I turned my head to see her at the sink. She had rinsed the glasses and loaded a rickety dishwasher which might, though I wasn’t certain, have been the first of its kind, and she was currently shutting its door.

“Mom, we’ll talk about it later,” Brock said in a warning tone.

She turned and tipped her head back to look at her son. “Does it happen often?”

“Did I say we’ll talk about it later?” Brock asked.

“Simple question, Slim,” she returned and he sighed.

“If you mean does he stop by? Not often. But he does it. If you mean does he ask for money? No. Not anymore,” he answered.

“Not anymore?” Fern prompted and Brock sighed again.

“He saw my truck and bike just like you, Mom,” he said quietly. “He’s an old guy with not a lot of friends left that he hasn’t f**ked over. He comes by. We sit around, drink beer and watch a game. This does not happen often but it happens.”

She stared at him. Then quietly back, she stated, “I remember a time when you wouldn’t even look at him.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve grown up. He’s my father. I don’t like that he’s lonely. What can I say?”

Brock replied softly.

Fern studied her son. Then her eyes shifted to me. Then she seemed to realize this was not the time or place and that was when she sighed.

Then she said, “I’m sorry, Tess. You must think we’re all nuts.”

“My parents are divorced, Fern, and my Mom hated my Dad from when I was nine to the day he died and even then she announced she wanted to go to his funeral so she could spit on his grave. Luckily, the next day, she got the flu and was bedridden for a week or she might have done it,” I told her, she stared at me, Brock’s arm got tight around my ribs then I finished, “I guess what I’m saying is, I get it.”

Her eyes warmed and her mouth got soft. Then she nodded.

Then she whispered, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Mom! Dylan’s pulling my jersey!” Grady shouted from the living room.

“Cue exit,” Laura muttered and I looked at her. “See you later, Tess?”

“Yeah, Laura, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she replied then rushed out.

Brock pushed me gently in front of him, slid out from behind me and went to his mother, bending low for her to kiss his cheek.

“Have fun, honey.” I heard her whisper.

“Right,” he murmured and she moved away from him and her eyes came to me.

“Have a nice night, Tess. Lovely to meet you.”

“You too, Fern,” I replied.

She made to move out; Brock caught my hand and followed her, pulling me behind him.

We hit the living room and got separated as the kids shouted good-byes to me, went into attack mode in order to give Brock’s legs hugs (this, he allowed from his nephews but he swung his niece up in his arms, gave her a fierce hug while he kissed then blew into her neck through which she giggled with childish abandon and while observing this I fought a tidal wave of warm gushiness), a brief period of pandemonium ensued for what appeared to be no reason at all then I stood in the middle of Brock’s shabby living room as he closed the door.

Then he locked the three locks (knob, deadbolt, chain) and turned to me.

“Your Mom wanted to spit on your Dad’s grave?” he asked, eyebrows up.

“In the bitter divorce department, although your folks clearly have a frontrunner, my folks beat anyone by a mile.”

He grinned at me.

I tipped my head to the side and asked, “So, Rex and Joel?”

His grin spread to a smile then he moved and before I knew it, in fact, even after it happened I wasn’t sure how I got flat on my back on the couch with Brock on top of me. All I knew was that I was there.

“Rex and Joel,” he stated, his eyes holding mine, his holding mirth, his hands moving on me in ways not conducive to relaxing or having a life sharing chat. “My boys. I was married to their mother for five of the most miserable years of my life. Then I was divorced from her for five of the second most miserable years of my life. Then, two years ago, she got remarried and now she’s making her new husband’s life miserable and, lucky for me, she’s not able to multitask. Rex is ten, Joel is twelve. They’re good kids, I get them every other weekend, two weeks in the summer and whenever Olivia’s at the spa, which, considering her new victim is loaded, is often and this works for me because I think the world of my boys and clearly my genes are dominant because they aren’t pains in the ass like their mother is.”

“I’m reading from that you two did not have an amicable divorce and remain friends,” I noted and the mirth in his eyes hit the room and also hit his body which shook over mine with suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, babe, sorry I didn’t make that more clear.”

“So being with her was the five most miserable years of your life?”

“Yeah, and she made being without her miserable too but being without her was not the miserable part.”

“So why did you marry her?”

His head tipped slightly to the side and his face got slightly more serious.

Then he answered, “Because there was the Olivia I met, dated, fell in love with and asked to marry me. Then there was the Olivia who I went on my honeymoon with. Night and day.

Dark and light. Kid you not, sweetness, it was like she wasn’t even the same woman. It was whacked.”

I stared at him, shocked and intrigued by this story.

“Really?” I asked.

“Really,” he answered.

“That’s kind of…” I hesitated, “scary.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he stated with feeling and I thought about Ada and Vic and how Ada showed Vic everything he wanted to see then the minute she got his ring on her finger, Ada showed him Ada and set about making him the Vic she wanted him to be.

“Why do women do that?” I asked.

“Seein’ as I have a dick, I was hopin’ you’d answer that question,” he replied.

“I’ve no idea,” I told him and his mirth came back through his smile and his body shaking on mine.

Then he asked, “Are you gettin’ it yet?”

“Getting what?” I asked back.

His roaming hands stopped and one came to frame the side of my face as he dipped his close.