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“Hi, Mr. Evan,” he says shyly.
I smile reassuringly at him, and somehow that makes my headache recede. A little.
“Hey, bud. Call me Evan.”
“Sorry… Evan,” Reagan says. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” I gulp some water from my bottle in the hopes of alleviating the worst of the hangover.
Reagan shifts from foot to foot, clearly unsure if he should ask whatever it is.
Seriously? What could it be? Chest hair? Mine didn’t come in until I was in my late twenties, but maybe?—
“What’s anal?” he finally blurts.
The water goes up my nose, and I have to cough to regain my composure.
It’s official. I’m not going to drink liquids around this kid ever again.
“What a fascinating question,” I say when I can speak. To buy myself more time, I cap the water bottle. “What’s the context?”
Please don’t say porn or?—
“Con—what?” Reagan asks.
“Context. As in, where did you hear it? In what sentence? Under what circumstances?”
“Ah. One of the counselors said it to the other,” Reagan says.
My hands ball into fists. “What did he say?” If I learn that someone has been having inappropriate conversations around the children, I’m going to?—
“She said ‘Yes, I checked it twice, Brian. Stop being so anal,’” Reagan says in an imitation of a teen girl’s voice.
Oh. My hands unclench, and I exhale in relief before asking, “Do you know what persnickety means?”
Reagan cocks his head. “Fussy?”
Despite not knowing what “anal” or “context” is, the kid clearly has a great vocabulary. “She meant something like that, but with a compulsive component.”
He looks less sure. “Like you have to be fussy?”
“Kind of. There’s usually an obsessive element to it as well. Like when someone likes neatness so much they force others to be neat, or they like correct spelling and grammar so much they correct them for other people.”
“Hmm,” Reagan says. “My mom might be into anal.”
It takes an elephantine effort to keep my face impassive. “You don’t say ‘into’ before an adjective.”
Reagan grins mischievously. “Are you showing me an example of how to be anal?”
Clever little munchkin. “Exactly.”
“Thank you.” He grins at me. “I loved your lesson, by the way. When I grow up, I also want to be a surfer.”
Huh. He even looks like some of the surfer dudes I know, with his long hair and his unusually chill attitude.
“I’m sure I’ll make a surfer out of you before the summer is out,” I say.
His smile turns upside down. “I’m not here till the end of the summer. Only five more days.”
