might have been. I think, in fact, it might have made things slightly worse for Otter, at least for a short time, that the explanation for his parents’ reticence was one of family, of brothers. But regardless of the reasoning, I could still feel bitter for him, that they would let a ghost from their past cloud their relationship with their son. Even if we both could understand what it meant to be haunted, years cannot be corrected in a matter of days.

I think Alice and Jerry knew that too. They stepped back and gave Otter time to think, time to figure things out on his own. They knew as well as I did that he would come to the right conclusion, if only given time. I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I had faith in him. I do. I know he’ll see it for what it is, and a day in the not so distant future will come, and Otter will wake up one morning and be past everything that has been gnawing at him. It’s not in Otter’s nature to hold grudges. He’s not like the rest of us.

I don’t know what I did to deserve him, that’s for damn sure.

It’s this I’m trying to keep in mind when he comes to me a few days later with a request so mind-boggling that I can’t seem to wrap my mind around it.

He wants me to what?

It’s Thursday night. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, trying to work through my psychology homework, not understanding the reading, wondering if maybe I could get Eddie to help me, but then getting the image in my head of Eddie asking me how the book makes me feel, and I shudder and shove that idea right out. It’s probably better to fail on my own than ask my brother’s gonzo therapist to help me. I consider briefly asking Isaiah to go over it with me, but I don’t think Otter would like that very much. He’s made it very clear he’d be okay if Isaiah was no longer subject to the laws of gravity and fell off the face of the earth, careening into space as his flesh froze against his bones (you think I’m exaggerating when I say that—I’m actually toning it down quite a bit; Otter really doesn’t like Isaiah). It’s my fault, really; I’d made the mistake of telling him that Isaiah had kissed me, however brief it might have been. I assured him that I had done nothing to bring it on (“Are you kidding?” he scowled. “You bring those things on by breathing”) and that I didn’t respond (at least my lips hadn’t; my dick… well, that’s another matter entirely. And don’t give me that look. I’m a guy in my early twenties who just discovered sex with men is fun; I can get a hard-on just by thinking about it. It’s not like Isaiah did anything special, so hush).

Otter looked like he hadn’t believed me for a split second before demanding I switch classes, no, that I switch schools, no, that I stay in the house forever and never leave. It’s perfectly plausible, he told me. He’d go out and work and make sure I had food and water and that I would never get bored. I asked him if he thought I was his dog. He asked if Isaiah was hotter than he was. I told him he wasn’t, and that Otter was much, much bigger. This had given him a look of immediate satisfaction, and I let him ramble for a minute or two about how he could squash Isaiah with his rather large muscles, and couldn’t I tell that he’d been working out more? Couldn’t I see how much bigger his arms were? How much larger his chest was? I told him I couldn’t see it, really, through the clothes he was wearing. This immediately caused him to take off his shirt and pants, and I had no problems seeing how much bigger he was then and told him so.

An hour later, we lay next to each other, spent and gasping, his spunk trickling out of my ass and down my thigh in a way that sounds pornographically disgusting but is actually pretty fucking hot. I kissed his chest, and he wiped my hair off my sweaty brow and leaned down to kiss me. He pulled away only slightly, his lips pressed against mine, and told me in no uncertain terms that if Isaiah tried anything with me again, he should probably look over his shoulder for the rest of his life because he wouldn’t be safe wherever he went. His threat was so quiet, so serious, that I couldn’t help but shudder in his arms. Isaiah would stand no chance against Otter.

I smile at this memory while flipping through the psych text. I hear Otter getting off the phone after having spent fifteen minutes talking to whoever. The Kid sits across from me, working through his fractions homework. I consider briefly asking the Kid to explain Kohlberg’s theory of moral development to me, but stop myself, realizing I don’t really want to know if he knows what that means.

Otter comes back in the room. I glance up at him and pause. He has that look on his face, that look of determination like he’s going to ask something he knows I won’t like (“You just have to try the escargot, Bear! It’s not going to bite you. They’re just snails, for Christ’s sake!” is one example; “Of course it’s a good idea to try page seventy-six in the gay Kama Sutra, Bear! No one ever got hurt trying to put their legs behind their ears! Stop being such a baby and let me fuck you tantrically!” is another). I close the psych text and fold my hands in front of me on the table and wait expectantly.

He knows that I know something is up. “Now, you think about what I’m going to ask you before you say anything,” he says ominously.

The Kid looks up and grins. “Conversations that start like that are my favorite. I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to ask.”
“What did you do?” I say as my eyes narrow.

“Nothing,” he says, then he adds, “yet.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was my friend Jordan on the phone.”

“Like way back in the day Jordan?” I vaguely remember him and some of the other friends Otter used to hang out with before he ran off to San Diego.

He nods. “He’s been trying to get me to go out since I got back but, you know. Other things were more important.” He sighs, a big heavy sound, and now I know he’s trying to fuck with me. “Like how much I love you.” He tries to put smolder in his eyes, but it’s more like sparks dying on wet pavement.

“That look almost worked on me,” I tell him. “Almost.”

“That’s your face you make when you want something?” the Kid asks incredulously. “Otter, that made you look like you were surprised and constipated at the same time. You totally need to work on that. Bear’s a huge pushover when you get it right.”

I glare at him. “I am not!”

“Oh, you’re so right, Papa Bear,” he says seriously. Then he grins a dazzling smile, and his eyes go wide. “Can I have some soy ice cream since I’m almost done with my homework? Fractions are awfully hard, but I think I’m doing okay. I just need a little pick-me-up.”

I stand up and pat his hand. “Sure, Kid. You’ve been doing awesome so far, so you deserve a little something.” I go to the freezer and pull out his ice cream, dishing some in a bowl and getting a spoon and putting it in front of him before sitting back down.

“See?” the Kid says to Otter.
My brow furls. “Wait a minute—”

“Wow,” Otter says. “That was incredible to watch. So I’ve got to make my eyes look bigger and smile harder?”

 

“Kid, did you just play me again—”

 

“Your eyes and mouth are way too wide now, Otter. You look like you’re caught in the headlights, and you’re happy you’re about to get hit.” How dare they ignore me! “ I can get what I want with looks too—” “Kid, I’m also trying to have sexy in my eyes too, you know? To make Bear melt a little so he’s putty in my hands.”

 

“I’m not putty—”

The Kid rolls his eyes. “What would I know about sexy? I’m nine. Now, love and romance, I know. I was the one that got you two together, after all.”

“You were not—”

 

“Did I ever tell you thank you for that, Kid? I can’t remember if I did or not.”

 

“He didn’t do anything—”

“That’s okay, Otter. I know you meant to but just got busy. Bear’s obviously a lot to deal with, so I wasn’t upset.
“I’m just going to start saying random things now—”

“Good, because I was worried you thought I didn’t appreciate everything you did,” Otter says.
“I’m leaving you both for a trucker named Duke—”

“You shouldn’t have to worry,” the Kid says. “You’ve done a lot for us. I know that. It’s the least I could do to make sure you guys realized you belonged together.”

“And Duke and I are going to run an ostrich farm outside Oklahoma

City—”
“I realized it right away,” Otter says. “It was your brother that took
some convincing.”

“And Duke and I will adopt a pair of Pekingese, and I’ll name them Robert Redford and Beyoncé—”

“I’m glad you stuck with it,” the Kid says, shoveling more ice cream in his mouth. “I know Bear isn’t the easiest person to convince. You gotta take the whole ‘wear him down’ method. Usually, he’ll cave.”

“And then one day, Robert Redford and Beyoncé will have babies, and I’ll sell them in a box on the side of the road because Duke says we don’t have enough room at the ostrich farm, and I’ll be sad, but I’ll understand, and I’ll make sure each one gets a good home because, dammit, it’s what Robert Redford and Beyoncé would want!”

Otter and the Kid are both staring at me. “What the hell are you talking about?” Otter frowns.

The Kid sighs. “I worry about you sometimes, Papa Bear.” “What did you want?” I growl at Otter.
He looks at me, and his eyes go wide and he smiles that crooked smile. “Good,” the Kid says encouragingly. “Keep it just like that.”

“Some friends of mine want to go out to a bar in Portland this weekend. They asked if we wanted to go,” Otter says, still smiling. It’s a little creepy now.

I frown. “That’s not a big deal. As long as Mrs. Paquinn can watch the Kid, and as long as Tyson is okay with it, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“It’s a gay bar.”
“Oh,” I say. “Uh… you can go.” Even though I don’t mean that at all.

He looks at me knowingly. “The invite was for the both of us. My friends want to meet you, I haven’t hung out with them in forever, and we can both use a night off.”

“Would either of you be going in drag?” the Kid asks. “I was researching gay history and I’m quite taken with drag queens. They have cool hats and stage names. I found a drag queen name generator online, and my drag name is Minerva Fox. I would probably sing a lot of Barbra.”

“Who’s Barbra?” I ask him, glancing at Otter. Otter looks as baffled as I do.

He shrugs. “All the pictures I saw said that drag queens sang Barbra. I don’t even know what that means.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but why were you researching gay history?”

He stares at me like I’m stupid. “You’re gay.”

“I’m not….” I stop myself before that old argument comes up again. I’ll just keep telling myself I don’t like labels. Maybe one day I’ll even believe it. “Look, I don’t think I would be comfortable there.”

“How would you know unless you tried?” the Kid says wisely. “Yeah, how would you know?” Otter echoes, sounding less wise. “Look, maybe next time, you know? I don’t think it’s a good idea. What

with the whole custody thing going on. And stuff.”
“Already on it,” Tyson says, dialing into his cell phone. “Erica? Hi! It’s
me! Minerva Fox! What? No. It’s Tyson. Tyson McKenna? Minerva’s my
stage name. Yeah, everything is fine. What? Oh, school is okay, I guess. It’s

still a little easy, but I didn’t call to brag. No. No. Hey, is it okay if Bear goes to a gay bar? A gay bar! Yeah, with other gays. It won’t hurt his chances of getting custody of me? A what? A back room? What’s that? Why not? Okay. Okay. Thanks! Bye.”

He grins at me from my position at the table where Otter’s holding me back. “She says you can go as long as you don’t end up in a seedy back room on your knees. What’s that mean?”

“It’s where they play illegal poker,” Otter says with a straight face.

“Oh,” the Kid says. “Well, I guess that makes sense. I don’t know why Erica wouldn’t tell me what it was. But why would you be playing poker on your knees? Wouldn’t you just sit in a chair?”

“It adds to the mystery and excitement,” I tell him.
“That doesn’t sound like a real thing at all,” the Kid mutters.

“So I’ll call and tell them we’re going?” Otter asks me, his eyes flashing.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to a gay bar.” I scowl at him. “And that’s final.”