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Zeke shook his head and settled in. “At least they have sauce.”

Dad and I nodded in agreement, an eerily similar gesture that even I could recognize.

When Zeke set the cups out, he and I opened the sodas for Dad, making momentary eye contact with something flashing between us as my father fumbled with his one. Both of us had the same question that we’d ask one another later. But, with sodas in hand, we poured lemon lime soda, raspberry vanilla and grape in mostly even parts between each one.

“Hmm, mine tastes like a grasp-la-nilla.” Dad swilled his cup.

“Hmm, Glassperry pie.” My suggestion was obviously the superior of the two.

“So, what do you think yours tastes like?” Dad stared Zeke down as he examined his cup with a frown.

“Ass.” Zeke frowned and washed the taste out with the dregs in the lemon lime can before pointing at the raspberry vanilla with a frown.

Dad choked, snorting soda from his nose and coughing.

“Show of hands, glassperry pie, grasp-la-nilla, or ass,” I asked as the front door swung open and mother came out.

We froze guiltily, caught in the act of carbonated beverages and stank fish. She gestured for Dad to hand his cup over, and she took a swig. “Ass.”

Dad muttered something, and Zeke choked on his lemon lime before it caught up with me.

“Don’t do ass that big of a disservice.” He caught mother’s gaze, and I had to politely remind myself, for not the first time, that old people still banged.

I mean… Zeke was way older than my parents and he still—Nope! I wiped that out of my head.

“Soooo…” I glanced to Mom and gave her my best puppy-dog eyes as Zeke inched over with his fork to steal a bite of sardine, and I did the same.

“No.” Her flat tones told me that it was the end of the discussion.

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to ask!” I pouted, and Mom gave me some serious stink eye.

“You’re not sharing a bed with Zeke.” She glared at me.

I glared back.

“I don’t even let you shut the door when Syllivan is over.” She tapped her foot, and I sighed heavily.

Zeke sat there, eyes wide and did his best to look innocent.

“Oh, no! What ever will I do? My reputation will be spoiled! No woman will marry me.” I feigned a swoon.

“Alexei,” Dad said in a mock warning tone. “I will not have anyone getting pregnant under my roof.”

I flinched, and Zeke coughed into his drink. I fanned myself a little before taking a drink. “Dad!”

“Mikhail!” Mother shoved my father playfully and settled in peacefully next to him. “I’m not old enough to be a grandmother.”

Mother patted at her under eyes, the lines there deeper than they had been months ago. She was old enough to be my grandmother by technicality, but I’d never say so.

“Hey, his idea, not mine. But I’ll make an honest man of him, I swear. I’ll take responsibility.” Zeke raised his hand in mock swear.

“Good to know.” She stole a sip of Dad’s drink and wrinkled her nose as the sardine smell permeated the air. “No bastard grandbabies for me.”

I stood abruptly and cleared my throat. “Welp. I’m tired. Going to bed!”

I gave them a little nod and went inside to my bedroom as that gnawing guilt simmered in me.

And as the door swung open, cold air hitting me from the air conditioner, Zeke chuckled. “Maybe we’ll adopt or something.”