I hummed. Come to think of it, that made sense. Mikey looked up to Dylan something fierce, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I included the big brother in my plan.
“I don’t see the big deal,” he added. “So he’s a little chubby. He’s got a lot of growing to do.”
“We’re not worried,” I assured him. “We’re just trying to get ahead of something before it becomes a problem. It’s easier for children to form healthier habits than adults. You’ve seen Pop-Pop tryna give up smoking. And Grandma tryna give up the sweets.”
My ma needed to watch her blood sugar.
“Blinkers,” I reminded.
“Fuck.” He moved over to the middle lane and checked the rearview again. “All right. So I’ll tell him good job when he eats vegetables…?”
I tipped my head, weighing my answer. “I think what would work even better is if you ate your own damn vegetables. He looks up to you, buddy.”
Good turn—he was steady and relaxed.
“It got me thinking, actually,” I continued. “Dad and I wanna get him to enjoy more physical exercise, so I’m gonna dust off my mountain bike. If he goes with me for half an hour every day, we’re gonna do a boys’ trip at some point. You should come with. Tragic as it is for my ego, you have greater influence on him as his big brother.”
I’d expected Dylan to smirk or chuckle. Instead, he smiled. “I’ve missed this.”
“Missed what?”
He shrugged, eyeing his side-view. “I don’t know—the extra activities, I guess. Youse were always full of ideas in the past. Weekends were never boring. But this past year, it’s been…you know, more about surviving the day or something.”
Dylan could surprise me. Nine times out of ten, he was the epitome of shrugging teenager who shied away from affection and spending extra time with the folks. But then he picked up on things, filed them away, until he was ready to drop a truth bomb or two.
He wasn’t wrong.
“That’s actually what we’re supposed to be talking about right now,” I said. “We can discuss Mikey another time. I wanna know your thoughts about Dad and me getting back together. And if you have any questions.”
He thought about it. Or he was concentrating on traffic. Either way, I wasn’t rushing his response.
“Ease up a bit,” I advised. “You don’t wanna be too close to the car in front of you. That’s the type of driver I wanna step on my brakes for.”
“I’m not sure a Philly driver mixes well with a NoVa driver,” he muttered. “You’re both your own breed of batshit crazy.”
“The Philly driver is better.”
“How do you figure?”
“We retaliate against stupid,” I said.
“And the NoVa drivers?”
“Well, they are the stupid.”
He laughed. “You’re such a good teacher, Dad. You know I’m gonna be one of those NoVa drivers, right?”
“Bullshit. You were born in Philly like your old man.” I pointed up ahead. “Drive into that parking lot. Rush-hour shoppers—that’s good practice.”
He’d evolved a lot. I knew he’d practiced quite a bit with Nathan.
We actually weren’t that far away from the Mexican restaurant we were going to later. I was gonna eat my body weight in nachos and enchiladas.
“Okay, I have a question,” Dylan said, managing the turn perfectly. “Did you and Dad really work shit out for real, or is there a risk of, you know—like, a back-and-forth, on-and-off kind of situation?”
Valid worry for a kid, I’d say.
“We worked everything out,” I promised. “That matter is still private?—”
