Page 12

Chewy

“ T he end.” I smile down at the top of Laney’s curly head as I close up Yertle the Turtle.

“Argh, so good. Thank fuuu-udgeballs you gave up reading that Lord of the Rings crap. Dr. Seuss is way better,” Rider says, snuggled into the beanbag next to me and Laney.

“You’re a fully grown man.”

“Yeah, a fully grown man who knows how badass Dr. Seuss is. Those rhymes are tight.”

I don’t answer him. He kinda has a point. As much as I would love Laney to broaden her vocabulary by listening to Lord of the Rings it seems that perhaps it’s a little advanced for her at this age. Besides, she seems to really like the Dr. Seuss ones and they have social commentary in them so she’s still learning. She crawls off my lap and heads toward the blocks, which seem to be her favourite thing to do outside of reading with me. That makes me feel good. Never did I really think I’d enjoy this parenting stuff this much. I guess in my mind all I thought was there was a kid that needed Rhodie and me, and Rhodie would do all the parenting. Instead I have a little girl who I can help shape to be a good person. I mean, it’s pretty much all we can do. Take whatever skills we’ve learned in our lifetimes and use them to make good humans, because there sure are a lot of trash people out there.

Laney’s curly head turns toward the door as the sound of children drift down the hall.

“What the heck Laney-girl?” I mutter as I move to the doorway, leaning my head out to hear better.

“Alright children, remember your manners,” Jazz’s voice drifts out of the common room and a smile tugs on my lips.

I totally forgot today was the day Jazz and her art class would be visiting to draw Pops, Mad Dog and, well, the common room.

“Shi-zz it’s the pose off!” Rider jumps up from the beanbag and legs it out of the room.

“Quick, come on Laney, let’s go watch.” I hold my hand out to her and she takes it immediately.

Smiling down at her, I’m still amazed that this is my kid. It’s not been all plain sailing, however. After that first meltdown where we both spiralled, she’s had a few more moments like that. Instead of it freaking me out like the first time, we’ve managed to find a way that works for both of us. Meaning, we both end up in the dark cosiness of the closet.

“Go co‘room?” Laney asks, looking up at me.

She’s started saying a few things here and there. Rhodie is really good at narrating what he’s doing, as that’s what the literature says we should do to encourage speech, but I still struggle. If I’m doing something then I’m busy in my head concentrating on that one thing. So I do forget to tell her what I’ve got going on, and to be honest, half the time I’m not exactly sure what I’ve got going on because my brain works so fast. That’s usually when I get overwhelmed, because I worry I’ll get locked in to something and neglect Laney.

“Co’room?” Laney says again, tugging on my hand.

Her hand is a little moist, so it snaps me out of my thoughts, but in a good way. “Yup, Laney-May. We’re going to the common room,”

“Yay!” She throws her free hand up in the air and her feet try to run all while holding my hand. She isn’t very fast, but she can’t really help that I guess. Her legs are pretty short.

We stop in the mouth of the hall and peek in. I don’t really want to be in here if there are too many children and too many noises. Usually I’d draw the line at all the smells too, as children usually smell, but it’s a given that the art class will stink. Children always smell like outside and wet pennies. So far I can only see around a dozen kids, all in various states. Rodney is smack back in the middle looking dishevelled, his red hair sticking up all over the place. I don’t like him.

Laney makes a noise and moves closer to me, leaning her weight against my leg. Huh, maybe she doesn’t like kids? No, that can’t be right. She chases after Cove and Jovie and she likes to sit and play with blocks next to Bee, Jr, Rosie and Juno. Maybe she just doesn’t like stranger-kids? I really hope that’s the case because I don’t want to have to make friends with other kids’ moms. They’re probably all lame. I have my Girl Gang mom group and that’s all I need.

Laney lets go of my hand and wraps both her arms around my leg, holding on tight. Non- Mom Chewy would shrug and head back to our room to read or research something. But Mom Chewy has to do mom stuff, so I gently unwrap Laney from me and kneel down to her level. I look into her bright green eyes briefly before settling on her button nose.

“Hey, it’s OK,” I soothe. “I will be with you the whole time, so you don’t need to be scared, OK?” I flick my eyes back to hers so she knows I’m being truthful with her.

Her dark brows are furrowed and her eyes dart to the big kids and back to mine. I cuddle her to me before setting her back, and looking at her once more.

“If any of those kids pick on you I’ll make sure to make them pay. I won’t beat the snot out of them or anything, but I’ll become their and their parents’ worst nightmare.”

Because my kid is the cleverest toddler there is, she understands every word, giving me a huge smile before tugging me into the room and the chaos. Jazz has set the children up on two of the long tables. She teaches special needs so there are some kids with crayons, some with pencils and some with large sponges and paints or with hand braces to help hold their chosen medium.

“This place smells bad,” Rodney starts up.

“Rodney, what have I told you? If you don’t have anything nice to say…” Jazz prompts.

“But Miss Davies, it does stink!” a little blonde girl with wide set eyes and wonky pigtails joins in.

All the other kids start nodding in earnest now and some of the brothers are sniggering behind their hands. It’s a work day but it seems that the whole MC has come out to watch the tie breaker to find out who is the best grandpa. Or something. I’m actually not sure why Pops and Mad Dog are doing this.

Laney and I make our way over to the couches to get an uninterrupted view.

“Popcorn?” Mira asks, holding out the bowl, eyes on what’s happening in front of us.

“Can Laney eat popcorn?” I ask, brows pinched. I’ve not gotten this far in my research of foods just yet.

“She’ll be fine, kotiro , you’ll just have to watch her,” Mama Debs says, dropping a kiss first on the top of my head then Laney’s.

Well, she’d know, so I grab a handful and then pass Laney some kernels. She gobbles them up and then holds her little hand out for more.

“So ladies, who do we think is going to win?” Blanche asks, sitting gingerly next to me.

I eye her up. It’s only been two days since Tess was born and I figured she’d still be recovering. Instead she’s wearing stretchy pants, looking relaxed. Well, apart from when she stops to bark instructions at three of her older children. Looking around the room my gaze lands on Tav, standing by the bar, Tess strapped to his front. If anyone was made to be a dad, it was that man. Actually, all my brothers were made to be fathers. And I was made to be someone’s mom. That someone has her chunky foot resting on my leg, her damp looking hand open and waiting for more popcorn.

“I think Pops will win. Obviously,” I reply, handing over three big fluffy popcorns.

Vi joins our Ol Lady circle, taking a seat on the floor. “Trust me, neither of them will win. The only winners here are those feral kids of Jazz’s.”

“Vi! They’re only children!” Remy scolds.

“No, they’re not. They’re demons disguised as children. Trust me.”

We all look over, the kids all sitting nicely at the common room tables ready to get started.

“Macaroni Cheese!”

“Everybody freeze!” The kids yell out in reply to Jazz.

“Right, everyone, welcome to the Devil’s Rose Clubhouse! Marx -” Jazz waves to the Pres, “- was nice enough to let us come and draw here, and how exciting! Look around, there is, um, artwork on the walls, and motorcycle parts and things.” Jazz’s hands wave around the room and the kids sit there, unimpressed.

“Hey! I know you! You were my doctor that time!” a little boy in a motorized wheelchair calls out, pointing at Switch.

“That’s right, I remember you, Marcus,” Switch booms. “How’s your mom?”

Marcus’s eyes behind his large glasses narrow, “Why do you want to know? Are you some kind of creep?”

Snorts sound out around the clubhouse while Switch’s jaw drops.

“Marcus! We don’t talk to people like that, especially to doctors,” Jazz scolds. “Right, let me introduce you to our two lovely models who are posing for us today! We have Pops,” Pops steps forward and gives the kids the stink eye, “and Mad Dog.”

“Mad Dog? What sort of name is that ?” Rodney yells out.

“And so it begins,” Vi whispers.”

“That’s a good question, son,” Mad Dog starts.

“I’m not your son, you’re lying!” Rodney shouts.

“Rodney, remember that sometimes people will use other names when they don’t know your real name. Like how some people call me Miss, or people get called Doctor, that sort of thing.” Jazz patiently explains. This is good stuff. I can use this when Laney gets older.

“Your teacher is right, I mean no harm,” Mad Dog smiles. “Mad Dog is a road name. That’s the name bikers go by.”

“Wait, so you’re in a club with other old men and you just give each other nicknames?” Rodney asks, causing the brothers to snicker.

“Well, um, not quite,” Mad Dog mumbles.

Pops stands with a huge grin on his face. He hasn’t had to put up with any remarks, so he’ll be loving that Mad Dog is in the hot seat.

“Oookay, well enough about that. Let’s get started shall we?” The kids all nod and Pops and Mad Dog start swinging their arms around, as if limbering up a little. Jazz shakes a coffee cup and then pulls a piece of paper from it, unfurling it and reading aloud “Two men rock climbing. Oh, that’s easy enough.”

Pops and Mad Dog arrange themselves, arms up, fingers curled as if on a rockface.

The cute little blonde girl raises her hand and asks if Pops could put his foot up on a chair, so he looks like he’s really climbing. The scrape of wooden chair legs breaks through the chatter and Pops hoists his chino’s a little higher, then stomps his foot onto the seat of the chair.

“Oohhh, that’s good! Maybe get that other Dog guy to stand behind him!” A little boy with the name tag “Buddy” says.

Mad Dog does as requested, standing behind Pops, then raising his arms.

“Ew! He’s got wet patches under his arms!” yet another little boy calls out.

“No no no!” The blonde wonky pigtailed girl starts chanting, “I don’t want to grow up and have crying armpits like them!”

“Now, Sophie, we’ve been over this,” Jazz soothes and I’m mesmerized by her skills. “Remember, that some people sweat more than others, and you can avoid wet patches like that by wearing antiperspirant,” she smiles, looking at all the kids.

“I swear Mad Dog is blushing,” Ana snorts under her breath.

“OK, kids, let’s turn our concentration brains back on. Thank you Pops and Mad Dog for posing for us,” Jazz says, getting this car crash back on track.

“Miss Jasmine, maybe the sweaty dog man can hold on to the back of the old man, like he’s holding onto him so he doesn’t fall!” Buddy says, the other kids “oohing” over his suggestion.

Pops scowls at Mad Dog as he gently grips him, hands on either side of his waist.

Snapping my gaze back to the kids I notice Elio frowning at the scene in front of him, his pencil poised above his paper. His gaze meets mine and my newfound positive mom vibes make me smile and give him a thumbs up. He frowns even deeper before turning back to the front of the common room.

The little blonde girl with wonky pigtails tugs on Jazz’s sweater. “Could the dog man maybe put his foot on the chair too and lean back a little? It’ll look really actiony and scary,” she says in a whisper, and then grins at the “scary” part. Clearly over her little meltdown about growing up to be sweaty.

Tittering sounds out around me and the Ol Ladies try hard not to laugh at what’s happening. The brothers aren’t as discreet, all of them have their phones out, recording.

“Gentlemen? Did you hear Sophie’s request?”

“Just fucking do it,” Pops hisses under his breath, quietly, but not quietly enough so as not to be heard.

“Miss Jasmine! He said a swear!” the wheel chair boy calls out, looking scandalized.

“Sorry I upset you, kid,” Pops mumbles at him.

“I’m not upset, just disappointed.”

Pops stares at him then glares over his right shoulder at Mad Dog, “Just get this over with. It’s for the kids.”

Mad Dog shoves him a little, kicking Pops’ Skechers loafer with his big black boot, his and Pops feet both up on the chair.

“That’s it!” One of the kids calls out excitedly, “Now lean back just a little!”

Mad Dog leans back a little, hands on Pops waist to keep himself steady.

“Oh. Oh no.”

Rhodie

We all see it at the same time. There, in front of a dozen special needs kids, the MC brothers and all the Ol Ladies; my father and my grandfather-in law are posed as lovers. By “lovers” I mean that it looks like Mad Dog is fucking Pops.

“We are all seeing this, right?” Rider asks. He’s my oldest friend. I know all his moods and voices and I know for a fucking fact this is the sound of him repressing his laughter.

One look at him and I know the both of us will burst into giggles and we’ll get our asses whooped. Well, Mad Dog will whip our asses. Pops will flash freeze us and throw our giggly asses in the chipper.

“Do you think we should tell them?” Lovely whispers, eyeing the men. Shit, if sheltered Lovely can recognise the pose, then anybody can. Apart from the two men at the front of the room.

“Miss Jasmine, can the man in front lean forward? There’s a glare on his big forehead and I can’t draw it,” a cute little redheaded girl whines.

Pops takes his cue and leans forward at the waist. A guffaw bursts out, my head snapping around to find Dex with his hand slapped over his mouth. Fuck, even Sniper, the most stoic brother we have, has his lips rolled between his teeth. Switch, being a ginger, has turned dangerously red from holding in his laughter and Rider is silently rolling on the floor, a wheeze escaping him periodically. Fuck. Do I tell them? Not if I want to live. I catch Marx’s eye and widen mine at him, then dart them to the men at the front of the room. My brother frowns, mouthing “What?” at me, so I tip my head in the direction of the old couple at the front.

Marx moves from his position near the kitchen hatch, closer to where I’m standing and I see the exact moment he sees it. His head snaps in my direction, eyes huge as he mouths “What. The. Fuck?” I shrug, trying hard not to laugh at the look on his face. I know he probably wants to piss himself too, but he’s the Pres so at least one of us has to pull themselves together.

“Ah, Jazz?” he coughs, clearing his throat. “Can I have a word?”

Jazz quickly surveys the kids before moving quietly beside Marx. He leans down, murmuring to her. Her dark head turns to look at the scene, then she spins toward Marx, her hands over her mouth. She’s not devastated or embarrassed. No, judging by her shoulders shaking she’s laughing.

“Um, Dog man, can you please get lower?” A woman who came in with a deaf little girl asks, nodding at the girl as her hands fly, making shapes in the air.

Dad squats down a little lower, but because of the positioning he looks even more mid- thrust than he did before. “Like this?”

The woman looks down at the dark haired girl who grins and puts two thumbs up, before picking up her pencil and getting back to work. I turn back to the car crash happening in front of me just in time to see Pops shove his ass back, unsteadying Mad Dog.

“Stop gripping me so fu-reaking tight,” Pops growls.

“Shut it, Pops. This pose is killing me!”

“Pussy!” Pops hisses.

“Where? I love pussies!” One of the kids shouts out, then gets up, moving around the room yelling “Pussy! Puuuuuuussssssyyy!”

Rider lets out an even higher pitched wheeze from his place on the floor. Fuck, even the Ol Ladies are doubled over on the couch. Mira has her face buried in a cushion, Ana is snorting like a pig, Remy’s shoulders are shaking violently even though no noise is coming out and there, in the chaos sits my Ol Lady, looking perplexed.

Mad Dog’s legs start dangerously shaking and I know that he can’t hold that pose all day. But looking at Pops, he’s not doing much better. He’s on one leg, bent forward, ass out.

“Ugh, I can’t draw the old man’s camel toe!” some kid whines before tossing their pencils with such flair that it’s almost impressive.

“Dwayne! You clean up your mess right now!” Jazz says in a firm voice, trying everything to not look at the scene in front of her.

“TIIIMBER!” That orange kid Rodney yells just as Pops and Mad Dog topple in a heap on the ground.

“Ow! Your goddamn belt buckle is digging into me!” Pops grumbles, wriggling around on the floor.

“It’s not my belt buckle,” Mad Dog grits out.

Pops freezes, wide eyed before turning and trying to punch my Dad. There are gasps from the children before Rodney yells “Fight!” then it’s all on. The kids start chanting “Fight, fight, fight!” while banging on the table. There are howls of laughter as the brothers and Ol Ladies finally let it all out, and Marx stands pinching his brow.

“There! Finished!” A cute little blonde girl with Downs Syndrome says, holding up her picture.

“Holy shi-rt,” Rider catches quickly, “That’s really good sweetheart.”

She picks it up and skips over to Pops and Mad Dog who are still tussling on the floor. “Excuse me Mr Old Man and Mr Dog Man, but do you like my drawing of you?”

They both stop rolling around so they can sit up and look at her picture. The soft smiles on their faces freeze in place as their eyes widen.

“Oh, um, is that us?” Mad Dog asks, trying to keep his reaction in check.

She nods enthusiastically and both Pops and Mad Dog shower her with compliments until she races off to show it to her teacher.

“Holy fuck,” Pops whispers. “We’re going to have to make Jazz burn those.”

“Fuck yes,” Mad Dog agrees.

Pops nods vigorously, not stopping, I think he’s in shock. “Look, I think everybody has a right to love who they want to love. In saying that, I will destroy every picture in existence of you posing like you’re bumming me.”

Pops and my dad share a look. “Deal. I don’t want that shit getting out either.”

They nod once, then Pops stands, holding his hand out to help Dad up. As Dad gets to standing, Pops pulls him in close. “Just so you know, I’m number one Pops.” Mad Dog goes to open his mouth but Pops cuts him off, “You can be number one Doggy.”

Dad grins wide, shaking Pops’ hand and tipping his chin. “Deal.”

I decide I’ve had enough of this circus. Chewy must think the same. As soon as she looks at me she grins, whispers to Laney and they both stand. Laney-May comes running so I scoop her up, spinning her around before settling her on my forearm. Chewy reaches me not long after, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Well, that was chaos,” I say to Chewy, leading her out of the common room.

“Yeah. I still don’t know who won,” Chewy says, looking perplexed.

“I think it ended in a tie. Also, remind me to never ask Jazz to bring her kids anywhere near me. They’re fucking brutal.”

Chewy’s tinkling laugh rings out, “Oh, so fucking brutal! I thought Pops was going to have a conniption when they said he had a camel toe,” she giggles before sobering. “I’m glad that it’s a tie. Laney has lots of room in her heart for two grandpas. That’s how hearts work, they grow,” Chewy says matter of factly.

“That they do, baby.”

We move into our suite, and I put Laney down on the floor. She toddles over to her little corner, filled with toys and books and her blocks. Oh, and Chomper, who moves slowly toward her. He’s good with her, waiting for her to sit before he takes his place at her side. She leans her body against his and picks up her first block, placing it in front of her just so.

“What have you lost?” she asks, noticing me looking around the room.

“Laney’s gator stuffy. Have you seen it?”

Chewy’s brows furrow. We move around the room looking in her bed and in the bathroom. The sound of Jazz’s voice drifts in from outside as she herds her art class into the waiting bus, Lovely helping her with the stragglers.

“That’s so weird,” Chewy murmurs. “She never goes anywhere without it.”

I nod, she’s right. Since the night Chewy brought her home she’s been glued to her stuffy. Well, she was. I can’t actually remember the last time I saw her with it.

“Shit, what do we do? Do we buy a new one and pretend it’s the same one?” I ask, feeling a little frantic. What happens when my little girl realizes it’s gone? What if she gets upset and we can’t calm her down?

Chewy and I frantically start googling gator stuffies, not even noticing Mama Debs coming in and watching us until she lets out a giggle.

“Whatcha doing you two?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

“Fuck, we’ve lost Laney’s gator stuffy, so we’re trying to find another one to replace it before she notices she doesn’t have it,” I explain.

Mama Debs looks toward Laney, then her gaze moves elsewhere before coming back to mine, a smile playing on her lips. “ Tama , I don’t think she needs that gator stuffy anymore, she has the real thing,” she tips her head toward Laney and there, in her lap, her little hand running from the top of his head, to the bottom of his tail, is Chomper, soaking up the affection.

Chewy lets out a gasp, her hand landing on my forearm to steady herself. “Rhodie! She doesn’t need her stuffy, she has us, and her gator brother!”

I grin at my girl, then my woman, then Mama Debs.

“She’s perfect for you two. It’s almost like she sent Dima to find you, and not the other way around.” Mama Debs winks before leaving the room.

“Perfect,” Chewy whispers., “You’re perfect for me and she’s perfect for us.” My Ol Lady turns to me, eyes bright, “Perfect.”

I press my lips to hers, and then the world goes dark.