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“For sure buns,” Muriel says. “Her ass. That’s what I meant.”

“I don’t think any of this is appropriate,” Brewser protests, pointing at Oliver.

“Definitely not,” Harley agrees.

“Has to be butt,” Beckett says. “For sure. He looks at her butt a lot.”

“Told you,” Lawson says quietly, for me only.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Ass!” Oliver announces as he mashes a handful of peas in his fist.

I sigh, but Greg leans over, wipes his hand, and says, “Buttocks.” Then he looks at me with a smile. “We’re teaching the kids anatomically appropriate terms.”

“So that little boy might say penis someday out of the blue?” Muriel asks.

Greg shrugs. “Well, he shouldn’t say it randomly, but if a conversation includes that body part, then yes.”

“Got it,” Muriel says with a nod.

“You don’t happen to have any cinnamon rolls, do you?” Alex asks. “Now I have a craving.”

Nora elbows him with a giggle.

“Real ones,” he says grinning. He looks at Nora. “Or…whatever.”

Now more people laugh.

“We need rules about grandchildren flirting at dinner,” Harley says.

“This is why you should all only eat at Perks and Rec,” Bruce declares.

“Penis!” Oliver says loudly.

I sigh. “So, we were talking about the Christmas dance.”

We really were. Though keeping this group on topic for more than three or four minutes is a challenge.

And I love it.

The chaos and laughter and love and teasing is something that disappeared in our family home after Mara got sick. I realize now it shouldn’t have. We should have kept it going. Watching both Lydia and Brewser, I know that life being crazy and even a little irreverent despite their diagnoses and challenges is huge.

I’m sad my family got so sad we couldn’t remember anything else, but I’m so grateful that we are getting that back.

“Oh, we’re definitely doing a Christmas dance,” Nora says.

“Okay, then I have something I’d like to address with everybody,” Lawson says. The group turns their attention to the man beside me.

“As you know, over the past several weeks, there has been some question and confusion about who comes in and out of this house and when and why,” he says with a grin at me. “In light of some recent developments,” he says, looking at Brewser, who gives him a little nod, “Brewser and I have discussed that it would be great to officially give everyone access to the house whenever they might need it.” He digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a handful of keys. “There’s a chance that he may need help sometimes when I’m not here. Brewser is going to start wearing one of those medical alert buttons, but I also want all of you to be able to get into the house no matter what, no matter when.”

Everyone takes a key, their expressions solemn, the table quiet for a moment. I watch as Brewser passes a key to my brother.

Beckett looks touched. “Me, too?”

“I know you’d be there for me,” Brewser says.

Beckett tucks the key into his pocket. “Anytime.”