Page 7

FULLER HOUSE

Dean

Dinner goes down without a hitch, and bath time is an absolute breeze. This whole ‘overnight guardian of three kids’ thing is so easy.

Ha. Can you imagine?

As it turns out, moving in with your best friend and three kids and turning a full house into an even fuller house is ten times more chaotic than living on your own. Who would’ve thought?

In reality, the entire night is a shit show of epic proportions.

Ollie screamed throughout dinner, refusing her pureed yams (can’t blame her there), the eggs Luke scrambled (again, can’t blame her.

I’ve never been an egg guy), and the vanilla yogurt I tried to feed her.

(That one threw me. Who doesn’t like vanilla yogurt?) According to Luke, the poor thing is teething, and we can expect that kind of behavior every time a sharp edge of calcium rips through her tender baby flesh.

While poor Ollie screamed and starved, the twins refused to eat any of the pizza I ordered.

Apparently, the basil and oregano sprinkled on top of the cheese and tomato sauce by the pizza parlor is a great affront to Lemmie and Mellie’s culture.

They had no issue feasting on sweet and sour chicken (without the sauce, so essentially just chicken nuggets), and to my surprise, they were big fans of the egg rolls.

However, an all-out brawl nearly broke out over the last fried delicacy that could only be solved by Luke cutting the egg roll in half (and weighing it with a food scale to assure each sister got an even amount when they protested the split).

Even then, I had to bribe the girls with fifty bucks each to stop the tears.

I flushed another hundred down the drain in the bathroom an hour later when Lemmie and Mellie stomped their feet in protest, refusing to let Luke or me wash the calcified cotton candy out of their blonde hair until I paid up. By the time all the kids were bathed, I was flush out of cash.

Between the swear jar and the bribes to get the kids to comply with simple tasks, I’m going to have to get the girls their own tap-to-pay card reader. I don’t have time to run to an ATM every time I want them to do something, or when I inevitably curse under my breath because they refuse.

I can’t lie and say I’m not exhausted. I’ve played nationally broadcasted football games that have gone well into overtime that took less out of me than a few hours with three kids.

Thankfully, the entire affair seems to have tired the girls out, too.

They’re all fighting sleep, but they’re clean, pajama’ed, and snuggled on the couch in the living room while a Disney movie plays softly on the TV.

Ollie is in my lap, suckling from a bottle while I lightly bounce my knee.

Luke’s got a twin on either side, each of them snuggling with unicorn Squishmallows that they have propped up as pillows on Luke’s thighs.

He has his eyes on the movie, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over Lemmie and Mellie’s princess-pajama covered backs.

“Are you excited about this week?” I ask Luke quietly, hoping he can hear me over the movie.

He’s starting a new project as a guest commentator on a local sports podcast. It’ll have him going into the studio to talk all things football with the hosts once a week, with the occasional TV spot and halftime show commentating once the season starts.

He must hear me, because he shrugs a shoulder .

“I guess so. I’m more nervous than anything else. I feel like I let the city down when I had to retire. I don’t know that they’ll be all that happy to have me in their ears talking football every week, let alone on Sundays once the season starts.”

“You’re out of your mind, Luke. San Francisco loves you.

You retired a hero. The Redwoods are going all the way this year, and the only reason is because you left behind a legacy that the team strives to live up to,” I say, wishing I had a free hand to give Luke a reassuring pat on the back, or maybe muss his perfect hair.

My response gains me another shrug. I know it hurts Luke that his football career ended the way it did, and I know it pains him that he couldn’t lead his team to that last Big Game before his injury.

I can’t say I wouldn’t be just as mopey–if not worse–if the situation was reversed.

“Have you called James Adler back yet?” I ask.

The Redwoods team owner and general manager has been trying to get in contact with Luke since he retired.

James has backed way off in light of Gigi’s passing, but I know the man.

He’s married to one of my sister’s best friends and arguably the most powerful guy on the west coast. He’s nothing if not relentless.

“No. I really don’t want to hear whatever he wants to say to me. He probably wants to rip me a new one for how I left things. I already know I was a fuc—a fudging a-hole to everyone on the team before I retired. I don’t need the reminder now, on top of everything else.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s true, Luke wasn’t the nicest guy during his last year in the league.

I don’t think anyone in his position would have been, knowing that their career was over but being unable to go with grace on their own terms. But I also don’t think James is a man who wastes his time beating a dead horse or berating former employees.

“Uncle Lukey?” Lemmie asks, lifting her head from its spot on Luke’s thigh.

Her question interrupts my train of thought, and that’s probably a good thing.

I could go on an hours long diatribe to Luke about why his career isn’t the failure that he thinks it is, that he’s not the fudging a-hole he tries to make himself out to be, but I know he won’t listen.

“Yeah, Lem?”

“Are you sure our Mommy isn’t coming back?”

Even with the low sound of Simba singing about how he just can’t wait to be king, I swear you could hear a pin drop in the room.

It’s not the first time one of them has asked this question, but it is the first time in a while.

According to Luke, neither Lemmie nor Mellie have asked if their mom is coming back since the morning after the funeral.

Shit, I feel like this is my fault. I’m the one who suggested we watch The Lion King even though—spoiler alert—Mufasa dies. But in my defense, it’s my favorite, and it’s nearly impossible to find a classic Disney movie where both parents survive to the end.

I look at Luke, watching his throat bob in the glow of the television light.

“Yeah, Lem. I’m sure Mommy isn’t coming back.”

“Are you really, really sure?” Mellie asks, piggybacking off her sister’s sad curiosity.

Luke coughs, and I can hear the way he’s trying to cover up his emotions and put up a strong front for his girls, even as his bottom lip trembles.

“I’m really, really sure, Mel. But do you girls remember what we talked about?

How Mommy might not be here in the world with us, but she’s still in our hearts?

Mommy’s body is gone, but her spirit is here.

She’s watching over us, and she is making sure you girls are protected and loved.

” Luke’s voice is raspy as he speaks, and my heart aches in my chest for my friend and the enormity of his situation.

I miss Gigi too. I loved her like my own, but damn. I can’t imagine losing my sister. As much as Kira annoys the ever-loving shit out of me, losing her would be like losing part of myself. And my Luke has already lost so much.

Ollie finishes up her bottle, and I set it down on the couch so that I can reach over and wrap my baby-free arm around Luke’s shaking shoulders.

Lemmie and Mellie seem to be content with Luke’s answer, even if they might not fully understand it. They lay their heads back down on his thighs, turning their attention back to the movie on the screen.

You okay? I mouth when Luke looks over at me with watery eyes.

He quickly shakes his head, and I squeeze his nape, then gently massage my fingers through the soft strands at his hairline.

He might not feel free to break down here with the kids watching, but I want him to know that I’ll be there for him when he’s ready.

Luke sniffles, blinking hard to rid his eyes of unshed tears.

Love you, I mouth.

Love you too, he mouths back.

Ollie babbles, and I inwardly groan.

“Please tell me she’s not going to start crying again,” I whisper, and a small smile breaks out across Luke’s face. His brown eyes twinkle, and when he shakes his head, his long, dark locks tickle my hand on his neck. His lips look soft and pink and …

And this is a really weird time to be thinking about how handsome Luke is.

“She isn’t crying, Dean. She’s singing along with the movie. Ollie loves music, don’t you bug?” he coos, and my stomach does a weird, flippy thing. I tear my hand away from his neck, suddenly needing to put distance between us as my skin heats.

“Music, huh? That’s my specialty,” I say, then break into the next verse alongside Simba in an over-exaggerated tone that makes Ollie and the twins all laugh. They laugh even harder when Hakuna Matata plays and I mime eating grub out of the tufts of blonde hair on Ollie’s head.

The real crowd pleaser is my Pumba impression, especially when he’s saving Timon and Zazu from the coyotes and I roar, “They call me MISTER PIG!” along with the television.

By the time Simba takes over Pride Rock, I’m the only one still awake to see the end credits roll. Lemmie and Mellie breath softly on Luke’s lap, Ollie coos against my chest, and Luke’s head is resting on my shoulder as he snoozes.

Even though I know my neck will regret it in the morning, I don’t have the heart to wake anyone up. The Cannon-McKenna clan is sleeping on the sofa tonight.

Turning off the TV, I kick my feet up onto the coffee table and nuzzle my face into the top of Luke’s head.

Inhaling in the tea tree scent of Luke’s shampoo as I listen to the sounds of my new family’s sleeping breaths, I can’t help but think that I’d go through a million more tear-and-fight filled meals and bath times if it meant getting more moments just like this one.