To say I feel out of place whenever I'm at my brother's house is an understatement. I suppose it is mainly because I've never had a particularly strong relationship with him due to our age difference. Peter was already 10 years old when I was born. By the time I was in kindergarten he was learning to drive. By the time I started taking notice of girls, he was getting laid at Stanford on a regular basis. And by the time I graduated high school Peter had been married four years and had a two year-old son. So the opportunity to lay any kind of foundation for our relationship never materialized. Anything I learned about him or from him was through silent observation.

My sister and I were much closer. Alexis was four years older than me and was the popular girl growing up : Cheerleader, drama club, ASB. My parents were always chasing away the guys Alexis attracted, and between the boys and her dozens of friends, she had quite the network of pals. A lot of times she'd let me tag along, and that is where I got the bulk of my tutoring on the ins and outs of relationships and pursuing women. Plus, having a popular sister whose hot girlfriends were always over was a great way to learn about how women wanted to be romanced, what to say, how to act, and what to do. It's like Lexy and her friends gave me Cliff Notes on male/female interaction. I think being in their presence early on helped with any confidence issues I'd ever face. Because of Alexis and her friends I now hold all the aces; whenever I'm with the guys and see a group of women we should chat up but the guys are hesitating because they're awestruck, I laugh and dive right in. I don't see the drop-dead gorgeous ones being any more special than the rest of the females. I can thank my sis and her friends for that. I even lost my virginity to one of her friends: Shelly, the leggy brunette from her college psych class. I must have followed her around like a lost puppy all summer of my sophomore year, like there wasn't anybody else on earth worth looking at. She told me one night late in August after knocking back some screwdrivers that I was too cute. Alcohol and older, forward girls. That's usually how those stories begin.

But Lexy wasn't the focus, it was Peter. Peter, the high-brow business attorney whose immaculate home dotted the hillside of Carpenteria outside Santa Barbara. An overachiever who worked long hours during the week and used what little time available on weekends to spend with his son Tyler, who was eight. My nephew was eight. Time flies. Peter and his wife Marie also had an eighteen month-old daughter named Lena. This was the life Peter asked for, so it's hard to be jealous or sympathetic. He wanted a stay-at-home mother for his children, and having that structure meant he worked hard to support the family. There weren't many who could have a setup like that these days. Alexis and her husband Roger were going to be there as well, in addition to my mother and father. A regular family gathering.

For most people, Thanksgiving is a burden. The holiday heaves huge pressures upon us when we are forced to spend time with our families. We all have heard the horor stories: Somebody has too much to drink and reveals some great family secret, like how your deceased grandmother was 2 months pregnant with your mother when she married your grandfather and did it to keep the family name from being dragged through the mud, not out of any actual love for your grandfather. Or tenstions will come to a head during the second course when an in-law and a blood relative get into it over some ongoing unspoken spat and the rest of the family is left in the middle to takes sides. Other times it's as simple as somebody saying something embarrassing or merely acting in the same offensive, reprehensible manner that reminds you why you don't spend any time with them to begin with. Maybe that is your family. Luckily it's not mine. They are well-balanced and normal. It's me they view as the black sheep.

For some time both my sister and mother have taken it upon themselves to harass me to no end about my single status. When three married couples are in the majority, one single brother stands out. Alexis is the worst about it; she seems to have entirely forgotten about any happy days she might have had as a single woman and instead repeatedly puts all her faith in the belief that you can't be happy unless you have someone with whom to share that happiness. Some people don't operate on tennents like that. I am one of those people. Therein lies the problem for Lexy. If it's just me and the parents, things are fine - things are dandy - but throw my sister into the mix and the women start ganging up on me. The occasion becomes open season, and I've got the bullseye. I expected no different this time around. Having Thanksgiving at Peter's doesn't change that.

The last two times I've spent with Peter and Marie at their home have been marked by huge periods of uncomfortable silence. It's as if some external being is forcing us to somehow find an even ground and get along. It's just not working. I don't hold anything against my brother, and I'm certain he harbors no ill will towards me. There just isn't anything there for us.

This time I'm hoping things will be different, because I'm going to tap into his principal interest: The law. I've brought my subpoena with me, hoping to get his professional take on things before I proceed with the Delaware district attorney. I'd like some reassurance. I'd like to know she is going to go down hard.

I arrived and the place looked just as it did the last time I was here - like a museum. If you've ever wound along the 101 freeway towards Santa Barbara and beyond, you may have seen Peter's house, reflecting in the sunlight against the Santa Ynez foothills with it's expansive floor-to-ceiling windows and gorgeous views of the Pacific Ocean. It's so warm and inviting, yet every time I'm here I feel like an uninvited guest.

I walked up to the double entry doors and rang the bell. They're family but I never let myself in. I never understood people who do that. It's not your house; just because a relative lives there doesn't make it yours by extension. Have a little class; knock on the fucking door.

"Well, look who's here! And on time, too," said Peter as he opened his door, eyeing his watch. He had a drink in hand, looks like a whiskey-and-something. He was already drinking and it was barely noon. Things were looking up.

"Don't just stand there, c'mon inside kid. Everybody's here." He called me kid. He's been calling me that for as long as I could remember. I walked inside and waited for him to lead the way. He took a few strides towards the back of the house and then, sensing I wasn't behind him, turned and gave me the "this way" motion with his hand. He lead me into the family room where the rest of them were. A quick, out-of-unison "hey" rose from the group.

Alexis's husband Roger was the first to approach me. "How have you been? It's been a while since we've seen you in our neck of the woods." Their neck of the woods was Coto De Caza, a secluded, wooded, upscale haven deep in southern Orange County. Christ, it was practically in San Diego in my opinion.

"Yeah, well you're 75 miles away. I haven't exactly seen the two of you at the Santa Monica pier either."

Roger smiled. "Yes, the distance can be trying. But you should really come down and see us some time. Stay the weekend - we have plenty of room."

I was tired from the drive and had no desire to bare the fangs so early on, so I kept it diplomatic. "I'll check the schedule. Perhaps we'll have a weekend that lines up." Roger smiled again and returned to Alexis's side in the corner of the room.

After we'd dispensed with the pleasantries and I'd made my way through my first glass of Magnum Syrah I realized Marie wasn't in the room. And Peter hadn't mentioned her. "Where's Marie?" I asked.

"In the kitchen preparing the feast," Peter replied.

"Nobody's helping her?"

"No, she has it under control," said Peter.

I looked around the room. My mother looked like she wanted to say something but was restraining herself. Ditto my sister. After I gazed around the room I returned my focus to Peter and was startled to find he'd been looking at me the whole time. I paused and smoothed my shirt.

"I'll just stick my head in and say a quick hello. It's been a while you know."

What was going on here? Everybody's acting somber, quiet. That's not like us. I knew I should be thankful in a way that I'd been there almost an hour without anybody needling me, but this was just weird. I made my way to the kitchen where I found Marie.

"Hey sis, what's happening?" I said loudly as I threw the swinging door open.

"Oh my lord! Reed, you scared me!" She looked incredibly frightened.

"Sorry, Marie. That wasn't the plan. How come you're cooped up in here?"

"Somebody's gotta cook for nine people. It takes a lot of doing," Marie replied. That reminded me, I had yet to see Tyler or Lena. Where were they?

I took a good look at Marie as she turned from the oven to face me. She looked like she had aged some. She looked frantic, distraught, pressured. Maybe the effects of having children. It was like she was on the verge of saying something, but didn't.

"Do you need any help?" I offered.

"Help? No no, I'm fine, I'm fine," she repeated. "All under control. Go enjoy some time with your family." Gee, thanks.

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

"Oh." Marie paused and wiped some of the perspiration from her forehead with the a paper towel. "Lena should be asleep still -" looking at the oven clock Marie nodded as she confirmed this to herself, "- and Tyler is probably playing his video games up in his room." She pointed in the general direction of the bedrooms for emphasis.

"You sure you don't need any help?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Go. We'll catch up at dinner."

I detoured upstairs to see my nephew, stopping briefly to look at the framed photos on the hallway walls. All abstract, all black and white. Waves in the sand. A weathered teak wood chair by the lakefront. Shadows and sunlight on steel girders. Sterile and anonymous. I got to Tyler's door. It was closed. I knocked and got no response. I knocked again before going in.

Tyler was sprawled out on the floor of his room. Marie was right, he was deep in concentration as he played "Star Wars Battlefront" on his PlayStation 2. I looked at him and then the TV screen. An 8 year-old with a 25-inch TV and a PlayStation 2. He had it good. I didn't even have a television until I was 15. And I was stuck with a Sega Genesis. I noticed the kid had a DVD player as well.

"Hey Tyler, it's your uncle," I said.

"Yeah. Hey," he responded, his eyes firmly locked on the action taking place on the screen. I stood there motionless waiting for him to look over at me. He didn't.

"All right, well I'm gonna go back downstairs and talk to your dad. Uh, I'll see you later." I turned slowly and deliberately as I said this, as if faking leaving the room. He kept on playing his game.

"Okay, bye." He never took his eyes off the screen.
___________________________________________________________________

When I returned downstairs the room had become lively and the discussion heated. It turned out the county tax assessor wanted to reparcel some land around Peter's place, and part of that would involve doing comps on the surrounding properties which could result in increased property taxes.

"I pay over ten thousand dollars a year alone in property taxes, that's not including the local assessments, water, trash, etcetera, and now they want more!" Peter exclaimed.

"Yeah, but you get all that back as a tax deduction," I interjected. The room went silent and they all looked at me. I guess I wasn't helping.

The subject changed and my father began talking about the prices on local properties around their home. That's when I grabbed Peter.

"Hey, I was wondering if you could take a look at something for me and give me your legal opinion."

"What's the matter? You in trouble?" Peter asked with a grin, almost like he expected my reply to be yes.

"No, thanks for that vote of confidence though. I got subpoenaed and I just want to know - look, can we talk about this privately?"

I followed Peter to his den and produced the subpoena for him to look over. "You know I don't practice criminal law," he said as he flipped through the pages.

"I know, but you know the law so I want your input."

Peter was silent as he looked over the documents, flipping back and forth, double-checking sections and looking at signatures. He finished after a few quiet minutes, then folded the document up and handed it back to me, smirking.

"Why am I not surprised this involves a woman?" he asked.

"I didn't even know her! Never met her in the flesh. She brought this to my doorstep unsolicited, I asked for nothing. Wait a minute - can I even be telling you this stuff?"

"Sure, it's fine. I'm an attorney, and more importantly you haven't divulged anything of paramount importance."

"Just put my mind at ease, Peter. I've never had to deal with anything like this before. Tell me what's going to happen."

"You don't have anything to worry about. Whatever you're feeling is nothing compared to the two who brought these charges about. They've had to take the full brunt of this. The state is calling you to testify. They want you to help them establish a pattern to her behavior. So you go up on the stand, tell your story, answer their questions, and you're done. Maybe you'll come face to face with her if they don't try her in absentia. I guarantee if she's there and you put a face to it all you will have more satisfaction and closure than fearing you could run into her anywhere, not knowing what she looks like." He rose from his chair and turned out the desk light. "If I know the D.A they'll force the other side into a plea bargin. They don't want this thing to see a court room. They've got bigger fish to fry, higher profile cases to win."

"So if they plea bargin this thing I won't need to go to Delaware?"

"That's right. The case is closed and you are released from having to appear." Peter lead the way out of the den and back downstairs. "Just be sure in the future you get some better taste in women, okay?"
___________________________________________________________________

Dinner was served. We all sat around the immaculately decorated table outfitted with two silk tablecloths and enough candles to light the room in case of a blackout. We were half way through the meal when Alexis started looking at me with this sly grin, something between a smirk and a giggle. I knew it meant she was going to start in on me.

"So, any new flavor of the week we should know about?"

The strange thing about my sister's recent attitude was that as a teen and college-aged girl, she went through men at a record pace. I never bothered getting to know any of them because I knew they'd be history in no time. And when she had been dating Roger for more than two months I remember her saying he was different because she was looking for something serious. She said that short-term flings were not serious. Long-term ones were. Her ground rules were laid. Going by these guidelines she should know I'm not looking for anything serious.

"Yes Reed, any women you are serious about?" my mother chimed in.

"No, nobody this week. I had to give myself some downtime to recover from the previous two or three."

"What, two or three weeks, or two or three women?"

I reached for my napkin and wiped the excess gravy from the edge of my lip. "Yes," I replied.

Both of them groaned. "Lord!" my mother said. "Is there no end with you?" Out of the corner of my eye I spied my father privately chuckling.

"There's nothing wrong with dating women," I said softly.

"Nothing wrong with dating, no," said Lexy, "dating them in rapid succession like you do, that's not healthy."

"What's wrong with it?" I asked.

"Your sister is right. It doesn't give you any time to form a good opinion and see if they're a good fit," my mother said.

"I learn more than you think about them in our time together, Mom. Besides, it's just like you said before, Lexy: 'Short-term flings are not serious. Long-term ones are.' I'm not looking for something serious. Thus the short-term women."

My sister glared at me from her side of the table. "I don't remember saying that. And don't call me 'Lexy.'"

I'd been calling Alexis by that nickname since high school and it was fine until about two years ago when one of her friends mentioned there was a porn star named Lexy. Lexy West to be exact. Since then the nickname was no longer acceptable.

"I'm certain you made that comment. It might have been when you and Roger surpassed whatever your longest relationship had previously been." She and Roger traded nervous glances and I'm sure that meant their end of the discussion would be carried on in private at a later time.

"We're just concerned about you dear," my mother continued.

"I know, but as I've said countless times before, don't worry about me. I'm doing fine. I see no need to keep up with the Joneses. I date and I'm active in pursuing women, and for now that's enough."

"Just make sure you're pursuing the right ones, eh kid?" said Peter from his end of the table. He quickly added "More wine anyone?" to help things along.

"It's just not natural Reed, it's just not normal," said Alexis. "You don't give the relationships any time to form, and you could be really letting some good ones slip right through your fingers."

I was tired of Alexis thinking she had a better idea than I of what I wanted in life. I was tired of the second-guessing, the lecturing, the constant badgering. It was pissing me off. "Yeah? I let some really good ones slip through the cracks? Here Alexis, let me run down the list of the past few and you tell me how many winners I blew off. Let's see, there's the one who was a vegan and couldn't stand to be in the presence of anybody who ate meat. In case you've forgotten, I'm still a meat eater so that's a no-go. Then there was a beautiful, graceful, modelesque girl I can't touch because we're co-workers and I'm not risking my career for anybody who could get me fired. Then there's the woman I broke things off with because...why was it? oh yeah, she was still married. And another who - well, she was the one those few nights not looking for the relationship if you get my drift. There's another two or three rolled in there who I'm forgetting but you see the pattern. So sis, I know what I am doing. When I am ready to settle, I'll settle. Until then I'm still on the hunt."

Peter snorted when hearing the pursuit of women referred to as a hunt. I really wanted to remind these hypocrites of how they were when each was my age and younger. I wanted to tell them about what I used to observe of them both, and how what they did then wasn't any different from what I was doing now. But I knew it would only lead to an all-out fight so I kept my mouth shut.

Alexis wasn't finished, however. "Maybe you aren't attracting the right kind of woman. Have you thought about that? Maybe you project something that only a certain type of woman notices."

"I do. I project an attitude that says 'hey, wanna get laid?'"

"Reed!" my mother exclaimed. "Please don't talk like that. Not here while we are enjoying this fine meal." She patted Marie's hand as if my remark had ruffled feathers and made the night a complete catastrophe.

"Relationships aren't all about, uh, 'getting laid' as you put it," Lexy continued.

"You don't think I don't know that? Where is it written that the only way you can be happy is if there's a partner to share it with? That if you don't have somebody in your life you can't be happy any other way? That's a load, and that's the moral absolute you are operating on Alexis. I can't be happy if I'm a single guy, is that it?" I looked over at Roger. "Was that how it was for you, Rog? A life of darkness until you hooked up with Ms. Sunshine here?"

Alexis turned quickly to Roger. "You don't have to answer that," she snapped.

But Roger ignored his wife. "I'm afraid you are in the minority Reed. Everybody at this table - your father and mother as well, I believe - we were all married or engaged to be married by the time we were your age. Your sister means well, she really does. She thinks your time has come."
"His time has come," repeated my mother. "Listen to Roger, he makes sense."

I sat back in my chair. "Listen to yourselves. The high and mighty speak. You sound like you're trying to covince a serial killer to give up the ghost and confess his sins. Well I've got news for you: I've got no sins when it comes to dating. Think about your friends and their relationships, think about past relationships you may have had, where somebody was cheated on, lied to, run out on. I don't do any of that. I'm straightforward. I'm truthful. I go out with a woman having no expectations and making no promises. Lecture me if you want, but there are far worse people out there doing far worse things to people than anything you might think I'm doing."

I paused and took a long gulp of wine. Fume Blanc. Dry and earthy, with so little citrus going on. Not very good. Maybe too young. Then I took a long look around the table and added, "people should settle down when they are good and ready, once they've found the right person for themselves, once they've got their own head on straight, and once they are in a good spot financially and emotionally. You can't assign a specific age to that for everybody." I pointed at Alexis. "So you were on the fast track to marriage at my age. Good for you. I'm impressed. But I'm not ready, so don't force me into bad choices for the sake of making you happy. We are talking about my happiness here."

The table was quiet and my father gave me a barely audible golf clap. I don't know if it was heartfelt or sarcastic.

Alexis wasn't done. She was the sort that always wanted the last word. "Be that as it may, I have a suggestion. You should consider discussing your situation with a behavioral psychologist."
"I don't have a situation. You have the situation."

"Let a doctor decide that," she replied. "It's good to get another point of view besides yours and ours. I can recommend the same one Roger and I went to before we got married."

"You went to a head shrinker before you got married?" I asked. I was dumbfounded. It sounded like the dumbest thing.

"No, not a psychiatrist, a psychologist. We had a consultation where we told him about each other, our goals and likes and dislikes, and he told us if we were compatible as a couple."

I scratched my head. "You couldn't just discuss the important points with each other and leave the middle man out? You didn't know if you were right for each other after two years of dating? Sounds to me like if you want to make sure you're compatible you work out the rough spots with each other. France & England didn't go to Switzerland to help with the issues they had with Germany, you know."

Lexy rolled her eyes. "Still, I think it would be a healthy thing for you to do. Be sure I give you his card before you leave."

I grumbled something to myself about where she could stick her card. I was done arguing.

Marie finally came to life and changed the subject, thankfully.

"So, are you doing anything special this weekend while you're here?"

I spoke up first. "Well, my parents and I were talking about going up into Santa Ynez on Saturday."

"Yes," my mother interrupted, patting my hand, "there's a winery Reed suggested we should look into. Red wines I think. What was the name of the place again?"

"Justin Vineyards," I replied. "They make excellent cabernets and an especially good isosceles." Marie looked at me blankly. "It's a bordeaux blend, lot's of earthy tones and spices to it," I added.

"Oh. Sounds fun, maybe we should go along, honey," Marie said towards Peter at the head of the table.

"No, we can't. I have to go into the office, remember? And you have them." He motioned with his head towards Tyler and Lena. "Minors aren't allowed in wineries." Marie became silent and went back to here meal.

I spoke back up. "I don't know what else we're doing this weekend. There's always tomorrow though. You know I'm not staying here, right? I've got a room in old town."

Marie looked back up. "You're not staying with us?"

"There's no room. Everybody else is staying here."

"Nonsense. There's room. This is a big house. You could stay with Tyler." In the kid's room.

"No way man!" Tyler exclaimed.

"That's all right Tyler. If it's any consolation I don't want to stay with you either. I don't want to be responsible for cramping your style." I mussed his hair as I said this. He grimaced and quickly rearranged his hair back into an acceptable style.

"Maybe you could do something with Peter on Friday," offered Marie.

"But dad's supposed to play baseball with me!" Tyler huffed.

Peter put his silver down and ran a napkin across his mouth. "I'm not going to be able to do anything with either of you. I have to find a loophole in a bad land deal for the partners."

"But you said you were gonna play baseball with me." repeated Tyler.

"I know son, and I can't."

"Maybe you want to play baseball with Grandpa, Tyler?" interrupted my father.

Tyler ignored him. "And you said you'd play baseball with me last week too. You lied to me."

"Hey! I did NOT lie to you. Don't you talk that way!" Peter said, standing from his chair.

"You never do anything I want to do. I hate you! I hate you!" Tyler threw back his chair and ran from his table for the stairs, back to the haven of his bedroom and its electronic luxuries.

"Tyler, you come back here this instant!" his mother called after him, but he was gone.

"Leave him Marie, let's not allow him to spoil our Thanksgiving," Peter said, waving her down.

We continued our meal, mostly in silence save for the clatter of dishes being passed and glasses being raised. After about ten minutes I rose and announced I was going to check on Tyler.

"Don't bother," said Peter, "the guy just needs some alone time to mope. He'll be fine."

"Well then, I'll just drop off a Pepsi with the moper," I replied. In the kitchen I took two cans of Pepsi from the fridge, placing one in my coat pocket. I went up to Tyler's room. His door had a large paper sign with the words "KEEP OUT" scribbled in capital letters. I knocked and announced myself.

"I don't want to talk to anyone," Tyler said from the other side of the door.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you? I have a Pepsi with your name on it and I'd hate to drink it myself." I waited and heard Tyler get up and come over to the door. He cracked it open.

"Pass it through the opening," he said.

"No dice, I come with the package. It's an all or nothing deal."

Tyler closed the door and thought it over, then unbolted the door and opened it. I stepped inside and took a look around his room. The kid had a walk-in closet. Eight years old and he had a bigger wardrobe hold than I did. His bookshelf had a good 20 DVD movies, and another shelf was filled with CDs. He was set up pretty nicely.

Tyler flopped down on the bed and flipped his skechers off his feet. He had already changed into a pair of Billabong shorts, and was going for the PS2 controller when I said "lay off the PlayStation for a minute, would ya?"

"You said you had a Pepsi for me," he said.

"Oh, this?" I said, pulling the first can out. "This one's for me." I popped the top and took a big glug.

"Hey! Where's mine?"

"Must have forgotten it downstairs. You can go back down and grab it yourself if you want." I paused. "But that means having to see your dad again."

"No. I hate him."

"No, you don't hate him. Sure, he makes you angry from time to time, but you don't hate him."

"I do, I hate him."

I shook my head. "What a thing to say. Why on earth do you hate your dad?" I asked.

"You hate your Mom & Dad," Tyler replied. He was referring to the raking over the coals I suffered earlier regarding my single status.

"That's not true Tyler. They have some strong opinions - your grandmother and aunt - about how I should be and I differ with them. But I don't hate them, not at all. So why don't you tell me what's wrong with your Dad?"

Tyler turned over on his bed and sat up to face me. His face was red, like how children get when they've been doing that deep exhaling thing they do when they're on the verge of crying. His hair was all messed up, his t-shirt a little wrinkled. He kicked his legs about as he spoke.

"I hate him because every time he says he's going to do something with me he doesn't do it. He has to do something else. He always has to do something else. Then he lies to me and says we'll do it next weekend, but we don't. We never do. I hate him because he lies to me, and he says lying is bad. But he lies to me. He's lying about lying and I hate him!"

I tried not to laugh as Tyler said this. To be able to trade in the problems of an adult for those of a child. I remember problems I had while growing up and thinking they all meant the end of the world, like having to stay up all night the night before a book report was do so I could cram through it, and thinking the whole time that I was a dead man, that there would be no life for me beyond the next day and the uncompleted book report. Sometimes I wished I could have those days back. To Tyler though, this was the end of the world.

I took a sip of the Pepsi. He looked at the can as I drank, still angry I hadn't brought him one. "So your father promises to go somewhere or do something with you but then changes his mind. Is that right?"

Tyler looked away from me. He was trying hard not to cry in my presence. He was trying hard to appear strong. "Yes," he replied.

"Where is he going on weekends when he's supposed to be doing things with you?"

"To work."

"Aah. I see. What you've got to understand Tyler, is that your parents - both of them - love you very much and would rather be spending time doing things with you. You may not know it, but you are a very lucky boy. Both you and your sister. You have a mother who can stay home all the time and look after you. You don't have to go into any after-school daycare or some yucky babysitter's house. There aren't many kids who are like that. But for you to be able to do that your father has to work long hard hours at his job. More hours I'm sure than he wants to."

Tyler wiped a snot bubble from his nose and drug the side of his hand along the edge of his bed sheet. "Why does he have to work all the time?" he asked.

I sat at the foot of the bed away from Tyler and the gooey remains of the snot bubble. "Well he doesn't want to, that's for sure. Nobody wants to be at work when they can be at home with their family having fun."

"So why doesn't he?"

"He slaves away so your mother can be home." Tyler stared blankly at me. He didn't understand.

I got off the bed and walked over to his PlayStation. I picked up the controller and looked it over. "Tyler, I dont' expect you to understand this right now, but in order to be a mommy or a daddy it takes a lot of things. Loving your children and spending time with them isn't enough. It takes so many more things."

Tyler inched closer to me, still on the bed. "Like what?"

"Well, they have to be able to give you a place to sleep, clothes to wear, food to eat. They have to be able to send you to a good school where you can make friends and learn about all sorts of things and become smart. And sometimes there's more things they have to be able to provide, like a PlayStation or a bicycle. When you get close to my age a parent will want to send you to a good college. All of that takes money, Tyler. A lot of it."

"How much?"

"Lots. I don't know if I can put one big price tag on it, but I'll show you what I mean." I walked over to his closet door and opened it. Tyler craned his neck to see what I was going to do. I walked in and turned the light on. The kid had three walls of two-shelf closet organizers, almost entirely filled. This kid had a larger fucking wardrobe than I had. Jeans were neatly folded, shirts pressed and uniformally hung, shoes stacked on the floor, all presumably by Marie. I took a shirt and a pair of jeans from their spot and looked at the labels. Quicksilver t-shirt, Levis jeans. This kid had it pretty good. I saw the skechers he'd been wearing earlier on the ground in front of the closet and kicked them towards the center of the room.

"Take this outfit for example. This shirt, these jeans, these shoes. This is a $25 shirt, and the jeans are easily $30. If your parents got you these shoes for less than $45 they got a good deal. Throw in a belt for $10 and that's $110 spent on one outfit for you to wear to school. Now add up all the clothes in your closet according to those numbers. That equals a lot of money." I put the clothes back in the closet and saw a child's suit hanging by itself in the corner of the closet. I folded back the collar on the lapel and saw the label: Polo by Ralph Lauren.

I stuck my head out from the closet and added, "this suit runs about $600. And you'll wear it three times, tops." I closed the door and went for his toys and gadgets. "You have about $400 to $500 in DVDs here," I started, as I ran my finger along the bookshelf. "And probably another $300 in compact discs. How many PS2 games do you have?" I asked.

"Like 7 or 8."

"At $40 a pop plus the price of the PlayStation system that's another $500. Then there's the dresser, the bed, the lights, and all your toys. What I'm getting at Tyler is that it is very expensive to have children and bring them up. You have to be there for them financially as well as emotionally. It takes a lot of time. It takes a lot of money. And only certain people are cut out to be parents and raise a family. I know I couldn't do it. And your father has to work very hard to be able to provide all these things for you and your sister and mother. It probably kills him inside to have to work all that time and be away from you. But he does it so that you can have these things and won't come home complaining that Billy down the street has cool new shoes while you don't. Don't think for a moment that when he has to go to work on the weekend instead of playing with you he isn't sad. He feels every bit as bad as you do."

Tyler leaned against the edge of the bed, running his hand over a bedpost. He didn't understand the economic impact of having a child. He was eight; I didn't expect him to pick up on it. Then he said the most amazing thing.

"So he goes to work all of the time so we can be happy? Me and Mom?"

"Yes, and Lena too. As she gets older you'll realize she will need a lot of the same things."

"And so I can go to soccer practice and play on the computer and watch movies on the theater screen down the hall?"

"Sort of Tyler."

"So I may not like it, but he does it all so we can be happy with our life?"

"That's right," I replied.

"Isn't that like what Grandma and Aunt Alexis do to you, so you will be happy with your life?"

Children don't get enough credit for being smart.

I nodded and pulled the remaining Pepsi from my pocket. The kid had earned it.

"What do you know, I have another Pepsi. Must have forgotten all about it." I felt it. "It's still cold, Tyler. Want it?" I held it out toward him. He immediately took it and popped the top.

"Your father will spend his entire life thinking he never spent enough time with you growing up, whether he's here to play with you on Saturday or not. So he is gonna make the most of the times when he can be with you." I rubbed my hand through Tyler's hair. "There will come a point where he'll wish you had never grown up. And a time will come when you'll wish you could have been a kid forever. Appreciate the time the two of you get to spend together, Tyler. You're not gonna have that chance forever."

Tyler looked up and smiled. I think he got my point. Or he really liked his Pepsi. Either way, the boy had calmed down.

"I tell you what Tyler. If you ever feel so angry about something and can't talk to your mother or father about, you can call me. Doesn't matter what it is or when it happens." I pulled out my wallet and slid a business card from its pocket. Writing on the back I continued, "my number at work is on the front, and I'm writing my cell phone number on the back so you can call me any time. There are women dying to get this number from me but I'm not giving to them, I'm giving it to you. Deal?"

"Okay Uncle Reed." He called me uncle. I think it was the first time that day. He took the card and place it on top of his dresser.

Smoothing my shirt, I went for the door to open it, then turned and said, "there's only one thing left to do, Tyler. You have to go downstairs and apologize to everybody. I know you don't really hate your dad, and you know you don't hate him. Even the people downstairs know it. But if you don't smooth things over all that anybody will remember about Thanksgiving 2004 was you running off yelling that you hated your dad. Wouldn't it be so much better if they instead thought how nice Tyler was for apologizing and making everything pleasant? About what a thoughtful young man you were?"

Tyler reached for his shoes. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You'd better believe it. It makes you brave, manly, willing to fess up for your mistakes. The chicks really dig that stuff." I nudged his shoulder as I said this.

"You mean girls? Eww. Gross," he replied. Maybe he was too young for that.
____________________________________________________________________
We made our way downstairs, Pepsis in hand. Nobody noticed us until we were in the room.

"Hi guys," I began, "I'm sure our dinners are cold." Marie started for our plates, thinking I was hinting we needed them reheated, but I stood her down. "No, don't worry about that Marie, it's fine. I just wanted your attention for a minute."

I stood aside and Tyler appeared behind me. Everybody looked at him. I turned to share their view. He paused, not saying anything. Crap, I hope he's not getting stage fright. I nodded an okay at him and he nodded back.

"Dad, I wanted to say sorry for saying I hated you. I don't hate you. I'm sorry. Everybody, I'm sorry. Uncle Reed said you go to work but you'd rather be here playing with us."

Peter smiled. His eyes starting to get heavy. "That's right."

"I know. I'm not mad." Tyler turned towards his mother. "May I be excused so I can play Battlefront with Uncle Reed?" His mother didn't know what to say. She just nodded. Tyler turned to me as he started for the stairs. "I'm gonna go turn the game on."

I nodded in approval. "I'm right behind you." I watched him make his way up the stairs and around the corner of the hall.

"What on earth did you say to him?" came Peter's voice from behind me.

"The same thing any of you would have said." I went to the stairs and put my hand on the bannister. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get my ass kicked on PlayStation by an 8 year-old."