Confused, I gaze at my brother again. “It’s fromFrozen,” he explains.Oh.
“Are you Jake?” the youngest one, Poppy, asks when he joins us along with their mom.
“I am.”
Poppy has the broadest grin as she says, “Aunt Genny said you have gifts.”
“I do.”
When she notices Jake’s hands, all thoughts of gifts are gone. Curious, the little girl takes one to look at his knuckles up close. We watch, amused, as she rubs the ink there, trying to remove it.
“Is it Sharpie?” she asks.
“No, it’s a tattoo. It’s ink in the dermis layer of the skin.”
She doesn’t seem to understand what that means, but she tries to lift the buttoned wrist of his sleeve. “That’s enough, pumpkin,” Mal tells her.
“It’s fine,” Jake counters. “I can show her if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course.”
Jake crouches down and undoes the button at his wrist to start methodically rolling it up over his muscular forearm. Marigold joins us, curious as well, and Camellia observes from afar. Once more of his forearm is revealed, the girls analyze the drawings inked there. Then, Poppy shows interest in the other side, and he indulges. When the little girl tugs on his necktie, I can guess the relief within him as he tugs it off and opens a couple of buttons at his neck to move the collar around and show the girls.
The softness with which he handles them is endearing, and I can swear I hear my ovaries chanting praises for him.
“Are you our new uncle?” Marigold asks.
Jake’s a little taken aback by the question while I wince. “I can be if you want, sweetheart. And do you want to hear a secret?” The girl nods energetically. “I’m a lot more fun than Edward.”
My nieces look up at me, awaiting confirmation, and I give them a nod. “He’s a lot of fun, yes.”
“Can I draw on you, too?” Poppy asks as a result.
“Maybe another time, sweetheart.”
My niece pouts, so I take out the bottle of wine and hand the bag to Jake, who’s still crouched to be level with the girls. The gifts should distract them away from the tattoos.
“So, I talk a bit funny because I’m from Australia. Do you know where that is?” Jake asks. The two youngest shake their heads while the oldest nods. “It’s all the way on the other side of the world. We walk upside down there, and we have very special animals.” He reaches into the bag and takes out a plush koala. “Ever heard of koalas?” he asks. This time, they all nod. “Well, koalas come from Australia, just like me. And they only eat eucalyptus leaves. This one’s for you, sweetheart,” he adds, handing it to the youngest. She takes the koala with keen excitement and examines it all over before hugging it. “Then we also have what’s called a platypus, which is an animal that lactates like a cow and lays eggs like a duck.”
The plush platypus goes to the eldest. The girls are entirely entranced by Jake, and I’m not surprised that his aura also works on kids. There’s something about this man that pulls people in, some irresistible magnetism. It’s good to see him relaxing already, his worries slowly fading.
“And I’m sure you’ve heard of kangaroos, Camellia,” he continues, addressing the middle one by her name. He asked me many questions about her generalized anxiety disorder to make sure he’d quickly put her at ease. I explained that her selective mutism is getting better, but she tends to be shy around strangers and closes off. Which is why he took extra care of her with this gift. Camellia nods in response, and he pulls out a plush kangaroo from the bag. She takes it without too much hesitation, which is a great sign. “There you go, sweetheart. Did you know that mama ’roos have a pouch on their belly where they keep their babies?”
She nods again, so Jake continues, “I wonder if this one has anything in her pouch?”
Excitedly, Camellia looks into the pouch. When she finds the chocolate and candies Jake hid in there—with Malory’s prior approval—her eyes light up. Jake gives her one of his charming winks, and she darts off with her sisters, who have already disappeared somewhere with their new toys.
“Thank you for your patience with them,” Gerry says. “They don’t have anyone with tattoos in their lives, so that was new to them.”
“It’s alright. I’m used to being the room’s circus freak.” Although his words are meant with humor, I’m compelled to lay a supportive hand on his forearm.
“Don’t we get plush toys as well?” Malory jokes to lighten the mood.
“The wine and flowers will have to do. I got this one a wombat, so she has something to cuddle when I’m not there,” he replies with amusement, gesturing toward me.
He did get me a wombat plush, which I’m only allowed to have in the bed when my living one isn’t available. But while I love the gesture and laughed so much when I unwrapped it, I’m not sure I want my brother to think I’m regressing back to childhood.
“Drinks?” I suggest to change the topic.
