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“It’s really nice to meet you, sir,” Ryan said nervously.

Dad’s eyes flickered between the two of us. “Well, don’t just stand there, you’re letting the cold out. Come in, I was just about to fire up the grill.”

He dropped Ryan’s hand and disappeared into the house, leaving us on the doorstep. When I glanced over, Ryan was grinning. “You heard the man. Go on.”

We stepped inside, closing the door behind us. Hearing noises from the back of the house, I led Ryan through the main room and down to the den, where the sliding glass door was standing wide open. Dad stood near the grill, scrolling through his phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He held up a finger to us as he put the phone to his ear. I got my answer quickly. “Hey, Charlie!”

“Oh, Christ,” I groaned.

“Listen, we were right. Yep, he’s here now. You win, it happened before he turned thirty. I’ll get you your money on your next paycheck. Talk soon.”

“What the hell?” I shouted. “You placed bets on me?”

Dad threw his hands up in mock defense. “It was Charlie’s idea!”

Ryan, stunned, lowered himself into an empty chair.

“Am I the only one who didn’t know?” I asked, pulling another up to join him.

“I sure as hell didn’t,” he muttered, placing a hand on my thigh absentmindedly. “I was gambling with my life by flirting with you.” Much to my dismay, he snatched his hand away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Coleman—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dad waved him off, throwing a raw slice of tomato in his mouth. After twenty-five years, I still couldn’t understand the appeal. “Please, call me Jason.”

“I can’t call both of you that. That would get confusing.”

“Then call him Genie like the rest of us,” my dad told him, taking his own seat.

“Please don’t call me Genie,” I begged.

“Aw, why not? It’s cute!”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Do I at least get to know where it came from?” Ryan asked.

“I won’t be telling you,” I said. “I have to use the bathroom.”

I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to subject myself to the torture of hearing the story again. Dad told everyone who would listen.

I was six when “Genie in a Bottle” came out, and I was obsessed. I only had vague memories of it, but I heard it enough from my parents that I could recite it word for word. According to him, I would beg for it to be played, shouting “Genie! Genie! Genie!” at the top of my lungs until they gave in. In a world before Spotify, I gave my parents hell. The song played on repeat, running down multiple copies of the CD—and my parents’ patience. I wasn’t sure how long the phase lasted but the nickname stuck—seemingly because of the amusing attempt at a belly dance I would do in synchronization with the song.

I hid just inside the patio door, mouthing along to the story and trying not to let embarrassment take over when he mimicked the child-like dance. But Ryan laughed, and I knew that it was worth it.

I rested my head against the wall and let out a deep breath. Considering the ring I had until very recently, I thought I’d be bringing Grace with me the next time I visited—as my fiancée. I couldn’t wrap my head around how much my life had changed in just a couple short months. Dad and Ryan got on like wildfire, and I couldn’t have dreamt of things going better.

I probably should have been relieved that my transition into it had gone so easily, but something still felt off—like it was too good to be true.

“Genie, what are you doing there, son?” Dad had stepped through the patio door, discovering my hiding spot.

“I uh… I just needed a breather. These past couple months have been kind of a lot.”

He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Gene, you know I love you. You’re my son. There’s nothing you could do that would make me turn my back on you. I don’t care who you bring home,” he gestured over his shoulder to Ryan. “As long as they treat you right, and you remember who I raised you to be. Man or woman, I raised you right and I trust you to never forget that.”

“Thanks Dad,” I said, throat tight.