Brownies Revisited (107)

PSI-1

Erik thought probably his uncle had gone out. The violin was gone, and his coat. It was a little weird that they hadn’t gone out together in that case. Even if Uncle Mordecai wanted to play, he could’ve done that outside of the theater, he did that sometimes. And he liked the music reels. They could’ve seen some of those. It wasn’t like the movies were expensive.

Maybe he’d decided about it after Erik had gone, but Erik hadn’t been gone that long.

Then he heard ‘Misty Mountain Hop’ coming from Calliope’s room with the door closed.

That made him suspicious.

Okay, you have decided to do something without me.

Something fun, because it was Calliope’s room. His uncle wouldn’t go into Calliope’s room to hide or cry, he did that in bed.

Irritated, and a little bit curious, he walked through the dining room and lifted his hand to knock on the door. He stopped, though, with his knuckles a few inches from the wood.

Wait. What if they’re kissing in there?

That made him uncomfortable.

But he could still hear violin! You could not have kissing and violin at the same time. Well, maybe you could but it would be really hard. He tried to mentally arrange Calliope and his uncle so as to have kissing and violin at the same time, but that made him even more uncomfortable.

They can’t be kissing. My uncle is old.

Thus assured, he knocked on the door.

The violin stopped and Calliope laughed. “It’s the cops!” she said, muffled behind the wood.

They both laughed.

“It’s probably just Hyacinth.” Mordecai opened the door, “Hello?” and looked down. “Erik!”

Erik had intended to look mad about things. He started to fold his arms across his chest, but he couldn’t pull it off. He just stood there with his hands up, staring.

Mordecai was wearing his coat. There were pink flowers stuffed in all the pockets. Carnations. He was also wearing one behind his ear. He had his violin in one hand and the bow in the other. His eyes were red like maybe he’d been crying, but he didn’t look sad. He just looked really surprised.

He smiled and leaned on the doorframe. “Oh, hey, Erik. How was the movies?”

“They were painting the theater,” Erik said.

Mordecai considered that for a few moments. “During the movies?”

“They were painting the theater so there weren’t any movies and I came home,” Erik said, frowning. He’d only been gone about an hour.

“Aha,” said Mordecai. “That would explain it! I really didn’t notice what time it was.” He laughed again.

“What are you guys doing in there?”

“Oh. Calliope is sketching me. Because she does that. With flowers. It’s a statement on… a statement… Um, she’s saying something about things.”

“War and peace,” Calliope said, behind him. “Swords into plowshares.” She was sitting on her bed with a pad of paper and charcoal. While wearing a skirt, which was a new thing, and it fit her new waistline without suspenders or a safety pin. Regardless, she had paired it with an oversized men’s shirt from her pregnancy days, reasoning that those worked an awful lot like a smock and it didn’t matter if she got stains on them. (Ann and Milo were incredibly disappointed, even if the purchase of one plain black skirt did make her ‘Hennessy’s legal.’ Hyacinth thought it was hilarious.)

“I have no idea,” Mordecai said, shaking his head. He was still smiling. “I just like it because she’s cute and she’s paying attention to me.” He gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Okay, didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”

Calliope laughed. Erik did too. He couldn’t help it. This was weird, but not in an upsetting way, and it was great having his uncle say dumb things he didn’t mean to say. Erik was so used to doing that himself, but he kind of hated it. It was frustrating always being the weirdest person in the room.

Ha, ha, not today! For some reason!

Maybe they were drinking? Except his uncle didn’t really do that very often. Only if he didn’t like the songs. Erik thought he liked ‘Misty Mountain Hop’ all right, and it didn’t sound like the kind of song Calliope would ask for, anyway. Calliope liked a lot of screaming in music.

It didn’t smell like they were drinking. Maybe a little like chocolate.

“Can I see the drawings?” he asked.

“I… cannot think of any reason why you can’t. No.” Mordecai stepped out of the doorway and allowed Erik into the room.

He sat down next to Calliope and she showed him the pad. She had done a few pages. Smudgy figures in various positions with a violin, or something vaguely violin-shaped, some with a suggestion of flowers in the pockets. The faces were blank with crossmarks over them. There were a couple more-detailed sketches of just flowers and just violin. They weren’t a lot like Milo’s drawings, the lines were thick and imprecise, and dark. She had drawn an uneven circle around one of the figures and added a line and a notation. 75°?

It was closer to 55°, or 125°. Erik had seen a lot of Milo’s drawings.

“It’s sort of like a halo,” Calliope said. “A modern icon. I might do a compass or a watch face. Or maybe a gear. I’m not sure. I think I’ll do it on canvas.”

An icon? Like in the shrine?

He didn’t think his uncle would make a very good invisible person. His uncle wasn’t really fond of the Invisibles, even though he knew a lot about them.

What would he do? Music? Cooking? What would he ask for?

He thought probably his uncle wouldn’t like to ask for anything.

Don’t call me. In fact, don’t call anyone. Go home. You’re probably scaring the hell out of your family.

Mordecai saw Erik regarding him. He grinned and said, “I am perfectly normal. Do not worry.”

“Um?” Erik said.

“Your uncle is wasted,” Calliope said with a smile.

“I am not wasted!” Mordecai said hotly. “Damn it, I only had two. I can still play violin and I understand pants! Why are you telling Erik I’m wasted? Why do you think I’m standing here trying to act normal?”

“I dunno,” Calliope said. “But I thought it was kinda hilarious.”

“Wasted on what?” Erik said.

“Brownies,” Calliope said. She stood. “You want one?” Surely that had to be all right. He knew what they were and he wouldn’t get scared.

Privately, she thought Erik could use a brownie every once in a while. He seemed like he had a really hard time of things. But she was willing to defer to Em’s judgment. She’d thought Milo could use a brownie too.

“No brownies for Erik!” Mordecai cried, pointing the bow. “Erik is seven! If Erik needs to get high he can spin around in a circle until he falls down! The brownies will stay on the top shelf of the closet! There are absolutely no brownies on the top shelf of the closet,” he added rapidly. He shook his head at Erik. “No. There is absolutely no kind of drugs anywhere in the closet that you should be curious about. Or in the magic suitcase. Oh, gods.” He put both hands over his face. One was holding the bow and the other the violin. It looked a little like he was trying to wear them.

Erik laughed again. I think this may be the best day of my life! His uncle was always so careful. About everything. And worried about everything. And he wanted everyone else to be that way too.

He had no idea his mother used to make his uncle so drunk he couldn’t understand pants, but he would’ve appreciated the humor of it immediately. He also would’ve been interested in seeing it.

“Aw, Em,” Calliope said. “It’s just a little hash.”

“Calliope thinks I can have some,” Erik said, grinning. “Maybe I will since I know where it is.” He wouldn’t. He didn’t really even want to, he was just so in love with the idea of not being the weirdest person in the room, but he wanted to see what his uncle would do.

“No!” said Mordecai. “We do not do drugs in this house! If we are seven! If we are you! I am old enough to decide if I want to destroy my intellect. I know what I’m doing. Your brain is still growing. You wouldn’t like it anyway. Everything is just really hilarious and you can’t see straight. And sometimes you have weird ideas and you’d like some potato chips. That is not fun! We will hide them from you. We will hide them under the mattress. Not under the mattress. We will not hide them. Don’t look for them. They will not be anywhere I’ve said. I am eventually going to come down and we will do something really clever with the drugs. Not take them. Cool people do not take drugs. I am a terrible role model. Why aren’t you at the movies?”

“They were… painting the… theater,” Erik said. Also, maybe Cousin Violet is happy with me today and this is my birthday present!

“Movie theaters should not be painted,” Mordecai muttered. “They are dark.”

“Do you do this every time I go to the movies?” Erik said. He was a little sad about missing out.

“Only about eighty-five-percent of the movies,” Mordecai said. “Only since she started in on the brownies.” He indicated Calliope with the bow. “They really are very excellent brownies,” he admitted weakly. “Please don’t have any.”

“Why?”

“Because… Because…” He slumped over and put his hands on his head again. “Oh, gods, Erik, do you really want the ‘no drugs’ talk while I’m on drugs?”

Erik clasped his hands and widened his eyes theatrically. Even the lens on the metal one got bigger — Milo’s gears understood disingenuousness, apparently. “So… incredibly… much.”

“You have a mean streak a mile wide,” Mordecai said.

“I have a sense of humor,” Erik replied. He adjusted his eye with a hand. The shutter mechanism whirred and shrank back.

“You have your mother’s sense of humor. Where in the hell did you find it?”

“Born with it?” Erik offered with a shrug.

Calliope was sketching again. “I don’t like that one very much, Em,” she said, approximating the curve of his spine. “You don’t look very happy about being repurposed for peace.”

“I’m a little bit unhappy about being repurposed as a parent right now,” Mordecai replied. He sat down on the bed next to Erik. “Please, Calliope, no more sketching.”

Calliope considered that for a moment. “Nope,” she said, sketching. Maybe I can say something about contact between the generations or something. She added an Erik. But then why are there flowers?

Mordecai left Angie in his lap and keeled over backwards and then he could have his hands over his face like he wanted. This unsettled the flowers somewhat but the one behind his ear hung on bravely. “Honestly, Erik, marijuana is pretty safe. I don’t want you to think I’m hurting myself. I have made myself really, really stupid and I can’t turn it off now that I want to, and, like, I shouldn’t try to cook or drive a car, but it’s not worse than being drunk. Maybe a little better because it doesn’t mess with your liver. It’ll mess with your lungs if you smoke it, so I don’t. Anymore. Really I didn’t do it that much, but I used to drink a looot of absinthe.” He winced. “Ah, gods. Why didn’t the police just give me a brownie instead of punching me in the face? I would’ve told them anything. I would’ve told them I was a revolutionary.”

“Hey, Em? Do you think you could sit up?” Calliope said. “It kinda looks like Erik is in a position of power over you. I could give him a sword and say something about the slaying of old dogma, but I don’t know what that has to do with the flowers either. Also, I don’t think I have a sword.”

Mordecai sat up.

“When did the police punch you in the face?” Erik asked him.

“When I said I fell down the stairs — craaap!” He fell backwards again.

“Gonna need you to hold it a liiittle bit longer, Em,” Calliope said.

Erik blinked. “When was that?”

“Oh, thank gods, you don’t remember it,” Mordecai said. He sat up. He waved hands. “Never mind! It didn’t happen! I’m not talking about it. I’m Milo.” He put both hands over his mouth. “‘Yes.’ ‘No.’ ‘I don’t know.’ No ‘why.’ No police!”

“You’re not a very good Milo,” Calliope said, attempting it. “I can give you shoulders but it’s hard to tell where the light would hit the glasses.”

“I have shoulders!” Mordecai said.

“Maybe your coat does a little,” Calliope demurred. “You’re kinda like one of those maquettes for figure drawing. I have to guess where to put the musculature.”

“I have musculature!”

“I don’t like it when I forget,” Erik muttered, arms folded. He looked up. “Why would you want to be weird and stupid on purpose?”

“Being smart all the time is really hard,” Mordecai said painfully. “And I’m kind of bad at it.”

“You’re really good at being smart,” Erik said.

“I’m really bad at functioning like a normal person and not worrying about everything all the time.”

“Ohhh,” Erik said, nodding.

“Oh, gods, Calliope, he agrees with me,” Mordecai said. He went backwards on the bed again. He managed a weak laugh. “Oh. Great.”

“So this is so you can’t worry and you have to have fun,” Erik said. Like when Cousin Violet made him go on the Gravity Drop, except no screaming.

“I am still worried,” said Mordecai. “I am perfectly capable of worrying. I am good at it. I would have to have more than a couple movies’ worth of brownies to not worry.”

Erik frowned. “You weren’t until I came in, though.”

“Uh. Oh. Damn it.” He sighed. “Erik, it is really, really hard not hurting you when I am this dumb. I don’t want you to do drugs. I don’t want you to think I’m hurt. I don’t want you to think you make me unhappy. I just can’t… do… the thinking and talking about it. That’s why I’m worried. It doesn’t matter if I screw up Calliope. Calliope cannot be screwed up. She is a weird person. You’re very small and you’ve been hurt a lot already and I love you. So, I got worried when you came in. Yeah. I’m worried.”

“It’s kind of like how I worry about you,” Erik said. “Except I guess I don’t mind about the drugs.”

Mordecai brightened. “You don’t?”

“No, you’re pretty funny, and you don’t seem like you’re hurt. I’m kind of sorry I teased you. I don’t really want drugs, I just wanted you to be more funny.”

“You wanted me to be funny?” cried Mordecai. He laughed again. “Ah, gods. Bring me a can opener. I’ll bring down the house!”

“What would you do with a can opener?” Erik said.

“Just about anything but open a can. It’s funnier than it sounds. I mean, I’ve heard.” He did know that at one point he managed to open his tie, because it was like that when Alba gave him his brain back.

“All right,” Calliope said, rising.

“Calliope, no!” said Mordecai, also rising. “I’m not bad enough to forget how to open cans! It’s not a bit. I wouldn’t really be funny. I’d just be embarrassed.”

“That’s kind of funny,” Erik said, regarding him.

“You’ve been so high you forgot how to open cans?” Calliope said with a grin. “How many brownies was that?”

“No brownies at all. Magic. That should not be attempted with brownies. Or magic.” He gave Erik a nudge. “But this one’s mother had a sense of humor and a deft touch. The General could probably do it to me, but she lacks all capacity for joy.”

“Nah, she’s all right,” Calliope said. “Want me to get her?”

“No!” He pushed her back. “Oh, gods, talk about a buzzkill. I’d rather have the police. Not literally, Calliope!”

“How many brownies did she have?” Erik asked with a snicker.

“Oh, I was gonna have a brownie,” Calliope said. She walked into the closet and removed one. “I was having such a fun time decorating your uncle.”

“You like me on brownies, you’re gonna love Calliope,” Mordecai told him. He grinned and shook his head. “It’s really bizarre.”

“Does she get weirder?” Erik asked. He didn’t quite have a baseline for ‘weird’ on Calliope yet. She seemed liable to wander off and do just about anything. Quietly. While smiling.

“Wait for it,” Mordecai said.

Calliope sat back down on the bed and sucked the chocolate stain from her fingers before returning to the pad. “Hey, Em, what if you give Erik a flower?”

“What, just hand it to him?”

“I dunno. Try that, but hold the pose for a minute.”

Mordecai obligingly handed over a flower but did not let go of it and held the position.

“Nah. Erik, reach out like you’re gonna take it.”

Erik lifted a hand.

“Em, what if you bend over a little like you’re meeting him halfway?”

Calliope arranged them incrementally for a while, experimenting with different positions. “I don’t think it should be carnations,” she muttered. “I don’t know if it should be wisdom or tradition, but carnations aren’t very wise or traditional. You guys think of a smart flower?”

“A smart flower?” Erik said. “Hyacinths?”

“That’s a flower with a smart mouth,” Mordecai said.

Calliope shook her head. “I don’t like blue with the blue coat.”

“Roses?” Mordecai offered.

“Roses are a sexy flower,” Calliope replied.

“Well, if you say so,” Mordecai said and snickered.

“Maybe something yellow,” Calliope said. “Not a sunflower. Too big. Throws off the composition. Em, try putting the flower behind his ear. Let’s go with the wisdom angle.”

She left them that way for quite some time.

“I can’t get these circles,” she muttered. She abandoned the pad for the closet and took down a box.

Erik had a look at the pad upside-down on the bed. “Wow. What…?” He picked it up and turned it around.

“Details, details,” Mordecai said. He sat down on the bed and took the pad from Erik. His legs were a little tired from standing bent over for so long. “Some people are very into details.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Erik said. Not only had Calliope been attempting to reproduce their faces exactly (there were a few places devoid of lines and shadow which she appeared to be intending to fill in, and others where you could see detail almost down to the pores) she had also added more circles and angles around each of their heads and a compass rose behind Mordecai.

Calliope threw a shoebox onto the bed. It rattled. It was labeled in slashes of black marker, ‘PRECISE ART CRAP.’ There were some hard pencils and some erasers, a ruler, a t-square and a compass. She took out a gray eraser and began to rub out the thick dark circles. “I haven’t done angles,” she complained. “I don’t have a protractor. You guys think Milo has a protractor?”

“I think Milo is a protractor,” Mordecai said.

“I guess I could have him do them. I don’t know which ones I want, though. I need, like, a smart angle and a really cute innocent angle.” She was redoing the circles with the compass. Her fingers were deft and reasonably clever with it.

“I think Barnaby could probably give you some smart and innocent numbers,” Mordecai said. “I believe angles are either cute or stupid.”

“Oh, a pun,” Calliope noted with a smile. “You’re really clever stoned.”

“No, that’s not clever, Calliope. That’s a total lack of self-control.”

“Fifteen degrees is pretty cute if we’re going by that,” Calliope said, employing the ruler. “I suppose I’ll just have to… Let me see…”

“I believe in angles,” Mordecai sang, not well. “Reality’s applied geo-me-try!” He broke down laughing. He picked up the violin and replayed the phrase, which was quite a bit better. “Oh, gods, I don’t know. I might need another brownie if I’m going to play ABBA.”

Calliope had yet to make a mark against the ruler. She was adjusting it by increments that were almost invisible. Erik could tell she was moving it, though, and she still wasn’t getting it right.

Mordecai had begun to play ‘Kashmir.’

Erik reached over and fixed the ruler for Calliope.

She blinked. “That’s, like, perfect, isn’t it?”

Erik bobbed a noncommittal nod, but, yeah, it was. He could see it.

“Awesomesauce.” She penciled in the line.

“Hey you guys,” said Mordecai, midway through the song, “let’s find candy and eat it!”

———

There wasn’t candy in the kitchen. Calliope asked if Mordecai couldn’t maybe make some.

“No, I really can’t,” he said. “It’s hot molten sugar and a really bad idea and anyway, we don’t have a thermometer.”

Calliope had a couple handfuls of dry cereal, which she called “raw cereal” in a derisive mutter.

Mordecai contemplated the sugar bowl on the kitchen table. No. No. Not in front of Erik.

Erik asked if couldn’t they maybe go buy some candy.

They thought he was brilliant.

———

Calliope and Mordecai wanted to stop and look at a tree on the way to the store. Not even a Yule tree, just a regular one on the street with bare branches. Erik was not too impressed, but he was amused by Calliope and his uncle being so interested. They looked at the tree and he looked at them looking at the tree and giggled.

“Like diamonds,” Mordecai opined of the frost.

“Capillaries,” Calliope agreed.

“Caterpillars!” Erik offered them with a laugh.

Mordecai thought that was funny. Calliope thought it was profound.

A lot of the buildings, storefront and residential and even abandoned, had Yule decorations up. Stores basically started putting their Yule stuff out as soon as Cloquette Day was over — because it would be nice if you’d start gift shopping right now, please — and some people followed suit. They were prudent-traditionalists at Hyacinth’s house. If they didn’t have to pay money for it, like the bottle lights Milo made and the decorations they had in boxes, it went up whenever someone wanted to put in the effort. Usually Ann and Erik and Maggie, around mid-December. If it cost money, like garlands and fresh wreaths and a tree, they waited until Erik’s birthday, when the stores started to panic and put things on clearance. Tree Day was the twenty-seventh, established by Sanaam, whose birthday on the eighteenth made him extremely territorial about what was a birthday thing and what was a Yule thing and never both at the same time. The presents given on a tree-less Midwinter Night tended to collect in odd places, sometimes around the bookshelf, sometimes near the various heaters in the front room.

Those that could afford to differentiate had put up white and green things for Midwinter, which arrived first as a matter of course. Snow on evergreens and all that. Decorations in Strawberryfield came off a bit shabby in all cases. Nobody from the city came by to put tinsel on the lampposts like downtown, or glittering lights like uptown. Some people chalked a festive ‘Happy Yule!’ or ‘Sol Invictus!’ next to the gang signs and obscenities on the walls, that was about it for community spirit. But there were lighted trees and electric candles in the windows, paper snowflakes and jury-rigged mage lights of all colors. The stores painted fake frost on the display windows next to the merchandise, that stuff was cheap, and more reliable than real snow for decorative effect. It was clear and warmish at the moment, with a salt-smelling breeze and just a little white scuzz in the gutters and the frost on the trees. Some of the stores were playing geartunes outside their windows to draw people in. Others had gone the gustatory route and were offering Hot Chocolate! and COOKIES!

Anyway, it was quite a feast for the senses even if you weren’t on drugs and trying to walk half a block to a bodega for candy.

They did eventually get where they were going, despite an earnest discussion out in front of a bakery about whether the sign offering ‘free samples’ meant you could just take the whole plate and walk off — theoretically, like, I know you’re not supposed to, but in a legal sense. They bought kind of a lot of candy, just not nearly as much as Erik had been hoping for. Uncle Mordecai made him eat a sandwich before he could have any. There were some free candy canes out and they each took one. The man behind the counter gave Erik a grape soda. This happened about fifty-percent of the time and Erik was pretty used to it. Calliope was jealous.

“Aw, man, why does he get a soda? I’m so cute and tiny, and I have this enormous rack!” She gestured with both hands on her chest, which she felt nursing had visibly improved.

“Kid looks like he needs a soda,” the man behind the counter replied, which Erik was also pretty used to.

“It’s ‘cos you hate Min-Min so much,” Erik said. “People can tell.”

“I hate the ant,” Calliope said. “I am fine with his delicious sugary tooth-rotting drinks!”

“You can have it if you draw him not getting killed,” Erik said. He held up the bottle and waggled it.

“Only for cash,” Calliope said pettishly.

“Erik, it’s not nice to tease stoned people,” Mordecai said. “It’s all right if you tease me, we’re family. Calliope is a friend.”

Erik snickered and ducked his head. “I know, I’m sorry, but it’s so… funny. I can’t… help it.” He gave her the soda.

“My artistic integrity is rewarded,” she said and sipped. “Oh, gods, that’s amazing. Gimme one of those chocolate bars, Em.”

They settled on a bench outside where there were trees and other festive-looking objects to observe. Calliope was particularly enamored of a phonebooth. “Lookit all the lines.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Erik said, adjusting his eye.

———

Things were starting to normalize by the trip home. The decorations still provided a distraction, but more like “Oh, hey, a light-up deer,” than “Look at his eyes, I feel he understands me.” Calliope expressed interest in the pattern of snow between the cobbles, but she did stuff like that anyway, and she’d had her brownie a bit later. She also wanted to get back to her sketching. Mordecai said that he still was not going to cook dinner. He did not add that he thought he could probably do it all right but he wanted to set Erik a good example about being responsible while high and not doing things with fire and sharp objects. It was a near thing, but he did not add it.

“So that’s what drugs are like, huh?” Erik said.

“That’s what marijuana is like,” Mordecai said. “Marijuana is like a pop gun. There are some things out there like flamethrowers, even in Hyacinth’s doctor bag.” He sighed. “If you keep calling gods, you are probably going to learn a lot about what drugs are like. Not what being high is like, not if you’re good about dissociating like I’m trying to teach you, but everything else about them. Most of them hurt you. You already know you can get away with hurting you, and get better and not die — but it really scares me, so do you think you could try not to do it too often? And not until you’re a lot older?”

Hello, crushing depression, my old friend. I’ve missed you.

Erik nodded. “I don’t think I really want drugs. I’ve had all that stuff happen to me and I didn’t like it a lot. It was funny when it was you because it wasn’t me and you weren’t hurt.”

“Drugs don’t feel like being hurt,” Mordecai said. It really didn’t do any good to lie about that, even if it was so very tempting. Erik was eventually going to try something, even if it was only liquor, and realize it didn’t suck. “They hurt you, but they don’t feel like it. People do drugs because they feel good. Gods too. If you do drugs — you, not someone who’s in you — and you wait until you’re ready and curious about them, you will probably like them all right. That’s why you have to be careful about them, because they feel good and you can get away with using them and not die. People get cocky about that, and some drugs change your body and brain and make you need them like cigarettes.”

“Like how Seth needs heroin?” Erik asked.

Mordecai winced. He guessed after being shut in the basement with Seth, Erik already knew a lot about how drugs could hurt you. “Yes. Heroin is very good at making you need it. Worse than cigarettes, because when you’re used to it and you stop, you get sick.”

“Is marijuana like that?”

He shook his head. “No. No, it isn’t like that at all. It doesn’t change you, and you don’t get sick if you stop, but you can get used to being stupid and not able to worry all the time. Especially if you don’t quit worrying very well on your own, which is why I need to be careful.”

“Are you careful?” Erik said.

Mordecai nodded. “I try to be. Do you think I send you to the movies alone a lot?”

“Couple times a month,” Erik said, considering it. “And it’s not every time?”

“No. Sometimes I’ve got boring stuff that needs doing.” Or I feel like I’m going to have a tiny nervous breakdown and I don’t want you to see it, but let’s not get into that.

“I guess that’s not a lot.”

“Is it okay if I still do that?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Erik smiled. “Is it okay if I stay and tease you about it sometimes?”

Mordecai hissed and put a hand to his head. No, see above about the tiny nervous breakdowns. “Maybe sometimes but ask first and don’t just show up, okay? I’ll be more funny if you don’t scare me.”

Erik nodded. “I don’t think I’d like to do it a lot anyway. It was fun being in charge of you, but it got boring.”

Ah, you and your mother, thought Mordecai. Except Alba and the kids thought it was fun for longer, maybe because there were more of them. They could watch him being an idiot in shifts.

They had takeout for dinner. Hyacinth had been watching Lucy and she felt this absolved her of all other responsibility. Lucy was a pretty chill baby and she probably wouldn’t have interfered with cooking too much, but Hyacinth had got rather used to not bothering with boxed noodles in the evenings too. Mordecai was supposed to do dinners — although she was willing to forgive him the occasional bout of stupidity if it meant more usual dinners, and less hiding-in-bed-type stupidity as well. (And she had designs on some of those brownies herself when she felt like she had a couple hours to spare.)

Erik pulled Maggie aside after dinner and enlightened her with what he felt was the relevant information, “Look, if I ever need to get away with anything, we need to wait until my uncle gives me money for the movies and the house smells like brownies but there aren’t any.”

Magnificent D’Iver had no trouble incorporating new weirdness into her worldview. She nodded with all due seriousness, “I will store that away.”