A little triangle formed between Frankie’s eyes, which was always a sign of him being super uncomfortable or super aggravated. He was most likely both. Snake did have a proclivity for bringing that out in people. Blondie happily replied, “Of course!” before Frankie could shut her down.
Snake reached across the blanket and tucked his hands under both sides of Killian’s back, cautiously drawing him into his arms. He held Killian in his lap and shifted his face into ugly formations to keep the baby entertained. I thought Killian was going to get a hernia from laughing so hard.
I didn’t want to look at him with Killian and imagine how he would be with his own kid, because the idea of Snake being someone’s dad was kind of gross and disturbing and, selfishly, obnoxious to me. But he was a natural. He was gentle and playful and funny. I’m not saying he was dad-of-the-year material, but maybe he wouldn’t be so bad if he gave it a sincere try. And that bothered me. Damn, that bothered me.
“You’re great with kids,” Blondie pointed out. “Have you worked with children before?”
“No. I’m an only child, so I’ve never been around them much. I’m working on my skills, though.”
“You should. You’ll be having your own someday, I’m sure.”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Someday.”
Someday being a month from then. In a month from then, Snake’s picnics would look entirely different. Snake Jr. would be giggling on his daddy’s lap. Carla would be doting on his every impulse. They would take embarrassing white-shirt beach photos like the one hanging in Snake’s house. His life would be a photograph of inescapable realities that wouldn’t change no matter how much I did or didn’t want to be a part of the disaster that was Snake Eliot.
Snake handed Killian back to Blondie. He drooled a puddle of chunky spit all over her silky church dress, and subconsciously I wished that some of it would have landed on Karen. I glanced at her, and she was staring Snake down in an I-can’t-stand-you-yet-I’m-praying-for-you way that only Karen could pull off. The smirk Snake had worn since showing up made it clear that Karen’s hostility hadn’t slipped past him. Of course, it was at his expense. Naturally, he loved it.
“Did everyone enjoy the service this morning?” Frankie asked, trying to ease the tension. He really needed to pick up a book on effective icebreakers, because religion was definitely not one of them.
“Snake,” Karen said, her tone as hostile as her narrowed eyes, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at church. Does your . . .” Spit it out, Karen. “Family attend?”
Then came the Twizzler. It was bound to surface eventually.
“We’re free spirits ourselves,” he replied. “Sun. Wind. Moon. Nature calling. Listen to the sound of your heartbeat. Paint with the colors of the wind.”
“You never attend services?”
“Sometimes we meditate next to a statue of Buddha while smoking hookah and listening to a Celtic orchestra, but that’s only after my moms have been drinking.”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, wearing the most absurdly mischievous expression. This was a Snakeism, being so blatantly rebellious in the most polite of forms that no one could challenge him without being proven an unworthy competitor. After that, Karen didn’t speak to him again. She couldn’t keep pace. Who was she to compete with a Snakeism?
“Reggie,” Snake said, chatting louder than usual to make sure everyone would hear, “you want to go out on the water?”
“Sure, let me pull my yacht around,” I taunted him.
“You could do that. Or, we could ride one of those.” He pointed toward the pond where a white and blue water wheeler was bobbing against the dock. It was tied to the peg by a rope and had WATER-TO-GO painted in pink across the plastic.
“That’s a pedal boat. Too much exercise for me.”
“You could use it.”
“Says the guy who can’t go five minutes without eating.”
“Come on, I’ll pick up the slack.” He smiled in this odd, flirtatious way that was repulsive and insanely cute at the same time. It was bizarre how he could do that. He should’ve added it to his list of talents (see: singing), since he didn’t have many to claim. “I’m used to doing the hard stuff, anyway.”
Was that sexual? Did he really just make a sex joke in front of my parents and my older brother? I mean, Karen was so pitifully na?ve, anything of the sexual variety was lost on her. But Frankie, the self-proclaimed shepherd of lost teens, was no stranger to innuendo. He and my dad perked up in weirdly perfect sync. My family was sure to combust from Snakeisms by the time this day was through.
I looked to Karen, whose forehead was fixed into a wrinkly frown that would take years of antiaging cream to remedy.
“We’re going to go out on the pond,” I told her.
We were at the dock before anyone in my family could try to stop us. Snake untied the rope and bent to his knees, grabbing ahold of the side. He glanced up at me and squinted as the sun blinded his eyes. “Get in.”
“You can take it like that?”
“Yeah, the pond committee bought a few for recreation.”
“The pond committee?”
“Yes, the pond committee. My moms are on the board.” He patted the boat. “Get in.”
I jumped in gracefully (see: tripped) and landed in the far seat as freezing water splashed against my face. “Jeez.” I shivered. “The prestigious pond committee isn’t wealthy enough to heat the water? I’d have thought they would have invented a pond radiator by now.”
“Budget cuts.” He jumped in behind me and landed gracefully. I liked him better when he was klutzy and awkward.
It turned out to be easier than I thought. Circular motions. One foot up, the other down. It was like riding a bike, except that steering was nearly impossible, and there wasn’t a way to brake while I pedaled us toward our rocky death (see: the bank).
“Turn, Reggie,” Snake ordered.
I tried. I failed.
“Turn,” he repeated. “We’re gonna hit the bank.”
“Maybe I want to hit the bank.”
“Or maybe you don’t know how to turn.”
“I know how to turn. I’m choosing not to.”
I had no idea how to turn.
“No, you’re so unbelievably stubborn that you would crash yourself into a rocky bank just to prove that you don’t need anyone’s help.” He glanced at me and grinned, his eyes squinted. It was different than usual, or it might have just made me feel different. I wasn’t sure.
He grabbed my leg right beneath the knee, moving me in the direction we needed to go. With his help, we missed the bank by an inch. After, he slid his hand upward, his fingertips skimming my thigh before letting his arm fall at his side.
“Smooth,” I mocked.
“Actually, quite prickly. Have you considered shaving?”
I punched his arm harder than I meant to as we drifted toward the west side of the pond, away from Snake’s house and my family (see: ragtag team of psychos).
“It’s nice out here, right?” Snake asked. He said it like he wasn’t sure.
“It’s trees, water, grass, and sky. I could get it on the Discovery Channel.”