“You think he’s leaving, Grace? He’s never leaving.”
* * *
“Grab a drink everyone.A toast to Twinkle,” Dad said, using an old nickname of mine. “Oh, and Quinn, no alcohol. I think we have an IV bag lying around here somewhere for you.”
“Where did that even come from?” Quinn asked, lifting his hands in protest. “I’ve taken three ibuprofen in the past week. God, you’re such an ass.”
Giggles erupted out on the patio where we’d all gathered after dinner to celebrate my sort-of graduation. Currently, I was snuggled up against Elliott, but not by choice. He’d forced himself into the wedge between my hip and the armrest of the outdoor sofa. He was sitting sideways, his arms at his sides like a rocket ship. I could scoot over, but his comfort was no longer my concern.
“Why are you called Twinkle?” Elliott asked.
I glanced over at my brother. “Kyle? You wanna take this?”
“I was like ten. Grace was maybe two. I was trying to concentrate on a show, and she stood right in front of the TV and sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ over and over. I threw the remote at her and screamed, ‘Would someone shut Twinkle up?’ It stuck.”
“Ah, yes.” I grinned. “A living reminder of your impatience. And now, whenever I’m slightly louder than the accepted norm, he calls me Twinkle.”
His wife Kenzie elbowed him. “She was two, you jerk.”
“What?” Kyle defended himself. “Keith called me Velociraptor until I was twenty.”
“Hey,” Keith jumped in. “That was totally justified. You got sent home in kindergarten for chewing the buttons off your shirt and spitting them across the room.”
Elliott’s head volleyed back and forth between my brothers. He loved this. I knew my family was one of the reasons he was holding on to me so tight, but that wasn’t enough for me to keep him.
My mother ignored the malicious nickname game as she passed out juice packets to all the kids so they too could participate in the toast. Jake’s son, Slater, had other plans. He always did. Immediately, the adorable terror squeezed his juice packet like a liquefied bomb, forcing the built-up pressure up through the straw and sending a geyser of fruit punch into the air. Casey sprang into action, sacrificing herself for the good of the others. While she did manage to redirect most of the flow, it was too late for Keith, who had droplets of juice dripping off the ends of his surfer dude hair. If anyone had to take a direct hit, Keith was the best man for the job. He was totally unfazed, shaking it off like a dog in a downpour, in the process soiling his wife. Sam didn’t blink.
As Casey cleaned up the mess, Slater inexplicably began stripping. Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Slater, no. Put your pants back on!”
She then turned on her unresponsive husband. “Jake!”
My brother shot up on command, grabbing his half-naked son and throwing him over his shoulder.
Slater made his argument from his upside-down position. “My wiener wants to come out and see people.”
A smile swept Jake’s face. “Yeah, well, it’s a little early for your wiener to be thinking for you, bud.”
“Slater,” my dad called. “Why don’t you come over here and help me with Auntie Grace’s toast?”
Jake walked him over to our distracted dad and waited to pass him over.
Dad glanced up. “Just drop him anywhere.”
“On his head?” Jake responded with amusement. “Not sure Casey would allow it.”
“I dropped you boys on your heads all the time. Which, in hindsight, might explain why none of you graduated college.”
“Mitch graduated,” Jake said.
“Right, but Mitch only lived with us half-time, so I dropped him on his head fifty percent less than I dropped you boys.”
“Only us boys?” Quinn asked. “You didn’t drop Emma or Grace?”
“God, no. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Don’t listen to your father,” Mom said, taking Slater out of Jake’s hands and flipping him upright onto her lap. “I can assure you he didn’t drop any one of you. If he had, he wouldn’t be alive today.”
“Wait.” Kyle cut into the conversation. “Is that why it took me four tries to pass my driver’s test at the DMV?”
