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“I don’t want to see the scarewee musk crown eider!” Wyatt wails, waking Drew up from his nap.
“I want Mama.” Drew sniffles. “Where’s Bankie? I need Bankie!”
“It’s right here, bud.” TJ picks up Drew’s blanket off the floor and hands it to him.
Chase yells louder to be heard over the crying, “I’m hun-greeee! French fries! French fries!”
“Uncle TJ, who is Jose?” Alexis shouts over the boys in the back.
“Jesus Christ, how do Sarah and Kiki put up with this?” TJ asks.
I give him a pointed look as I pull into the McDonald’s drive-thru. “I’m not sure we’re ready for this, Love.”
“Oh, no, don’t base how our kids will behave off those hooligans back there. Drew is very obedient when his brother doesn’t stir him up and Alexis is normally quiet—”
“Uncle TJ, who is—”
“For the love of God, Alexis, it’s anexpression! There’s no one named Jose. It just rhymes and sounds catchy. Everyone quiet or no one gets fries and you’ll all have Brussel sprouts for dinner!”
“Way to keep yer cool there, Love.” I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.
Chase immediately erupts into cheers when he sees where we are. Wyatt howls about seeing the scary clown. TJ assures him we’re not going inside and there will be no Ronald McDonald clowns.
“Yer doin’ great, Thomas. Keep it up. Parentin’ is a snap.” I laugh before placing everyone’s order.
“These monsters are the exception to the rule,” TJ says, woefully. “Besides, we’ll only have one to contend with. There are four of them.”
Once the Happy Meals are passed through the window and we pull away from the curb, TJ hands out the boxes. “Do not spill any food, especially fries, in this car. Uncle TJ just had it cleaned and it’s spotless.”
I look over at him and chuckle. “Yer in for a rude awakenin’ if ye want babógs.”
He shoots me a dirty look. “Hey, I like nice things, and I don’t need ketchup and greasy fries ground into our Range Rover’s leather upholstery. Our kids will be well-trained angels like Drew and Alexis. Ooh, what do you think of the name Benny?”
“Benny? For what?”
“No, you’re right. It sounds like a Jersey Shore musclehead.”
I shake my spinning head and enjoy a few minutes of silence before a strange noise emits from that back seat. “Eeeew!” Chase shrieks. “Drew puked!”
I mutter an expletive and pull over. TJ looks back, making vomiting noises of his own. “Oh my god, I can’t! Why does he always throw up? He’s like the exorcist baby back there. Bhlep.”
“Fuckin’ Christ,” I breathe out, rolling my eyes as I get out and open Drew’s door.
“I want Mommy.” Drew’s bottom lip trembles.
“I know, buddy.”
“Uncle Coco, I need help,” Wyatt cries, while he tries to open his apples. He’s upended all his fries onto the floor of the back seat.
“Give me a second, bud.” I unbuckle Drew and stand him up on the sidewalk while I strip off his t-shirt. Alexis reaches into the baby bag and hands me a pack of wet wipes. “Thank you, Love.”
TJ squirms in the front seat, pinching his nose. “I can’t. I’m sorry, babe, but I can’t do vomit.” He leans over and rolls down all the windows. “Blurrep.”
I ignore his dramatic retching noises as I wipe off Drew. Luckily, his car seat is okay since he only threw up on his t-shirt. I crouch down and feel his forehead. He isn’t warm, which is a relief. “Get a little car sick?”
He nods his head as his bottom lip trembles. “I frew up on Bankie.”
“S’okay. Let’s get ye home and we’ll wash him.” I buckle him back in and throw the wipes in the fast-food bag. I grab Wyatt’s apples and tear them open before he turns into a puddle of tears. TJ hangs his head out the window while I pull away from the curb. “A bit dramatic, done ye think?”
