I’d love to give him more of a chance to rest—it’s clear he’s absolutely dead on his feet—but convincing him to take a break is like getting me to open up.
Impossible.
The best I can do is to occupy the kids’ time as much as possible while they’re here, and, hey, that’s not a hardship.
I shove the beers back and check in on the kids, who must have grabbed their bags while we were talking. It looks like they unpacked by throwing their cases around the room. They sit, cocooned within the chaos, having cleared a spot on the floor, where they’re pulling clothes off the Barbies I bought for them on their last visit.
“Can I play too?” I ask, shifting some clothes with my foot so I can sit with them.
“Sure,” Dom says, passing me a doll.
His hair is still combed back perfectly after the trip. I used to think it was Isaac caring too much about appearances, but now I know better. I’ve watched Dominic run the comb through over and over, getting it perfect. Isaac might not dress well, but that attention to detail? That’s a Collins trait.
Isaac … well, Isaac was the kind of kid who got called a heartbreaker. Bit weird, saying that to a prepubescent, but I guess he took it to heart because he’s a hopeless romantic, right down to his marrow. Bet if you checked his DNA under a microscope, there’d be little hearts floating around in there.
He didn’t even hesitate when I came to him, just gave me a place to crash and the number of a therapist.
And, man, therapy saved my life. When shit used to get noisy, I’d find a quiet corner in my head and lock the door behind me. Hide away until it was good to come out to play again. It kept everyone else safe from it.
Except it didn’t and only ended up trapping me in with every irrational fear.
Knocking that door down was hard work, but Isaac was there for me, and I’ll never forget that.
“Yo, Dom, did your dad tell you what double D is?”
“He said it was for grown-ups.”
For all the shit I give him—what kind of a younger brother would I be if I didn't make him want to push me down some stairs?—my brother is a good guy. After he looked after my ass for a year, I can do him this solid.
“It is. Back in the ’80s, there was this really cool band called Double D. Long hair and pink shorts?—”
“Those are for girls,” Daphne interrupts.
“No,” I say gently. “Pink is for everyone.”
She perks up. “Oh, cool. You should wear pink,” she tells Dom.
“Okay,” he says immediately and grabs the first pink thing he can find, which is Daphne’s princess crown. It suits him. “Hey, look.”
“Oh, wow,” I tell him. “I didn’t realize I was hosting royalty this week.”
They both giggle.
“May I continue my story, Your Majesty?”
Dominic stops and chews on his lip as he thinks. If I saved a nickel for every emotion these kids cycled through in a day, I could shut up shop and retire forever.
“Was it really just a silly old band?” he asks, frowning.
“ ’Fraid so.”
“That’s boring. I don’t want to be Double D anymore.” He falls back to the floor, fixing his crown and shoving boots onto the doll.
You’re welcome, Isaac. You fucking owe me.
“We’re the D Team!” Daphne calls, hoisting her Barbie into the air. “Barbie is part of the D Team too.”
“That’s great, Daphne. Does she want to go to the teddy bear wedding too?”
