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What, so now you’re thinking he can stay?
“I don’t have time to take care of a minor, Tristan. I’m busy enough with work and… stuff.”
He will get in the way of your night activities. Find him somewhere else to stay, the sadistic voices in my head are screaming at me.
“Minor? I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to drink, gamble, and root. I’m in California, the babes here are bangin’ hot! Just outside there was this blonde… she wanted to invite me in for iced tea and shit, but I swear… and I swear… she was going commando. Totally wanted to fuck me.” His Aussie accent isn’t lost on me, although his slang is.
“Tristan, why on earth are you back in the States?” I run my hands through my hair, bothered by his sudden appearance. “Josie wouldn’t just send her firstborn to her incapable brother. Remember the last time I took care of you? I almost dropped you on your head.”
“I was like a year old… that was so twenty years ago.”
I know my sister well enough to know she loves her son, and the thought of shipping him off would’ve sent her into a depressive spiral for days, not to mention Josie thinks I’m irresponsible with no future.
“Truth? Husband number four doesn’t like me.” There’s a change in the tone of his voice. His eyes shift toward the window, my cue to change subjects and make sure I make that long-distance call to Josie to find out what the fuck happened. Fuck, that asshole better not have laid a finger on him.
I let out a breath, not believing I’m allowing him to stay here. Where else can he go? I have been a lousy uncle, so I guess I at least owe him this.
As I continue to look at him, I notice how much he’s changed since Thanksgiving five years ago. Josie constantly emailed me pictures of Tristan when they moved to Australia because of husband number three. That ended like a bad train wreck, and so she moved onto husband number four. Tristan has grown into a man. Well, okay, maybe a man-child. He’s slightly shorter than me, his physique hidden behind a baggy T-shirt with the Green Lantern symbol on it. His hair is scruffy and untidy, the bleached blond making him look like an Aussie surfer, and probably why he’s sporting a tan as well.
“Okay, listen, you can stay here, but only for a couple of weeks, and I want to lay some ground rules.” Fuck, when did I become so parental?
“Deal.” He smiles.
“Number one… pick up after yourself. I don’t tolerate slobs.”
“Well, how do you explain your bedroom?”
“A momentary lapse of concentration that will not happen again.” No, Roxy will not happen again.
“Right, so you screwed your brains out with a chick who gave great head, but in the daylight, her face belongs on a wanted poster?”
“Rule number two… my life is private. You want to stay here, respect my privacy.”
“What are you hiding, Uncle Jools? Some weird BDSM fetish? Somewhere in here is a secret entrance to your cave?”
“Rule number three… please stop calling me ‘Uncle Jools.’ Fuck the respect bullshit. Yes, I’m your uncle, but Julian is acceptable.”
“Okay, well now my rule, and I only have one.”
“You’re kidding me, kid?” I have to laugh at this one. Tristan and rules?
“Actually, two. No coke in the house. I don’t want to find you OD’ing on some line you did.”
What the fuck? The nerve of the kid!
“I don’t do that shit anymore.”
“Well, you used to, so just don’t. Get some help or something.”
“And two?” I ask, annoyed.
“If I stop calling you ‘Uncle Jools,’ you stop calling me ‘kid.’” He holds out his hand to shake on it, something I reluctantly do.
“Great, now for the pièce de résistance.” He opens the zip to his precious cargo and reveals his PlayStation 4.
Video games?
Talk about juvenile.
