asked what flavor he wanted.
So I got him Bobby’s favorite.
Jon left that bowl sitting on the sticky plastic table the whole time the rest of us ate ours, but it wasn’t until his sister, a baby at the time, poked her finger into the melting treat and went crazy with excitement when she put her fingers in her mouth.
She was a baby. A literal, tiny little baby that should never leave the house with a six year old child, but that’s what he did.
And who was I to say he couldn’t bring her?
Once she tasted it and made him smile with her spit bubbles, he ran his pinky finger through the melting treat, shyly had a lick, and from then on out, he was sunk. Three minutes, two brain freezes, and a full belly later, Jon sat across from me with his baby sister in his lap and his eyes still downcast… but he smiled.
He fucking smiled like he was drunk, and it was because of a two-dollar bowl of ice-cream.
“Jimmy!” Nelly squeaks out in terror and drags my gaze back as my son sits on the other kid’s hips and throws wild swings that bounce off red head gear. I laugh as the ref picks him up and aims Jim’s kicking legs away so no one cops a stray swing.
“Babe.” I pry Nelly’s shaking hands from her face, and with a hand under her jaw, drag her face around until our lips are a mere inch apart. I wait until her darting eyes stop on mine before I give her a gentle kiss. “Baby, you need to relax.”
“I can’t.” She massages her chest. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“He’s not getting hurt!” I point at the ring. “He’s winning. He’s winning illegally, since this is stand up only, no grappling, but still, he’s the kid on top, baby. You never freaked this much with the older boys. What’s going on with you?”
“He’s my baby!” she dramatically cries. “I never agreed to this.”
“There was no way we could stop him, Bert. He’s a big boy, now. He wants to be like everyone else. He’s gonna fight, so you’ve gotta get on board.”
“I want a divorce. I hate you for encouraging this, Bryan.”
Laughing, I press my lips to hers until she gasps out in surprise and sends her breath scorching down my throat, but when I pull back, when I wait for her cloudy eyes to refocus and stop on mine, I know who won that argument.
And I know she doesn’t want to divorce me.
“Hush. Find your lady balls, then turn and watch your son kick some ass. This is just the beginning, baby. Bobby told me the other day that he’s gonna be world champion. You need to accept that our boys are brutes, then you need to cheer them on.”
“I hate when you’re being logical.”
“Yeah? Well I love everything about you, so that averages us out again. I’ll carry us until you get back on board.”
“Stop being so reasonable!”
“Maybe you should’ve given me a baby girl like I said that time. I bet you wouldn’t be crying about ballet recitals.”
“Combo!” Izzy’s tiny, five-year-old tinkling voice echoes through the gym. “Combo, Jimmy! Quick. Step out, step in!”
Nelly shakes her head and wipes a silly tear from the corner of her eye. “I think we got a baby girl, Bry. And I think she’s going to be a fighter, too.”
“So really…” I pull her into my side as the ref picks Jimmy up and separates the boys. “You’re shit out of luck. So just buckle in and enjoy the ride. They’re going to fight, and they’re going to make memories. Did you bring your camera? I want pictures for the walls.”
Sighing, she leans forward and tugs a throwaway camera from her handbag. She sighs like my request is a huge hardship, but she’s the one who click-click-clicks through those twenty-four images just to get through the roll, then jogs her ass down to the drugstore each Monday morning to get the negatives printed and framed.
We’re filling our walls with memories.
Millions of memories that’ll stay and remind us of our good fortune.
We’re not broke anymore.
We’re not rich, but I can afford to let my wife buy a new throwaway camera each Friday, and I can afford the prints first thing every Monday.
We have money for shoes for the boys, and tournament entry fees, and gym memberships; even for Jon and Izzy. We have enough money that I’ll be taking my family