Part 7 (1/2)

”It's not his fault his mother's a wack job and his father's a victim of reverse spousal abuse.”

Matthew adds his pathetic two cents: ”I like the name Rain.”

So sad.

I sneer, ”No, you don't.” I point to my temple. ”That's the brainwas.h.i.+ng talking. She's got you under her evil spell. You've been t.w.a.t-notized by the golden watch between Dee's legs.”

If I slap him hard enough, think he'll snap out of it?

Delores doesn't take it lying down. ”Brainwashed? Look who's talking. James is your golden watch. I swear sometimes that's the only thing keeping Kate with you.”

A few years ago that comment would have bothered me. Not anymore. ”Please. We all know it's my d.i.c.k that's keeping her with me. And that's not going anywhere anytime soon, so I'm really not worried.”

Before Dee can retaliate, the front door slams open with a bang, and the blur of an eight-year-old, light-haired boy comes barreling through the living room. He gives my sister a crooked grin. ”Hi, Mrs. R.”

Alexandra smiles. ”Hi, Johnny.” Then she turns toward our parents. ”Mom, Dad, you remember Johnny Fitzgerald from downstairs? He's kindly offered his services this weekend to help keep the little ones entertained.”

Johnny Fitzgerald. Sound familiar? Think back, way back.

I'll give you a minute to flex the old memory.

Remember the foolish, misguided preschooler who told Mackenzie that p.e.n.i.ses were better than baginas, a lifetime ago? Yep-that Johnny Fitzgerald.

He lives one floor down. Ever since preschool, he and Mackenzie have been connected at the hip. His dad's an old-money a.s.shole-his mom's a functioning alcoholic. Alexandra has him over as often as possible so he can gain exposure to a normal family unit.

Mackenzie pokes her finger at Johnny. ”You can help-but you have to do what I say. I'm in charge.”

I throw a smirk my sister's way. ”Boy, does that sound familiar.”

On cue, James squawks from the corner. ”Mine! Is mine!”

Alexandra lifts an eyebrow. ”So does that. Must be genetic.”

Then Mackenzie and Johnny's newest battle of the s.e.xes begins. ”Hold on a second, Kenzie,” he says. ”I should be in charge. I'm a boy and they're boys.”

”So?”

”So, I can show them how to do things you can't.”

My niece's hands fall to her hips, imitating my sister's stance perfectly. Talk about genetics. ”Like what?”

”I can show them to throw a baseball.”

”So can I.”

”I can play cars with them.”

Mackenzie scoffs, ”So can I.”

Johnny goes in for the kill. ”I can show them how to pee standing up.”

There's a heavy pause. Mackenzie frowns.

Johnny starts to think he's won. So young, so dumb.

Until Mackenzie smiles. Triumphantly. ”They wear diapers-they don't use the toilet yet.”

Johnny lowers his head in submission. Might as well get used to it now, kid. ”Okay-you can be in charge.”

Mackenzie smiles wider. Then she taps her fingers together, not unlike Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. ”Excellent.”

Chapter 4.

Ten minutes later, Jack O'Shay shows up. He's wearing a smart, light blue b.u.t.ton-down and casual slacks. His red hair is cut short and gelled within an inch of its life. Jack's the last of my single friends. The lone wolf. A desperado. He's still living the life I always thought I'd have. Spontaneous. Irresponsible. Uninhibited. He takes great pleasure in ragging on us about all the great nights-and wild s.n.a.t.c.h-we're missing out on.

Not going to lie; I get a kick out of his stories-because I remember how much fun a random hookup can be. But I wouldn't trade places with him in a million years. The gra.s.s doesn't get any greener then Kate Brooks.