“Hey, bud. How are you?”
“Jacob! Daddy’s here.” Dominic’s gaze swings back to me. “You’re late.”
“Traffic.” I stand my ground. We aren’t married anymore. I don’t have to be on the defensive.
“Coming.” Jacob’s voice comes from the direction of the basement, and Dominic shoots me a nervous look. The basement is where the TV is, and Dominic has always been very concerned about how much time the boys spend in front of screens. I know the parenting blogs say it’s bad, but honestly, Dominic and I both grew up in a generation practically raised by TV, and we turned out okay. We sucked at being married, but otherwise, we’re both pretty functional.
“How was sports camp?” I say.
Karter wrinkles his nose. “It was okay.”
“You had fun, didn’t you?” Dominic ruffles his hair, but Karter only shrugs. “You’ll like next week better. It’s theatre camp.”
“Theatre is dumb.” Jacob comes around the corner, scowling for all he’s worth.
“No, it isn’t!” Karter says. “Papa, it’s not dumb, is it?”
“No. Theatre is an important art form. Right, Daddy?” He gives me another pointed look, and I’m not even sure why. I run a film festival. Who am I to argue against encouraging my kids’ creative endeavours?
“Sure is.” I glance at my watch. “And speaking of art forms, we need to go.” Out & About has started offering programs outside the main festival, and this weekend they’re running a kids queer film festival. Finding family-friendly cinema with queer rep has been a task, but Doug and the rest of the programming team have done an outstanding job. “Movie starts in forty-five minutes. Come on, guys, time to go.”
“Oh,” Dominic stands. “But, Nash, I wanted to talk to you.”
I almost say, “Send it to my lawyer,” which is how he ended so many arguments. Instead, I say, “No time.” I’ve got my best Daddy smile on. Everything from here until the time I drop the twins back here on Sunday afternoon is going to be an amazing adventure. We are no longer on Dominic’s turf and don’t have to play by the rules.
He glances at the boys and says, “On Sunday then?”
“Sure. Where are their bags?”
Karter gasps. “I forgot Henry.” Henry is the stuffed raccoon he brought from his foster home. Karter and Henry are almost as inseparable as Karter and Jacob.
“Well, go get him,” I say before tugging at Jacob’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s get in the car.”
Dominic trails after us. “I put some books in their backpacks. If you could try to do some reading practice... The tutor said—”
“School’s out,” I say, making sure Jacob has clipped himself properly into his booster seat. “No more homework until the fall, right, buddy?”
“No more homework!” Jacob crows.
“But—” Dominic looks stressed, and I’d feel more sympathetic if he hadn’t pulled the short-notice cottage quick change two weeks ago. This weekend is on my terms.
“Papa!” Karter’s standing in the front door. “I can’t find Henry.”
Dominic goes to say something else, but I jump ahead of him. “Can you go find the raccoon, please? We’re going to be late.”
We aren’t late, but despite it being my festival, we get three seats in the very back of the auditorium. I should be grateful. New programming is a risk, and it’s great these families are embracing the idea. Getting so many people to see queer representation on the big screen should totally be worth being seated so close to the door I can hear the two kids working at the concession stand arguing over who is going to go get more butter out of storage.
Jacob falls asleep, and maybe a movie on a Friday after a week of sports wasn’t a great idea, but whatever. Karter is rapt through the whole thing. I take them for ice cream when it’s over.
I’ve lived in my apartment for almost a year, and the boys have their own room with a bunk bed they picked out themselves. And yet, every time they come over, there’s a fight over who gets to sleep in the top bunk.
“It’s my turn!” Karter insists.
“You had it last time!” Jacob pushes him out of the way as he lunges for the ladder.
“Hey,” I say. “No pushing. Jacob, what does the calendar say?”
The great bunk bed debate has gotten so heated that I put a twelve-month calendar on the wall at the start of the year and wrote out whose turn it was on every night they’re supposed to be here from January until Christmas.
