Page 95 of How to Say I Do

Noël shot Liam a withering glare.

“It’s alwaysyouthat says the bad words, Daddy!” Jason tattled. “And you have to put money in the bad-words jar.”

Noël preened, sprawling his elbows across the island with his chin perched in one palm and his eyebrows popped.

“Son, what have I told you about telling lies?” Liam was using his stern voice, an affectation of a cartoon villain.

Jason giggled.

Savannah and I shared a look. She gracefully filled a mug of coffee for me. “They’ve been at it all morning. It’s like watching two tiny dogs bickering.”

“Hey!” Twin cries of outrage rose from opposite ends of the kitchen.

Savannah patted the stool beside her. I slumped next to her happily, inhaling French roast blend as I tried to stitch my brain cells back together.

“Bro, why do you have oat milk in your fridge?”

“Oh,herewe go.” Noël threw his head back.

“’Cause Noël likes it,” I said.

“’CauseNoëllikes it?” Liam parroted.

“Oat milk is low fat. It’s highly nutritious.” Noël ticked off his defense on dramatically splayed fingers. “It’s environmentally friendly. It’svegan.”

“That—” Liam spun toward Noël and brandished his spatula. “Is a naughty word in Texas. Fifty cents into the bad-words jar. Wyatt, I like Squirt, but you don’t stock it for me. How come?”

“You like Squirt?” Noël looked Liam over from his bare toes to his bedhead. That tone of voice was the same one he used when he talked about monstrous, hideous things, like nineties fashion and neon and high-waist bellbottoms.

“What’s wrong with Squirt?”

We gathered for breakfast at the kitchen island. Liam had made smiley-faced chocolate chip pancakes for everyone. Noël took one look at the lopsided face melted in a left-leaning direction on his plate and said, “This looks like a serial killer decapitated a pancake.”

“Listen—” Liam started.

“What’s a cereal killer?” Jason asked around a mouthful of chocolate chips and pancake fluff.

“That’s just Mister Noël being silly with Daddy,” Savannah said, taking a big gulp of her coffee.

Jason flashed Noël a grin, like he thought teasing his dad was the best thing in the world to do, too.

Liam snagged a piece of toast. “I thought there were gonna be bread flavors.”

Noël’s fingers curled tighter around his fork like he was getting ready to use it, and not to cut up a pancake.

“Hey, is this oat milk butter?”

Somehow, we made it through breakfast. Noël regaled Jason with more tales ofBlueyand the helicopters he “time-shared” with thePAW Patrol. Jason listened in open-mouthed rapture, eyes aglow like Noël was a cartoon superstar himself. Liam shook his head and muttered into his coffee, but he was all bark and no bite.

After we finished, Noël rose and cleared everyone’s dishes. Well, most of them. All of them, ’cept for Liam’s. He left those right where they were.

“You forget something?” Liam asked.

“Nope.”

Noël methodically washed every dish and pan and utensil, save for the one plate, one fork, one knife, and one coffee cup Liam had used. Then he disappeared upstairs, and when he was gone, Liam smiled at me like he was having the best morning of his life.

“I guess you like him again?”