Chapter 4
Wes
I hate the holidays.
Every year they require more socializing for work.
More in person appearances.
More smile for the cameras, show the world what a picture-perfect family we are.
Except we’re not.
This year I’m even less cheerful than normal.
I’ve got one daughter pissed off that we didn’t take a limo to the event because it would’ve been more spacious, one daughter pissed off at me for not letting her listen to Trans-Siberian Orchestra through the speakers, and one son royally pissed off at me – pun intended – because I won’t even discuss the notion of spending Christmas in a different country so he can be see his best friend for the holidays.
Or girlfriend.
Both?
I’m not sure.
He doesn’t exactly talk to me about those things.
He talks to Bryn.
And J.T.
And Clark.
And just about anyone that isn’t me.
You know I was under the impression our relationship would get easier as he got older.
How could I be so wrong?
“ In ,” Evie hisses from the opposite side of the ornament craft table where she’s lurking behind my children beside the event photographer. “Lean in, Wes.” Her sparkly red holiday nails curl into claws of frustration. “Lean in like you love your wife.”
“ Like you love to grab my ass, ” Bryn mutters under her breath prior to pressing herself tighter against me.
The chortle that escapes is filled with amusement while my sly ass grabbing is all hunger.
We didn’t exactly get to finish what we started earlier.
I had plans for her to sit on my lap and show me why we’re both on the naughty list, not have her attempt to guilt trip me into giving our son, literally the only thing he’s asked for, for Christmas.
I thought proposing other options during our drive here would go a bit better than it did.
I suggested maybe we get him a new board.
He insisted his mal was fine.
I threw out the idea that we could get him one of those indoor balance boards for training.
He insisted he gets plenty of training in actual water.
I even offered for us to take an extended vacation – just the two of us – to go see his favorite surfer compete in Brazil or Tahiti or any other country of his choosing to which he bit back by saying traveling with a Shubie wasn’t a gift but a chore and that he’d be passing on the offer.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been that pissed and proud in the same breath.
He will make a helluva board member when his time comes.
“This is a family event,” Evie chastises on heavy sigh seconds before her wife – that’s also still her assistant – arrives with a cup of fresh hot chocolate in her hands. “It’s bad enough I can practically see where Santa puts his North Pole in that dress, but could you at least keep the language at A Charlie Brown Christmas, please?” One more flash nearly blinding us precedes her two-finger military motion to the photographer. “Let’s keep it moving, Jack Lost. We have sixty-two minutes until our focus needs to be centered on Mr. Reese’s overly sentimental speech about charity or clarity or candles…”
“ Community ,” Jenni snickers on a tiny finger wave goodbye to all of us.
You’d think over the years that Evie would’ve calmed down or Jenni would’ve become wound tighter yet neither occurred.
They’ve each remained – respectively – in their known roles, and it’s oddly comforting.
Like knowing who the hero is and who’s the sidekick.
Or who’s the hero and who’s the villain.
“She’s the reason black licorice flavored coal candy was invented,” Bryn sassily states up at me, blue eyes even brighter thanks to her favorite mascara. “And the reason I stockpile it when it goes on sale at the end of every Christmas season.”
“To have old candy to put in her stocking?”
“Exactly.”
Yes.
The woman I love more than life itself is definitely still a sexy supervillain.
“Are there really no more sparkly blue buttons?” Brae defeatedly asks, shoulders slumping to the ground. “I wanted my snoductor in her symphony blues.”
Blakely pushes a couple pieces around to assist in the search. “I thought we were supposed to be making snowmen.”
“Snow creatures ,” my wife corrects from beside me, less than cleverly hoarding brown pipe cleaner pieces to create what appears to be Vulcan ears on the side of her ping pong ball beings head. “Gender, sex, species, and occupation are all up to the discretion of the creator.”
“Mom’s making Snock,” Wy informs on a crooked grin. “Snowman Spock.”
“Live long and snosper,” Bryn retorts, flashing him the hand signal, which he promptly returns.
You would think knowing how to communicate with her would make it easy – or at the very least easier – to communicate with him, yet it doesn’t.
Very few tactics even transfer over.
“Here’s a blue one!” Blakely theatrically announces.
“All snope is not lost!” Replies her sister.
“Must we put the snow prefix in front of everything?” I mirthfully inquire.
“We snust,” playfully pokes my son. “Snust we, Mom?”
“We snust.”
The silliness successfully gets me snickering, encouraging the twins to continue, “Oh snow, Brae!” She angles the object beside the others that are already glued on. “That’s not the right snade of snue!”
“You sound like Clayface doing his best Shakespeare impersonation while simultaneously melting,” leaves me in between chuckles. “As your dad and a Batman expert-”
“ Baxpert if you will,” Wy good-naturedly injects.
“-I am equally impressed and terrified.”
Her empty hand dramatically lands on her chest alongside a cooed, “ Thank you. ”
It’s in moments like these that I see Bryn.
All Bryn.
Gordonhavemercy on my soul for when they get even older.
“Is this snight?” Bryn asks, scooting a midnight blue button towards the situation. “Snoser?”
Brae shakes her head, doing her best not to let sadness creep in. “I kinda think Wy might’ve took the last ones to make his mal.” She peers up at her brother in curiosity. “Snowman mal? Snal?”
He cheerfully nods at her wordplay prior to lovingly scooting his collection over to her. “Use ‘em.” An innocent shrug is followed by him grabbing the nearest hot glue gun. “I can make a mal out of any color.” Genuine warmth spreads throughout his expression. “Let’s get your snow dude in the right orchestra attire.”
His younger sister squeaks in excitement, picks up a button, and points to where she wants him to put a glop of glue.
Mouthy but kind.
See.
All. Bryn.
“You can have some of my black buttons for your mal if you need them,” I politely offer Wy, catching his gaze. “I know they’re technically not a color …” mirthful grins are exchanged, “but they might work for details or ‘sponsor’ decals?”
He offers me an even brighter smile. “Gnarlz, Dad.”
“You mean snarlz. ”
“That’s an actual word, Mr. Wayne,” Bryn playfully points out on a shake of her head while reaching across the table to put glue where Blake is requesting.
“Not with a Z , Mrs. Kyle.”
“Why is Mom Mrs. Kyle instead of Mrs. Wayne ?” Ponders Blakely with a scrunched nose. “Shouldn’t she be Mrs. Wayne if she’s married to Mr. Wayne ?”
“Uh…Mrs. Wayne was Batman’s mom, and I’m so not the mom.”
“You’re our mom,” Brae slyly points out.
“Which makes you the mom of our Bat fam,” Wy effortlessly adds.
“I.E. Mrs. Wayne,” I join in.
At that, my wife shoots her stare up to me. “You’re supposed to be on my side , Bruce. This is why even after marriage Selena remained a supervillain.”
“She didn’t remain a supervillain,” our son retorts for me. “And exactly what happens to her varies based on the canon you follow.”
Pride pushes my shoulders back as I try to maintain a nonchalant attitude. “I wasn’t aware you still read the comics.”
“Sometimes.” He drops his stare down to where Brae needs a second opinion about the scarf. “Between wax breaks.”
Unforeseen excitement shoots along my spine yet before I can act upon it, my wife’s hand lands on the small of my back in support.
Delivers a gentle reminder pat not to show too much emotion.
Any sign that you approve too much of something is dangerous.
It’s like blood in the water for teenagers.
I flash her a small smirk of gratitude for the sidekick save and prepare to resume creating my own snowman when I spot a tawny skinned female, around the same age as Wy, curiously glancing our way for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.
It’s clear what she wants.
Obvious that she’s contemplating whether or not to approach.
How to speak to him.
Can she speak to him?
Her adorable, nervous behavior prompts me to casually ask, “Hey, Wy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know that girl?” I kick my chin in the direction I want his attention to go the instant he lifts his head. “She keeps looking over here.”
This glance leads to him seeing her see him, something that immediately has her blushing and snapping her face away.
When our stares meet again, he simply shrugs. “Nope.”
“You think maybe you go to school together?”
“Maybe.”
“You think maybe she follows you on social media?”
The disinterest remains. “Maybe.”
“You think… maybe …you should go talk to her?” Keeping an even tone is difficult but not impossible. “Maybe see if she likes to surf?” There’s no initial response in either direction pushing me to continue. “Maybe see what she’s hoping to get this Christmas?”
Still nothing.
“Maybe see if she could be a new friend ?” I quirk an eyebrow. “One that’s… closer to home ?”
Wy’s eyes swiftly narrow into paper thin slits, wordlessly informing me that I made a mistake.
A grave mistake.
“I don’t need a new friend, Dad.” He carelessly tosses the glue gun onto the table. “I already have the right friend. ” His eyebrows pull tightly together. “ The perfect friend. ” Wy shakes his head in additional irritation. “The perfect for me friend that doesn’t need to be replaced.” Irateness reaches the rest of his expression. “She just needs to see me more than once a year.”
My mouth twitches in preparation of apologizing, “Wy-”
“I don’t feel like making ornaments anymore.” Pausing for me to speak doesn’t occur. “Mom, is it cool if I go get some HC?”
“Is that a drug!?” thoughtlessly leaves me in a low grumble. “Since when do you let our son do drugs?!”
“ Fucking really, Wes, ” Bryn huffs louder than I’m sure our publicists would approve. “You think I’d just let our son leave in the middle of a family friendly Christmas charity event to go do a bump of Santa’s pocket snow in the nearest bathroom?”
“What the hell is Santa’s pocket snow?!”
“Cocaine,” answers our son without missing a beat. “Mom, can I go or what?”
“Of course.”
“Can we go too?!” Blakely quickly questions. “I’m dyyyyinnggggggg of thirst.”
Not smirking at her theatrics is a feat in itself for Bryn. “Do you mind taking them with you, Fins?”
“I don’t mind doing something for the people I love.” He twitches me a hateful glare. “ Unlike some dudes. ” Rather than wait for me to defend myself, he uses his two-pointed index fingers to gesture the direction they need to move like he’s a lifeguard on duty. “Swim out.”
Brae skirts around her brother to link arms with her sister. “You want my mellows?”
“Uh…Can I sing every line in Mean Girls? ”
Girlish giggles are barely heard prior to my wife viciously poking me in the hand with the pointy end of a pipe cleaner. “ Ou! ”
“ What the fuck is a matter with you?! ” she harshly hisses, disbelief occupying her entire expression. “Are you just trying to get bitten? Is that why you keep dangling bright colored netting in front of our bull shark?!”
Huh.
I didn’t realize certain sharks could differentiate colors like that.
I admire the new pages of information she still manages to stuff into our relationship ten years and three kids later.
I, however, know now is not the time to vocalize that.
I’m actually convinced I may never be allowed to speak in my family again without council present.
“Why did you think dropping chum into his territory would be a good idea?!”
Following along with her analogy unexpectedly becomes difficult. “Is the young girl checking out our son the ‘chum’ you’re referring to?”
“Why would you point that out?!”
“I thought that maybe he would want to know a girl might be into him.” Abandoning my hold on the materials I possess precedes me angling my frame to face hers. “I thought that maybe he would like someone his own age to hang out with while we’re here.”
“ Or… ” she sassily begins, stance swiveling to match mine, “you thought that maybe if you distracted him with another girl, he’d forget all about the one he wants to see for Christmas.”
Against my own volition, guilt flickers in my gaze.
“Let me ask you this, Mr. Wayne… ” the combination of light and heavy in her tone is unsettling. “Did it work for you?”
My brow pinches tightly together.
“Did having another woman in your face – a woman you had no interest in – help distract from how much you missed me ? How much you wanted to be with me ? How much it hurt to be without me ?”
No.
Having Penny dangling herself actually made the shit worse.
Exponentially.
Worse.
“ I was just trying to help, ” darts past my lips right above a whisper.
“You wanna help?” One hand delivers a gentle, condescending pat to my chest. “Consider your son’s feelings and not just your own.”