Page 166 of Twisted Needs

This year my lovely ex-wife decided the kids needed “normal family dinners,” which means she’s spent the last two hours cooking for fifteen million people while Vince destroys meat on the grill outside and the rest of us wander through the kitchen opening beers and getting in the way.

Luca’s been weird all fucking day, which was to be expected considering the fact that pictures of me hugging his brother like we’re lovers are still blasted across the internet. Every so often he’ll stop moving in the middle of doing something and stare at the counter for a second like he lost track of where his mind was headed.

I’m leaning against the kitchen island drinking a beer when I glance outside and see poor Anders getting absolutely swarmed near the dock. Manuela’s sitting on his shoulders with both hands in his hair. One of Jen’s twins—one of two sets—is hanging off his back. Laura’s trying to force him into filming some dance for her TikTok while Anders stands there looking deeply, spiritually exhausted. Every few seconds he looks toward the house with this blank expression that very clearly says somebody fucking help me.

“You people are terrible,” I say.

Jen looks up from slicing limes. “What happened now?”

“You’ve had him out there babysitting for, like, two hours.”

“Anders? He’s fine. That’s his job.”

“Jenny, he’s one toddler tantrum away from walking into the lake.”

Emelie snorts into her drink. “He likes the kids.”

“He likes Manu because she’s his little clone. The others, I think, are still undecided.”

Outside, Anders catches me watching him. He points at the children attached to his body, then points directly at me, mouthing help. I laugh and take another sip of beer instead.

A second later Luca walks through the kitchen carrying a bowl of fruit and one of the kids immediately yells, “Uncle Luca!”

His whole face softens before he can stop it. “Hey,” he says automatically as the kid tears through the kitchen. “No running inside. The floor is wet.”

The kid ignores him completely, leaving dirty footprints across the hardwood. Luca watches the footprints for a second, visibly debating whether he has the energy to care.

“You doing good, hon?” Jen asks him.

“Not particularly.” He opens the fridge and grabs a beer.

“You need to loosen up,” Emelie says. “This is supposed to be relaxing. No ice as far as the eye can see, mon cher.”

And then he looks at me. “Looks like you’re enjoying retirement,” he says accusingly. In other words: we’re fucked. He absolutely knows.

“Two more seasons until you retire,” Emelie mutters to her husband.

“Yes, darling,” he turns to her. “You remind me twenty times a day.”

She fakes a pout as she wraps her arms around him. “Your children drive me crazy. I need my partner in crime.”

Luca grunts. “I thought your partner in crime was Jen.”

The sliding glass door opens. Anders slips inside, shaking off a straggler. “As I have a college degree now, I’ve made an executive decision to pass the torch. Laura is the new babysitter.”

Jen snorts. “Luca Junior over there is not qualified to watch all of those kids,” she mutters, looking outside at the teenager who’s just trying to do her best. And by best, I mean she’s already yelling at them. She’s enjoying her first twenty seconds of power a little too much.

“Someone needs to tell her that loudness does not equate authority,” Emelie snorts, sounding particularly French when she says it. “There is no way she is my daughter. It’s not possible.”

“Because you’re so quiet and demure,” I joke.

She points her beer at me. “Shut up. Nobody cares for your silent dread.”

When Anders laughs a little too hard, I watch as Luca deadpans to his younger brother.

“Mano,” he clears his throat. “Can we go outside to talk?”

It’s Emelie’s turn to laugh loudly. She elbows me in the side and lowers her voice. “Pick out your coffin.”