So I can play for a moment to brighten a sad day
Love and a cake and a party will lessen the pain
So you don’t mind killing some time just to unwind
What else will die while you’re trying to find your own way?

Tired of waiting in the shadows, staying home to keep it safe
You are small, your time is short, your monsters grow up every day
And then one day you find your childhood’s left behind you
Now I’m afraid you’ll have to run, happiness is a loaded gun

So you run, you’ve been running, thought it was fun, but it's serious
The race can’t be won, everyone runs till they die
The story goes on in the usual way but you're changing
Is it too much? Or can it ever be enough?

Your chapter’s getting longer, yet still so much left unsaid
Stories either come to naught or life weaves on in tangled threads
Baiting clicks in obscure desperation is the blogger’s way
The time is up, this story’s over, though I've plenty more to say

End… End or begin?
Can’t tell the difference where I stand
And all I know is I must rest
The sun has set and you have done your best

Soft within the crowded chaos
Whispers of a tiny bell
Call out to the world unanswered
Was it a prayer or just a broken spell?

Erik was standing in the front room and clutching a violin, surrounded by haphazard decorations of coloured paper, glowing magic, and Barnaby’s paint splats on the wallpaper. There was a little daylight left, and the glittery bottle lights in the windows barely registered. It wasn’t much of a stage, but Erik wasn’t sure he wanted one. He couldn’t even bring himself to yell “Surprise!” He just scampered into the middle of the semi-party, said, “Hi,” and held up the violin as an explanation. He let his uncle say, “Erik has a song for us,” and then he didn’t know what to do.

“Is it okay?” he asked his family.

Mordecai stepped forward, “Dear one, you don’t have to…”

Erik shook his head. “No, no. I made it and I want to show everyone. I have to eventually, I just…” He blew out a long breath and tried not to glance too obviously in Hyacinth’s direction. He was most worried about her. “It’s silly. The song is. I rewrote it trying to be funny. I’m scared if I try to get us from here to silly this fast I’ll flood it and we’ll stall. I don’t know how to start. Should we do some more records? And cake?”

Hyacinth faked drawing out a watch and regarding it, “I have plenty of cake time on my schedule, kid, but we are not treading on the grave of an unsilly person. The man hired someone to break into our house to give Ann a dress, and the gods alone know what else. If you want to memorialize him with a gender-swapped version of ‘Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead,’ I’m up for it.”

Erik sighed again. It wasn’t that Auntie Hyacinth was lying to him, so he didn’t want to say that. It was like… Frosting. Everyone knew the top of the cake was messed up, including you, but if you put a whole bunch of anger and sarcasm on top, it would look nicer while you were eating it. Presentation was important, but when his uncle told him that, he didn’t think it was supposed to be a metaphor.

Adults weren’t just crazy, they were complicated. He didn’t think he should tell Auntie Hyacinth not to be mean, but on the other hand it would be mean of him to scrape off the frosting and say it was okay the cake was messed up. 

He was standing here frowning at everyone when he ought to be playing, or at least saying something else.

But they were used to him having a hard time talking, so they waited an extra long time.

“I don’t want to be mean,” he managed at last.

Hyacinth snorted.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna play right now,” Maggie said. “It’s just, if you leave it much longer you’re gonna hafta show everyone without me, or wait’ll I get back.” She indicated her mom’s floating suitcase and shrugged. She smiled at him. “But that’s okay, too, you know?”

Calliope was holding Ann’s hand. She swung it back and forth, smiling, while Lucy observed from the Lu-ambulator with a grin. “You guys are kinda making me feel bad I didn’t wait on the sister thing.”

“No, I really wanted to see that!” Maggie cried. “That’s important!” She stopped herself with a hand over her mouth. “As are you,” she added carefully, to Erik. “But no pressure.”

Sanaam covered a smile. The General continued to frown at the pointless situation which was delaying their departure. Her suitcase was patiently, or perhaps impatiently, waiting

Erik snickered and covered it too. It wasn’t funny funny, it was recognition funny. Maggie was having a hard time staying on this tightrope too. It was weird right now, but not normal-weird. Everyone wanted normal-weird — and felt bad for wanting it because it was so soon.

Erik thought the whole household — except maybe the baby — looked tired. Glad, but… “Bedraggled,” that was a good word. Like after Digby came in from the rain and they’d rubbed him with a towel but he wasn’t dry yet and his fur was all sticky-up in little points. He had a shivering, half-drowned family that just wanted to curl up safe in a box and sleep, but they still needed to make watches and dinners and drive boats or whatever.

So they were trying to be as okay as possible while they waited to warm up again. Even him.

I can’t fix it, he thought. I’m so sick of hearing it, but they’re right this time. He tucked the violin under his chin. But I have a toy to distract us for a little while.

“I have a song to play!” he announced — in full voice, because his uncle said it was good to be obnoxious. “I wrote the words but I didn’t write the music! I don’t know how to write music! Anyway, I like this song, so I made it about us.” He smiled shyly. “And it’s easy enough for Ringo to sing it, I wanted to say that too.”

He put the bow to the violin and played a short intro, just a thin little version of the chorus, so Angie could warm up. Or so he could warm up. He wasn’t sure how voice-from-music worked, and he was pretty sure his uncle wasn’t, either, not really.

There was some soft applause in recognition, even Ann didn’t feel right clapping too loud. Maybe she didn’t want to mess him up. He picked up his head and tried to look more confident. The words faded into the music and wavered just a little at the beginning, like tuning the radio just right.

“…at would you …oo  if I ran out of …ords, would you walk out and turn off the light? Give me some time and I’ll play you a song, and I’ll try to get everything right. Oh, I get care ’cos my family’s there. Mm, get repaired ’cos my family’s there.” He glanced over at Hyacinth to see if that landed, but he didn’t want to stop long enough to tell for sure. “Mm, I’m not scared ’cos my family’s there.”

He was slightly scared because his family was there. Also because he was coming up to where he was trying to be funny. He took a breath but he couldn’t quite smile to sell it.

“What do I do when the house is ablaze? Am I worried ‘bout cleaning the mess? What if it’s smoking and coffee for days?” He grimaced and almost went flat, wondering how in the hell he ever thought it was funny to bring that up. He caught the sour note as he played it and fixed it with magic, so he didn’t think anyone noticed. “Must I send up a flare in distress?”

Hyacinth snickered, that was definitely a snicker out of Hyacinth about the coffee and smoking.

“No, I get care ’cos my family’s there,” he played, just a little bit looser, and with a better smile. “Mm, get repaired ’cos my family’s there.” That time she caught it. She grinned. “Mm, I’m not scared ’cos my family’s there. Would I love anybody? I need my family to love. Could we sub anybody?”

He firmly shook his head, answering as he continued the melody.

“I want my family to love. Would you believe all the things that we do? Not unless I saw ‘em happen all the time. Can’t even guess the next jam we’ll go though. I can’t stop it, but we’ll all be fi…” The words faded out and the bow almost stopped moving. He didn’t want to quit in the middle or make everyone worry about him, but they weren’t all fine, one of them was dead.

“But we’ll all be fine!” Ann sang.

“…fine!” Maggie added, just a hair too slow to get it in sync. She ducked her head aside.

Sanaam jumped in front of her and bellowed, “Fiiine!” like a mock opera.

“Fine,” Calliope sang, but one note higher. She grinned.

Hyacinth continued the scale, “Fine!” She winked at Erik.

“Adequate,” said the General, flatly, after a nudge.

“Fie! Fie!” Lucy broke in, waving her pacifier.

Mordecai put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Fine,” he said with a smile.

Ann picked up the chorus for him, and the others joined in. Erik interrupted them with the violin before they could get past the third “my family’s there.” The next part was different.

“Do I haaave anybody?” he played. “I have my family to love. Could we add anybody?” He grinned at Calliope and Lucy, nodding. “I want my family to love. Ohhh…” He held the note and encouraged them to help him finish. “I get care ’cos my family’s there…”

“Get impaired ’cos my family’s there!” Hyacinth burst out, laughing.

“…I’m not scared ’cos my family’s there. ’Cos my family’s there!”

They all gave themselves an amused round of applause and Calliope took Lucy out of the Lu-ambulator to help her clap too. Mordecai picked Erik up, then decided he was getting too big to do that comfortably and crouched down, sitting the boy on his knee to hug him.

Erik hugged back with unashamed awkwardness, still clutching the violin and the bow. Over his uncle’s shoulder, he spotted Hester Carthage, Lame Anthony and Iron John standing at the bottom of the sweeping staircase and applauding silently. Cousin Violet observed from the top of the stairs, just grinning with her hands clasped like she knew something.

Erik acknowledged them all with a smile, and a slight nod, even her. Violet gave a little bow, and the others waved, then Uncle Mordecai pulled him back gently to address him, and he couldn’t see them anymore.

“You’re very good at that and the tourists are going to love it,” Mordecai said to his smiling child. “I can tell you worked very hard.” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “I heard you catch that flat with magic, but I’m positive no one else did. You’re fast!” He saw Erik’s smile falter, so he shook his head and planted a kiss on the boy’s brow. “Uh-uh. This was a performance, that’s how you do it. The show must go on. Just remember when you practice. Don’t get in the habit. What do we say?”

“Don’t fix it with magic,” Erik muttered. “Fix it for real.”

Mordecai nodded and clasped his hand around Erik’s on the fingerboard. “Fix it here, yeah?”

Erik nodded.

“Okay.” Mordecai kissed him again. “Go hug Maggie goodbye and prepare to fight your Auntie Hyacinth for what’s left of that cake.”

Erik put both feet on the floor and called past him, “Maggie, when does the boat leave?”

“Technically it doesn’t if I’m not on it,” Sanaam replied.

“I can play another one!” Erik declared, beaming. “Words and everything! Do you want to hear it before you go? It’s…”

◈◈◈

“…‘Thank Gods, I’m a City Boy’!” cried the lanky green teenager in the front room. The white T-shirt which was fashionably visible beneath casual plaid flannel had a VACANCY sign silk-screened on it, like he was a hotel. It was a Twelfth Night present from Calliope, which he already adored. He saluted his family with the tip of the violin bow and narrowed the lens of his metal eye with a whir that would pass for a wink. “Music by John Sommers, y’all.” He grinned. “Here we go!”

Angie was capable of providing a full band — including the drums, thanks to a modification by Milo — and the voice, but Erik sang this one himself. Tourists appreciated a personal touch, and if they stopped to listen, when he played the next song he could surprise them with the singing violin, and they’d throw more money. Also, he was louder than Angie, there was that.

“Well, life in the city is really alive. Smart city boys like me know how to survive. Sleep till noon, up till five. Thank gods I’m a city boy. Well, a complicated life never did me no harm. Country boys should stick to chasin’ chickens on the farm!” He stopped playing and shouted that to no accompaniment, daring any country boys in his urban audience to challenge it. “Ladies like a gentleman with shiny shoes and charm.” He winked his grey eye this time and lifted the toe of one shoe. “Thank gods I’m a city boy! Well, I got me a fine life, got me an ol’ fiddle. Cold pizza for breakfast, don’t need a griddle. And cows ain’t nothin’ but a funny-funny riddle…” 

He stopped playing again and asked of his audience with mock sincerity, “The brown ones make chocolate milk, right?”

Lucy brushed back her long brown hair and shrugged. “Can’t help you. Not a cow.” She laughed.

Dave was hiding behind her — Erik in full performance mode was a little much — but he did have a smile.

“Thank gods I’m a city boy!” Erik declared and began to play again. “When the sun goes down an’ it’s hard to see my face, I pull out my fiddle and I prop open my case.” He nudged it with his foot, which caused Angie to kick out an extra beat on the drum, but he hid the sound with magic. “If the cops come along I’m gone without a trace. Thank gods I’m a city boy. Oh, I’ll play a cantata wherever I wanna, but there’s always some killjoys who don’t think I oughta. So I fiddle when I can and I run when I gotta…”

He trailed off and glanced from side to side, looking for police. He whispered the next bit, with a hand cupped to his mouth, “Thank gods I’m a city boy!” Then he picked up the melody at full volume for the chorus, “Well I got me a fine life, got me an ol’ fiddle. Cold Xinese for breakfast, don’t need a griddle. Cheese ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle…”

He broke off and asked Hyacinth this time, “Grows on trees, doesn’t it, pretty lady?” He grinned and leaned closer. “They always say it smells pretty ripe. How’s the camembert harvest this year? I got all afternoon, Auntie Hyacinth. I’m gonna keep it up till you crack.”

She had a hand over her mouth, but she wouldn’t make a sound.

He frowned. “I seen a whole wheel with holes in it. That poor farmer. Whole dang orchard must be infested with the cheese weevil.”

She snorted and broke into laughter, “I don’t even have my purse, you ass.”

“Thank gods I’m a city boy, woo!” Erik said. He played again. “Well a streetwise city boy gets everything free, but rich fools have it easier, not hard to see. A little spare change’ll help grease the skids for me…” He was nearest to Calliope and he smiled hopefully at her.

She pulled her pants pockets inside out and said “Ibid.” with a grin.

He shrugged and continued to play, “Thank gods I’m a city boy! Yeah, one of these days I’m gonna be a rockstar. I’ll drive past all the buskers in my fancy car. But I’ll still throw ‘em money ‘cos I been where they are. Thank gods I’m a city boy. Well I got me a fine life, got me an ol’ fiddle. Get takeout for breakfast, who needs a griddle? Chickens ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle…”

He leaned down and lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “What is it with chickens and roads, Davy? You know?”

Dave withdrew further, shyly, shaking his head. Milo caught him and hugged him — which was both reassuring and happened to prevent him from retreating all the way up the stairs. He signed subtly, so as not to distract: STATE [ERIK TEMPORARY STATE] IUL «erik is just like this for right now. i love you»

Dave nodded weakly. IUL, he signed, close to his chest.

Lucy bapped Erik lightly on the forehead and nudged him away.

“I figure they’re just in a big hurry to get there before the egg,” Erik continued, strolling off. “Thank gods I’m a city boy! Well, my fiddle was my uncle’s before it was mine. When he heard me play the Beatles, took it like a sign. Said, ‘tourists gonna love you, and I’m sure you’ll do fine. So thank gods you’re a city boy.’”

Mordecai, who had been grinning wider and wider ever since Erik tried to pass himself off as a gentleman with shiny shoes, suddenly stopped. His expression faded from confusion into a frown, but Erik had already gone past him and didn’t notice.

“Well, my uncle taught me young how to busk and how to play. Taught me when to stand my ground and when to run away. He loves me more than life and tells me every single day to thank gods I’m a city boy. Well I got me a fine life, got me an ol’ fiddle.” He stopped playing to scratch his head with the bow. “Slep’ right through breakfast, the hell is a griddle? And grass ain’t nothin’ but a funny funny riddle…”

He was standing in front of Maggie now, and she leaned forward to match him, placing her hands on her thighs. “Well? Whaddya got for me? ‘What’s the exchange rate versus gas and ass?’” she asked him. “‘When do they mow the prairie?’ Oh! ‘How come people play blues and bluegrass but not grass? The hell is grass music, huh? Crickets? Jerry Garcia?’”

He patted the blossom of short, dark braids on top of her head, reached into his pocket and presented her with a quarter, which he insolently tucked into her pocket, over her breast. “I like you. You’re funny,” he said.

She snickered and kissed him on the cheek. “Fool.”

“Woo! Thank gods I’m a city boy, yes!” He finished the melody with a jubilant flourish, and spread both arms to take a bow.

He lifted his head with a shy smile and tucked Angie under his arm. “What do you think?”

Lucy and Calliope clapped right away. Most of the others joined them — Milo was sitting on the stairs with Dave in his lap and obtained consent before applauding softly, holding Dave’s hands between his own — but Mordecai stood with arms folded and refused.

“Can I get a ‘yeehaw,’ Erik?” he said acidly. “I feel like you’re contractually obligated to serve me a ‘yeehaw’ with that tripe.”

Erik’s expression fell. “You don’t like it.”

“I do not like being made into another one of your goddamn gimmicks in your endless hunt for the spare change of tourists, no. John Denver or Sommers or whoever-the-hell wrote you a perfectly fine lyric and nobody is going to sue you off a street-corner for copyright infringement, so there was no reason to drag me into it.”

Erik looked down at the violin. “I kinda thought we could play it together.”

Mordecai threw up his hands and turned away. “Oh, my gods!”

Erik put on a smile and tried to be funny, a fatal error: “Tourists would crawl over broken glass to throw money at it.” This was something Erik’s uncle often said, there were three of them in the house who made their living off impressionable tourists and it was a compliment.

Mordecai turned on him. “The very fact that you took that into account — and you are not nearly as dumb as you pretend to be sometimes so I know you did — is what I find so offensive about it, Erik! I am not a character for you to tell sentimental stories about in the middle of a comedy bit! And, might I add, you are still using magic to cover up your physical mistakes!”

“I can’t nudge the case without Angie giving me an extra beat, that’s how it…”

“…That’s how you gutted a perfectly serviceable violin to cram more magic into it the minute I gave it to you?”

Now Erik scowled. “That is not fair, you said I could…”

“I said you could play her however you wanted but you need to work out if you’re going to play or… or be some kind of improvisational clown!”

That set Milo off. He banged a hand on the banister and stood up. Dave scurried away and hid behind Calliope. Milo signed SORRY, quickly, then turned in Mordecai’s direction to make a flurry of complex, irritated gestures.

Lucy flagged him down and signed, DAD QUOTE [LAW [CLOWN] QUOTE] EXPLAIN[ASK SLOPPY] «dad, how d’ya mean “clown law,” huh?»

Milo sighed. UNICORN [STIFF] «i am speaking metaphorically.»

Lu shook her head. UNICORN [NO SLOPPY] «nuh-uh. :P»

IMPORTANT [NO [EXTRA NOW] NO] CUTE [NO [EXTRA NOW] NO] MORDECAI = ASSHOLE [TOTAL EXTRA]

“Babe! Not in front of the kids!” Calliope cried.

JERK [TOTAL EXTRA] Milo signed, but much smaller.

ASSHOLE [ASK] Dave signed, very small.

“Goddammit,” Calliope muttered.

“It’s not like anyone else knows what it means, Mom,” Lu said.

“That’s why! MTSL is a home sign and we don’t need to be calling people in our home mean names,” Calliope said. “Now apologize, you two.”

SORRY [DAVE]

SORRY [DAD]

Calliope groaned and clapped her hands over her face. “Not you two! You other two!” She pointed. “Milo, stop making up an entire parallel clown society — I am not the Clown Queen — and Em, stop being a total jerk. Erik made something cool and shared it with us, say thank you!”

Milo signed, ENTRE-VOUS at Mordecai and glanced at Calliope. «make him go first.»

“That is not how we are raising our children,” Calliope said.

CHILDREN [OUR LIAR [NO] LIAR] FEELINGS CRUSH [GO NO] I/ME SORRY [NO NOW] YOU GIVE [FUTURE] ANXIETY … [MORE ANXIETY] «we’re not raising our children to be liars and crush their feelings. i’m not sorry now. you’re going to give them anxiety. more anxiety.»

Calliope sighed. “Em…”

Erik applauded. “Milo wins!”

Milo tipped him a small bow.

“Cut it out, no he doesn’t,” Calliope said. “I’m just checking if Em wants to be an adult and put an end to this. If neither of them do, I’m taking the kids to the park.”

“Milo, I am sorry I implied the mother of your children is anything but respectable and brilliant,” Mordecai said. “I didn’t get a lot of what you said, but if you can dig up any representative of the interests of clown-folk, mimes and associates, I will apologize to them too. I was upset. I am not ready to apologize to Erik or anyone else for feeling offended about what has just transpired.”

Calliope deflated slowly. She shook her head and straightened. “Do you just want space?”

“Please.”

She nodded. “Come on you guys. Park.”

“Aw, man. It’s cold out there,” Lucy complained. She stamped up the stairs to get their coats out of the hall wardrobe. She held up Dad and Ann Mommy’s coats, so Dad could pick.

Milo decided not to change, selecting the pale brown coat. HOT CHOCOLATE BUY [GO] he added, to Lucy.

She smiled. “Okay. Erik, you want hot chocolate too?”

He looked sheepish. “Yeah, Coconut, but I can’t go with you.” He turned towards his uncle, who was pointedly examining the wall. “I couldn’t take up your precious space if I wanted. I do not actually have all afternoon. I just wanted to get your opinions on my new act…”

Mordecai scoffed. “‘Act.’”

“…before I head to the movies with John, remember? And you know he freaks out if I said I’d be somewhere and I don’t show.”

“Mr. Green-Tara is an adult man with a real job, so you had better not keep him out all night screwing around.”

Erik’s mouth fell open. “You… Did you… Did you just take a dig at me for having the exact same not-real job you have?”

Hyacinth flung a gesture like a carnival barker. “See the Living Hypocrite. A human pretzel, inexplicable by modern science.”

“That’s not giving a person space, Auntie Hyacinth,” Lucy said.

“I’m on the other side of the room, Lu-bird.”

Erik already had his coat on, he just had to put the violin away. He had decided against taking it with him. He didn’t feel much like playing. Maggie sidled up to him and said, “Can I come too?”

“It’s boys’ night,” Erik deadpanned.

She snorted. “Are you gonna be picking some up, that what you’re saying?”

“No.” He leaned in and lowered his voice, “It’s shitty of me, I know you’re on vacation, but could you kinda hang out tonight and make sure Hyacinth doesn’t needle him the whole time I’m gone? He’ll be even more pissed when I get home if she doesn’t lay off.”

“I don’t know what his problem is, I think it was really cute.”

He sighed. “Don’t you needle him, Maggie. He always has a hard time around my birthday. You can never tell what’s going to hurt him. He just needs some time. I should’ve waited to show him that.”

“You just said it’s impossible to tell what’s going to hurt him, Human Pretzel Part Two, the Other Snack,” Maggie said dryly.

He smirked at her. “He raised me. Your fault for not bettering my education, Street School Teacher Part Two, D’Iver’s Revenge.”

“It’s more of a franchise,” Maggie replied. She nudged him. “You better bring me a candy bar when you get back, ’cos if I’m stuck babysitting those two, I won’t have time to eat.”

He saluted her, bringing his heels together. “Candy and a soda, sir! I’ll get right on it! See you later, guys!”

Mordecai didn’t even wave goodbye. A moment later, before the Rose-Otis collective could even depart for the park, he snatched a random novel out of the bookshelf and closed himself in his room.

◈◈◈

Dave did not believe in knocking on doors. Mom and Dad kept trying to explain to him that people needed privacy, but it just seemed like much less of an imposition. He knew how to open a door. If he didn’t need help doing whatever else he wanted to do, what was the point of making another person get up and pay attention to him anyway? People liked to do their own thing, they didn’t need bothering.

He quietly edged open the door to Room 102, an inch at a time, and slipped inside.

There was a single bed with a lot of pillows and blankets heaped on it, a Farsian rug so worn you could see the floorboards through it in places, and some art on the walls. Most of it was gifts from Mom, including a drawing of a sandwich that was older than he was, and some newspaper recipes Barnaby put up while he was still alive. There was one framed crayon drawing he guessed Erik had done when he was little and Uncle Mordecai liked, a red figure and a shorter green figure holding hands.

He wasn’t sure who drew the dusty old farmhouse — it wasn’t Mom’s style.

Uncle Mordecai was sitting in an armchair against the opposite wall, near a table with a lamp that Dad made forever ago. He tipped down his book with a sigh. “Erik…” He caught himself, “Dave!”

Dave nodded meekly. As far as he was concerned, Erik-Dave! was like a nickname. He kept a chart for a little while, with tally-marks, and did the math with Dad. Uncle Mordecai only said it, like thirty-percent of the time, so Dave was pretty sure it was just because Erik had been a small boy longer than him, not because Uncle Mordecai was losing his mind. At least not that way. Maybe he’d do another chart in a couple years and see if there was any progression, Helix and Sigma would be impressed.

“I’m not mad at you or your dad, little guy, you know that?”

Dave nodded.

Mordecai let the book face down in his lap, holding its place, and folded his arms self-consciously, hugging himself. “You’re still not thrilled with me, though, are you?”

Dave shook his head.

“It’s not that I want to make people unhappy, but what do you want me to do? Lie?”

Dave shook his head.

“It’s not bad. It’s not that it was bad, don’t get that idea. He’s really very clever, but I am not a prop. I’m not going to stand on a street-corner hollering about how I love someone with a megaphone and trying to get strangers to throw quarters. Like… Like a prostitute!”

Mordecai winced. “Please, dear gods, tell me you have no idea what that is, you are five years old. Well, okay, I know you love Aunt Betty and Uncle Ade and they’re over here all the time but… It-it’s just a very expensive and specific type of babysitter and don’t ask your mother because she’ll give you details you don’t need to have. Okay?”

Dave nodded.

Mordecai slumped sideways, resting his head in one hand. “Sometimes I bruise easily and then I like to bruise other people. It’s too complicated to explain, and I’m a little ashamed of it. That’s just how it is, little guy.”

Dave nodded.

“Erik knows how it is too. He knows I’m not going to change. Apologizing is basically superfluous at this point… That means ‘extra,’ or have you collected that one already?”

Dave nodded. He signed it. Basically, EXTRA [EXTRA] which seemed like a newsboy, but Mom said it was called “reduplication as a modifier.” As in, GIVE [WANT NO] BREAD [NAAN NO] BREAD [BREAD GIVE].

“Gods, that’s weird,” said Mordecai. “Your family is weird. I’m sorry,” he added, shaking his head. He signed it too. “That’s not superfluous. I’m babbling because you’re not giving me any verbal feedback, but you’re being a very good listener.”

Dave shrugged weakly.

“You don’t actually have to listen, little guy. You’re just giving me an excuse to sort myself out. You can think about dresses or numbers if you want.”

Dave nodded.

“But if I’m not going to do any better and he already knows how I feel then what is the point? I know it wasn’t just for the tourists, I know he does actually love me and he knows I love him. It’s very sweet — I just didn’t like the context, that’s all. He already knows, Davy. I’m not comfortable with it, but I don’t want to make him rewrite it. I don’t know what I want. When he gets home, we’ll talk about it. We’ll work something out. We’re fine. It will be fine.”

Dave nodded.

Mordecai shut his eyes and tipped back his head. “So why do I still feel like a son of a bitch?”

Dave shrugged.

“If we apologize only to make ourselves feel better, that says something really awful about humanity, but it’s nothing I didn’t already suspect. …Would you like some cookies?”

Dave closed his mouth. He nodded.

“I was gonna say apples and cheese, but cookies are better. Yeah. Everyone likes cookies. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

◈◈◈

Hyacinth noted a little redheaded kid, standing against the kitchen wall, pale. “Hey, Radish. What happened to you?”

“I was going to get my crayons out of 102, then Uncle was talking and I froze,” Dave said. “Now we’re going to have cookies.”

Hyacinth snickered. “I guess he’s feeling better.”

“I think he’s mad at humanity,” Dave said with a frown.

Hyacinth blinked. “You know what that means?”

“A collective noun for all human beings, but I have no idea how a person could be mad at it. Is ‘son of a bitch’ something awful to call someone?”

“Yep. I bet Mommy and Daddy already have a sign for it — if you can get them to tell you — but you can collect it anyway. Just try not to use it unless you’re really pissed.”

Dave nodded. “Pissed,” he thought.

◈◈◈

They made cookies and then, counterproductively, dinner. The children managed to eat at least some of their vegetables with their chocolate chips, and there were plenty of leftovers for when Erik got home. “Popcorn and a hot dog is not dinner,” Mordecai said, putting together a plate before he wrapped up all the rest for the basement. “I want that kid to eat dinner, no matter when he gets home.”

He wrote a note, under the pretext of reminding Erik to eat dinner:

Dear one, I don’t know if you need to hear it, but I need to say it: I’m sorry for this afternoon. You worked hard on those lyrics and they’re very good, I just got embarrassed. I love you too. We’ll work something out, and maybe I won’t be too embarrassed to play that song with you later. I can’t promise, but that’s not a you-thing, it’s a me-thing. There are cookies in the cookie jar, but please eat dinner too. XOXO — Try to remember all your adventures so you can tell me in the morning!

He put the note under the plate, with just the part about cookies in the cookie jar sticking out of the bottom.

He tipped a heavy bowl over the plate and tucked a towel around the whole thing, trying to keep it from getting cold before Erik got home.

But it got cold anyway.