Page 28 of Scoring Chance

I glance at Des, who looks as dazed as I feel.

“Outstanding!” Des plops onto the kitchen chair brought into the living room. He lets out a rip-roaring fart.

Dean kicks his legs as he howls with laughter.

“That was not me,” Des says, leaping out of his seat. He pulls out a whoopee cushion from under him.

My kids crack up. Dean doubles over with laughter. “I thought you were going to look before you sat, but you didn’t, and you—” He blows a massive raspberry.

Des stares at us blankly. I imagine he’s questioning every decision he’s made over the past week.

“Dean’s into pranks. Whoopee cushions are a new fave,” I explain.

“Noted,” he says, shaking it off. “Well, if we’re gonna make this look real, we need evidence.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Evidence?”

“I need a family photo for my desk.” Des rummages through his work bag. He pulls out his phone and a sleek little stand like he’s about to do a cooking demonstration on Instagram live. (Not like I watch those in bed religiously…)

“Because nothing says ‘we’re a totally normal family’ like a last-minute picture taken under duress.” A bemused laugh rumbles on my lips.

“Exactly.”

“Should we pose in front of the bookshelf of chaos or the laundry mountain?” I ask, deadpan. Des’s apartment is sleek and could qualify for Architectural Digest. My house is a mess of clutter a few steps removed from a Hoarders episode.

Des glances around, trying to find a photogenic background in the living room. Slim pickings there. “Let’s keep it simple and all gather on the couch. Should be quick.”

We’ll see about that. Parent makes a plan. Children laugh.

He sets up the phone on the fireplace mantle, accidentally knocking over a few picture frames in domino fashion. He herds us like unruly cats onto the couch. Lulu climbs directly into his lap. Lena stays put on the couch arm. Davy and Dean jockey to sit next to Des. As a perpetual peacemaker, I sit on the other couch arm, so both boys can flank their new fake stepdad.

“Where are you going?” Lulu asks helplessly when Des stands up. It’s been a long day; she’s still adjusting to school.

“I need to set the camera timer. I’ll be right back.” Des gets his phone ready and double-checks the positioning. “This is going to look perfect. Alright, we go in ten.”

“Minutes?” Davy asks.

“Seconds.” Des pulls Lulu back onto his lap.

“Starting from when?” Dean asks. “Are we in the ten second countdown from when you pressed the button on your phone or from when you sat back down? How many seconds are left?”

“I don’t know. Just look at the camera,” Des pleads with desperation.

“Dad, can I switch sides with you?” Lena asks me.

Des shushes her.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Davy says. Kid appetites are like natural disasters: they happen anytime, anyplace, without warning.

“We’ll eat after this,” Des grits through his teeth.

Dean begins poking his cheek for reasons only known to him.

“Dean, stop that,” Des hisses.

Click.

Des puts Lulu down to check out the picture. She begins crying. I stroke a hand through her hair to calm her down.