becomes Adam, and a moment after that, Adam disintegrates into nothingness. On some level, I recognize that the dream is over, but as I rise toward consciousness, I realize that my left breast is still being roughly abused.
Slap, slap. Squeeze. Slap, slap. Squeeze.
I shake off the last vestiges of sleep and pry my eyes open. And when I do, I almost have a heart attack. Laying in the bed next to me is my nephew Tebow, half-asleep, his chubby little hand clawing at my boob, his mouth moving hungrily toward my nipple.
I shriek, loudly, then roll away from him, taking all of the covers with me as I go. I land with a thud on the floor, tangled up in the cheap, bulky Linens ‘n Things bedding.
“Fucking hell!” I cry at the same moment my nephew starts bawling.
I hear the heavy tread of my brother’s footsteps coming down the hall, then the door to the guest room swings open.
“What’s going—? Oh, hey, buddy! There you are! What’s wrong, my guy?”
“Booby!” wails Tebow. Typical man . Can’t say ‘daddy’ but pronounces ‘booby’ perfectly.
“No, no, no. No more booby. Nummy only. Where’s Auntie Meg?”
“Down here!” I shout, trying to shimmy into a seated position while keeping myself completely covered.
My brother appears around the side of the bed, holding Tebow in his arms. “What the heck are you doing down there?”
“Didn’t you hear your son?” I retort. “He wanted ‘booby.’” I hook my fingers into quotes, causing the bedding to slip down to my clavicle. I grab for the sheet and pull it to my chin. “He’s better than a bloodhound. Found the only pair of ‘boobies’ in the house!”
Danny starts to laugh and I suppress the urge to flip him off. No sense in teaching my nephew that particular gesture. Yet. Maybe in five years.
“Oh, yeah. Hilarious. I’ve been manhandled. No, wait. Toddler-handled. Jesus. You’d think he’d be able to tell the difference between me and his mother.”
“Have a heart, sis. His mom disappeared from his life a week ago. He’s still trying to process it.”
“Oh, great. Here we go with the Dr. Phil shi—stuff again. Give me a break.”
“Nummy!” Tebow cries. “Nummy. Nummy. Wan nummy!”
“What the hell—heck—is a nummy?”
“It’s his pacifier,” Danny explains. He grins at Tebow who is currently grasping my brother’s stubbly chin. “Let’s go find your nummy, buddy. Then you can help Daddy get ready for work, okay?”
“Isn’t he a little old for a pacifier?” I ask, even though I know nothing about the subject.
“We’re working on it. Want some help up?”
“No! Just get out of here, okay? And take that boob-sucker with you!”
Tebow giggles as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Danny kisses his forehead and starts to leave the room.
“Wait,” I call to him. “I need some clothes. Could you leave a pair of your sweats at the door?”
“ My sweats? Come on, Meg. You fit into Caroline’s stuff. Why don’t you just borrow some of hers?”
Because I’d rather hack off all my limbs than wear something of hers again.
“I’m sure my luggage will be here soon,” I say sweetly. “Just give me something to tide me over, okay?”
“Whatever.”
As soon as he closes the door behind him, I struggle to get to my feet and unwrap the bedding from my body, then throw it back onto the bed in a heap. I put my hands on my hips and glare at the bedside clock which reads 6:47. Seriously? It’s not even seven o’clock? This is going to be a very long day.
The door swings open and my brother peers in. Shock paralyzes me and I can only stand there, naked and speechless.
“What color sweats do you—oh, crap! Sorry!”
“Booby!” my nephew exclaims delightedly.
Fuck me.
This time, I don’t say it out loud. Because I couldn’t form the words if I tried.
* * *
When I enter the kitchen a half hour later, in a pair of grey sweats that are three sizes too big for me and a black AC/DC shirt, I
Slap, slap. Squeeze. Slap, slap. Squeeze.
I shake off the last vestiges of sleep and pry my eyes open. And when I do, I almost have a heart attack. Laying in the bed next to me is my nephew Tebow, half-asleep, his chubby little hand clawing at my boob, his mouth moving hungrily toward my nipple.
I shriek, loudly, then roll away from him, taking all of the covers with me as I go. I land with a thud on the floor, tangled up in the cheap, bulky Linens ‘n Things bedding.
“Fucking hell!” I cry at the same moment my nephew starts bawling.
I hear the heavy tread of my brother’s footsteps coming down the hall, then the door to the guest room swings open.
“What’s going—? Oh, hey, buddy! There you are! What’s wrong, my guy?”
“Booby!” wails Tebow. Typical man . Can’t say ‘daddy’ but pronounces ‘booby’ perfectly.
“No, no, no. No more booby. Nummy only. Where’s Auntie Meg?”
“Down here!” I shout, trying to shimmy into a seated position while keeping myself completely covered.
My brother appears around the side of the bed, holding Tebow in his arms. “What the heck are you doing down there?”
“Didn’t you hear your son?” I retort. “He wanted ‘booby.’” I hook my fingers into quotes, causing the bedding to slip down to my clavicle. I grab for the sheet and pull it to my chin. “He’s better than a bloodhound. Found the only pair of ‘boobies’ in the house!”
Danny starts to laugh and I suppress the urge to flip him off. No sense in teaching my nephew that particular gesture. Yet. Maybe in five years.
“Oh, yeah. Hilarious. I’ve been manhandled. No, wait. Toddler-handled. Jesus. You’d think he’d be able to tell the difference between me and his mother.”
“Have a heart, sis. His mom disappeared from his life a week ago. He’s still trying to process it.”
“Oh, great. Here we go with the Dr. Phil shi—stuff again. Give me a break.”
“Nummy!” Tebow cries. “Nummy. Nummy. Wan nummy!”
“What the hell—heck—is a nummy?”
“It’s his pacifier,” Danny explains. He grins at Tebow who is currently grasping my brother’s stubbly chin. “Let’s go find your nummy, buddy. Then you can help Daddy get ready for work, okay?”
“Isn’t he a little old for a pacifier?” I ask, even though I know nothing about the subject.
“We’re working on it. Want some help up?”
“No! Just get out of here, okay? And take that boob-sucker with you!”
Tebow giggles as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Danny kisses his forehead and starts to leave the room.
“Wait,” I call to him. “I need some clothes. Could you leave a pair of your sweats at the door?”
“ My sweats? Come on, Meg. You fit into Caroline’s stuff. Why don’t you just borrow some of hers?”
Because I’d rather hack off all my limbs than wear something of hers again.
“I’m sure my luggage will be here soon,” I say sweetly. “Just give me something to tide me over, okay?”
“Whatever.”
As soon as he closes the door behind him, I struggle to get to my feet and unwrap the bedding from my body, then throw it back onto the bed in a heap. I put my hands on my hips and glare at the bedside clock which reads 6:47. Seriously? It’s not even seven o’clock? This is going to be a very long day.
The door swings open and my brother peers in. Shock paralyzes me and I can only stand there, naked and speechless.
“What color sweats do you—oh, crap! Sorry!”
“Booby!” my nephew exclaims delightedly.
Fuck me.
This time, I don’t say it out loud. Because I couldn’t form the words if I tried.
* * *
When I enter the kitchen a half hour later, in a pair of grey sweats that are three sizes too big for me and a black AC/DC shirt, I
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