“Take pictures and videos?” Daisy asks, hoping I will.
“I already took a fucking ton of Sulli diving, so I’ll send those to you.” The hotel has two pools, and they let us rent the smaller one for the day. It’s the only place our kids can relax (besides the rooms) without being hounded by people they don’t know—or even just recorded on someone else’s phone.
Daisy and I say short see you laters. I scroll through my phone and start sending her some videos. Ten minutes pass and I set my phone aside, lower my Ray Bans. Sun beating down on my bare chest. My worn paperback open and splayed on my leg.
Lo seems content, his dark sunglasses on and listening to music in his earbuds. If I strain, I can distinguish the heavy bass and pulsating electronics. Sweat glistens on his abs, and he brings one of his fucking knees up. I find myself scrutinizing him a second longer.
I fucking worry about my little brother, but he doesn’t always need my worry. That fact won’t change how much I care.
“I’ve got an idea,” eight-year-old Eliot Cobalt whispers to Tom, thinking we can’t fucking hear. They dragged a lounge chair towards the edge of the pool, but it’s closest to Lo and me.
Their parents are far across from us, hidden inside a shaded cabana. Lily joined Rose and Connor with the youngest girls: Kinney and Audrey.
Truth is, Lo and I stay under the sun just to keep an eye on the rest of the fucking kids. We don’t trust some of them to be on their own.
My head tilts to Lo at the sound of I’ve got an idea. His head tilts right to me, and he pulls out one of his earbuds, listening with me.
“What?” Tom asks his brother.
Maybe they think we’re sleeping. We’ve both been pretty fucking motionless on the lounge chairs.
“Swim to the deep-end,” Eliot continues his plan. “Then pretend to drown. Don’t actually drown, but stay beneath the water so it looks it.”
What the fuck.
Lo and I sit up some.
Skinny little kids, Eliot has straighter brown hair, but not as golden-brown as Tom’s and not as lazily slumped on the fucking lounge chair. Eliot sits straight, his feet skimming the pool.
“If you do that, he’ll jump in to save you.” Eliot briefly glances at the lifeguard, a teenage boy in red swim trunks. “Then keep your eyes closed and pretend like you’re dead. He’ll use mouth-to-mouth for CPR…and go for the kiss.”
“Dude,” Tom counters, “you just described Sandlot.”
Eliot extends an arm. “And it worked.”
Tom mulls this over, eyeing the lifeguard, and then he whispers, “Okay, I’m in.”
Fucking A. Their chairs creak, and I immediately start standing to physically keep them from pretending to drown.
My brother is faster with his words. “You two, sit down.”
Eliot and Tom swing their heads to us, not startled by being caught, but they both look seconds from jumping into the water. “We were just about to swim,” Eliot says innocently.
It’s in his eyes. The twinkle of deception. I fucking see it. My brother sees it. Everyone sees it.
“Bullshit,” I say, still standing.
They laugh at my swear word and then they sit their asses down. I do one further and drag their lounge chair closer to ours. Their laughs morph into groans of dejection.
“Uncle Ryke,” they complain.
My brother straddles his chair and lifts his sunglasses to his head. Their focus veers to him while I return to my seat.
“First of all, you should be afraid of me.” Lo points to his chest.
Eliot and Tom smile like they’re afraid of no one.
Lo holds up two fingers. “Second of all, you’re not fake-drowning to get the attention of someone.”
Tom takes a peek at the lifeguard stand. “What if he’s really cute?”
We’re not suddenly surprised that Tom is attracted to boys and not girls. Rose and Connor cultivated this safe space for their children. Inclusive of just about everything and fucking anything. So when Tom started feeling an attraction towards guys, he didn’t make a speech. He didn’t worry his parents would disown him or fucking hate him or try to convince him to love someone he can’t.
After a while, with casual, everyday mentions of crushing on a boy at school, we all just knew he liked guys.
And it never fucking changed a thing.
Lo squints at the lifeguard and grimaces. “Thirdly.” Lo raises three fingers at Tom. “He’s too goddamn old for you.”
“You owe me a dollar,” Eliot says since Lo has been put on swear jar this week by Lily. He’s said “goddamn” more times at Disneyland than he has in five months.
Lo glares at me like it’s completely unfair. I can swear as much as I want, and no one gives a shit.
I tell him the consequences. “You want a nine-year-old girl who has lunch detention all week for saying fucking fuck?” That’s Sulli.
Lo winces. “Yeah, no.”
The boys whisper quietly, their foreheads nearly pressed together.
“Hey,” I shout and then kick their chair, jolting them awake.
Tom crosses his arms. “You and Aunt Daisy have an age-gap.”
Fucking really?
Lo is quick to respond. “He didn’t start crushing on Daisy when he was seven.” Cobalt kids believe they’re adults, so they literally scoff at Lo.
Then Tom and Eliot cup their hands to each other, whispering again. This time more blatantly in front of us.
“Fourthly,” Lo continues on and points right at Tom.
They stop whispering.
“If I see you at the deep-end and you’re under the water for longer than ten seconds, Uncle Ryke is going to jump in, save you and give you CPR. Not the cute little lifeguard, so think about that before you start recreating a scene from Sandlot.”
Eliot drums his lips in thought. “At what age would Tom be allowed to do it?”
“When I’m dead and buried.” Lo pulls his sunglasses down. “And if you start plotting my death, remember I have friends in hell.”
Eliot and Tom smile. They’ve always liked Lo.
“No fake-fucking-drowning, okay?” I ensure that they understand the important part.
“I won’t, Uncle Ryke,” Tom says, sincere enough.
Eliot looks between me and my brother. “Just so you know, you could be stopping an epic, whirlwind romance like Uncle Ryke and Aunt Daisy’s.”
Lo rests his hands behind his head, sunbathing. “My heart is crying.”
I lean back, my lips curving upwards as I see our lives, our fucking memories. These kids have no clue just how much Lo didn’t want me with Daisy. And how fucking much he truly loves us together now.
Eliot and Tom spring up and race towards the mushroom waterfall where Luna has been standing for about twenty minutes.
“Dad.” Sulli collapses on the empty chair beside me, soaking wet. Her drenched hair hangs over her black one-piece bathing suit. “Can you time Moffy and me? We want to race.” She rests her chin on her knee and tugs at her ankle bracelets.
“Sure.” I set my book aside and sit towards my young daughter. The previous talk of crushes fucking flares in my head. I’m trying to prepare for that day with Sulli.
Lily once asked me why I didn’t like thinking about Sulli dating.
She’s nine, and I want to stay in the moment for as long as fucking possible. I still don’t want her to grow up fast.
For a while, Lily and I talked about our girls and what sex means for them in this fucking world. She told me, “I sexualize men. You can’t just be afraid of men that sexualize women when I do practically the same thing, and I’m a woman.”
I told Lily the honest fucking truth. “You can’t physically overpower a fucking man the way that a man can overpower you.”
It doesn’t matter who’s thinking about sex. We all are.
It matters who’s in a position of dominance. Who has the chance to abuse that—and it’s mostly men. Bad fucking men. Rose never gave pepper spray to Lo, Connor, and me. Because she didn’t have to. Women are the ones who walk alone in fear at night.
“Hey, Sul?” I say. “What do you think about the lifeguard?”
Sulli reroutes her attention and blocks out the sun with her hand. “He’s okay.”