“Acne,” Daphne calls to Charlie.
“I freaking hate that stuff,” Charlie says.
“Don’t sayfreakingwhen we’re at other people’s houses, dumbass,” Eddie says.
“Ryker’s house is your house,” Daphne tells them. “Use all of your words. Then I won’t feel bad for using all of mine too.”
“Please attempt to use your more polite words first,” I tell my children.
“Got it, Dad,” Charlie says.
Eddie salutes me, then returns to hugging the smaller of the two dogs, which is still a sizable mutt.
“Ryker, please check the chicken,” Bea calls from inside.
I start to offer my services, but both of the Best brothers and Daphne give me a look, echoed by Pinky, and I settle back the half inch that I managed to move before becoming the recipient of thesit stilllook.
“Icancook,” I mutter.
“If you were on a sinking boat and could only save one of your kids, which one would you save?” Hudson asks me.
I choke on my water.
“Too soon,” Daphne says to him. “He should have at least a glass of wine and a false sense of comfort before you spring that one on him.”
“Simon, I’d apologize, but I think you probably knew what you were getting yourself into when you didn’t argue about everyone coming to dinner,” Bea calls.
“Is the risotto worth it?” I call back.
“It’ll get a little uncomfortable when my brothers start moaning over it, but there’s very little in life that can top this butternut squash risotto. Don’t worry—no butter, only olive oil, so it’s lactose-friendly. I used fresh sage from Ryker’s greenhouse too.”
I sit straighter again. “This is unlike what I expected of a farm. Do you not have acres of wheat and corn?”
Ryker slides me a look as he flips the chicken breasts on the grill. “Nope.”
“He rotates crops every year and does crop shares,” Hudson says. “Grows what people actually eat, like tomatoes and zucchini and eggplants. Except I don’t actually know anyone who eats eggplants. Plus, there are the chickens and goats.”
“All he needs is a wind turbine or two, maybe some solar panels, and he could live completely off the grid,” Daphne adds. “It’s so self-sustaining that I have farm envy, and I have never in my life wanted to be a farmer. What about you, Simon? Ever wanted to be a farmer?”
“Never given it much thought.”
“Dad! Dad, look! There are goats!”
I peer over the deck railing at my boys, who are now racing further away toward a fence with goats on the other side, the dogs running along with them.
“But upon further reflection, I suspect farming would be a poor combination for me, my sons, and the animals,” I tell Daphne as I rise. “Boys, remember to be kind to the animals.”
Ryker looks at me, then at my boys, then at Hudson.
Hudson grins back at his brother. “Your animals, bruh. I’ll flip the chicken.”
I head after my children. Pinky follows me. Ryker overtakes me and reaches them as Charlie climbs onto the lower fence rung.
Even as the smaller of the two boys, he’s much too large to need to stand on the fencing to reach over it to pet the goats, but he does it anyway.
“They bite,” Ryker says.
Both of my children look up at Bea’s brother, and while they’re vastly different in appearance, they’re identical in the way they jump back from the fence.
