“Ha!” I said.
“But you’re also a fucking dick.”
“Hey!”
“S’true,” Dad said. “And what do you get when you put two fucking dicks together?”
“I don’t know if I like where this is going,” I said.
“Absolutely nothing because you’re choosing to be fucking dicks instead of fucking each other’s dicks!”
“Dude,” I said. “What.”
“He is so your father,” Ryan said, sounding rather awed.
“Truth time, boys,” Dad said. “Life is all about chances. It’s all about these little moments that add up to greatness. And there are times when you have to grab greatness by the balls and say, ‘Hey! Greatness! I’ve got your nuts and you can’t do a single godsdamn thing about it!’”
“This is going in a direction I did not expect,” I said.
“I am mercurial,” Dad said.
“Oooh,” I said. “Word porn.”
“You’re being stupid,” Dad said to Ryan. “So fucking stupid. You have the chance. The little moments. The greatness. You just need to grab some balls and never let go.”
“I don’t know quite what you’re telling me to do,” Ryan admitted.
“I don’t think anyone does,” I said.
“You’ll figure it out,” Dad said. “Now. My son is going to take me home so my wife can yell at me for getting drunk and pretend to fight off my advances even though we both know that old-people sex is awesome sex.”
Gods. “So many lines have been crossed,” I groaned.
“Do you guys need help or….” Ryan looked unsure.
I shook my head. “Go back to your party. I’m sure they’re missing you.”
I didn’t look at him again before I grabbed my father and fled.
When we got to the street, I put my arm around my father’s waist and said, “That hangover you’re going to have tomorrow? Penance, my friend. Pure, magnificent penance. And I shall be there with bells on. Literal bells.”
My dad just laughed and laughed.
TWO DAYS before the wedding, I stood in the throne room, watching as the King regally posed next to a stained-glass window. I had the easel set up a few feet away from him as I studied him closely, wanting to make sure I got his likeness just right.
“Oops,” I said.
“Oops,” the King said. “What oops?”
“Okay, so, how would you feel if you looked like you had boobs?”
“Is that a hypothetical question?”
“Hypothetically… no. More like that’s what I painted somehow and will now be a part of the finished product because I don’t know how to fix it. Nor do I know if I want to.”
“Am I busty?”
“Very. You also have three of them.”