“Oh, that’s easy,” he says, rolling his eyes and running over to the cupboard next to the TV.
It turns out the caravan keeps an array of standard British holiday entertainment resources. A pack of cards, a two-in-one draughts and chess set, Guess Who?, Mousetrap, and Kerplunk with only four marbles remaining.
“We can’t play Kerplunk, and I don’t want to play Mousetrap. I don’t know how to play either chess or draughts, so Guess Who? it is.”
“I can play draughts,” Logan says, extracting the games.
“Me too,” Pi adds.
“Of course you nerds know how to play it.” I sit on the floor beside the pouffe where Pi is setting up the board. “You two can teach me, then.”
Logan and Pi play two rounds, and I can tell that Pi is going easy on him, but ultimately he ends up winning both games.
“I dare you to let me win,” Logan says.
“Veto,” Pi replies without even looking up.
Logan’s shoulders sag. “You only have one dare left.”
“And I still have a veto.”
My kid turns to me. “Dad, I dare you to let me win, and you can’t veto because you used them all up.”
“I mean, I’ve just seen you play. There’s a good chance you’d beat me with your eyes closed.”
Logan puffs out his chest, and does this movement where he rubs his finger down his jaw. I ruffle his hair. He sets up the board for our game. “I’m brown, you’re cream. You go first.”
“Like this?” I move my piece, then look at Pi.
Pi see-saws his hand. “Yeah . . . you could.”
Logan moves. “Are you and Uncle Aiden boyfriends now?”
As it does every time he asks this question, my heart leaps into my throat. “Spider-Man, we spoke about this. No, we’re not boyfriends. We are just good friends who are boys,” I say, moving another piece and cocking an eyebrow at Pi to check the legitimacy of my move.
“But you sleep in the same bed, and Mum said grown-ups only sleep in the same bed when they love each other.”
“Is that so? It’s your turn.”
He moves. “Yeah.”
Pi gets to his feet and moves to the kitchen, and I can’t blame him for wanting to abandon the intensity of my son’s grilling. “Wanna beer?”
“Heck yes,” I say.
“So . . .” Logan leans over the board and drops his voice to the barest hint of a whisper. “Do you love him?”
Thankfully, Pi can’t see my reaction. My back is facing him, but I hear and feel him pause his movements. I’m subtly trying to command my nosy parker child to shut his tiny cake hole before he ruins what’s left of our otherwise perfect day.
“Well, do you?” he whispers.
“Ssshhh,” I mouth.
Logan stands, walks over to me, bends down, cups his hand around my ear, and says breathily, “Have you ever told him?”
“Logan.” It’s a warning. He sits down, and I hear metal bottle caps being doffed.
“Uncle Aiden,” he says, and I flash him the warning look again. He promptly ignores me. “I dare you to tell my dad you love him.”
