Welcome to the family, Portia.
You will be a great aunt.
Love, Tommy
And then he’s drawn a picture of what I believe is Tommy and Portia holding hands and raising the devil horns with their free ones.
I say, “Is this your Too Fast for Love original pressing album in here?”
“Aunt Portia loves that record.”
“Dude,” I say.
“Is the picture cool?” he says, and looks up at me like he’s really worried.
“You are a total rock star, little man,” I say, and then I’m down on one knee, looking him in the eye. “This is seriously cool and generous of you. And you know you can come over and listen to this record with us whenever you want. It’s still yours too—it’ll be all of ours. A family record. And you’ll inherit it back someday.”
“I wish I could live with you and Aunt Portia.”
He’s already begun calling her aunt.
“What? Why?” I say.
“Mom watches TV all the time. She doesn’t do anything else.”
“She’s just going through a hard spot now, and—”
“I don’t like Johnny Rotten. When he’s here, Mom makes me stay in my room so they can kiss.”
“You shouldn’t call him Rotten. He’s an adult, and your mom’s—”
“You call him Johnny Rotten. I’ve heard you!”
“Okay. He’s not my favorite,” I whisper, looking over my shoulder to make sure my sister isn’t in the hallway. “But you have your cell phone, right?”
He points to his belt, where his flip phone is attached to his hip.
“You keeping that thing charged like I taught you?”
“Yep!”
“Give me a call right now, just so we know we’re connected.”
He opens his phone and holds the number 1 key.
My cell starts ringing, so I pull it out and say, “Hello?”
He holds his phone to his head. “Uncle Chuck?”
“Is this my favorite nephew, Tommy Bass? Front man for Shot with a Fart?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You know you can call me anytime, right? Day or night. Even at four a.m. Wake me up. Why the hell not?”
“Bad word, Uncle Chuck.”
“Rock and roll, kid. Rock and roll.”
“I wish I were going to see Mötley Crüe with you tonight.”
“I’m going to buy you a concert shirt, little man. Promise. But tonight is about getting you the best aunt in the world—making it official. Have to do some romance—and that requires going solo. So why don’t you give me that ring. Ring me. You still have it, right? You didn’t let me down—shrug your best man duties. Not Tommy Bass. Hell no.”
“No way!” he says, we both hang up our phones, and then he dives under the bed, reaches up into the hole in the box springs, pulls out the little red box, and hands it to me.
I open it up, and the diamond looks tiny. “Do you think it’s too small?”
“I thought you measured her other rings when she was sleeping to make sure it would fit.”
I tousle his hair. “I did. Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“Give her my present first. That will help.”
“Think so?” I say.
He nods earnestly.
“Why would she want to marry your loser uncle anyway?”
“Because you are taking her to see Mötley Crüe. She loves Mötley Crüe. It’s her favorite band.”
I look down, and the kid’s hopeful believing face slaps the sarcasm right out of me. “It is her favorite band.”
“And ours too. Lucky for all of us,” he says.
I look at my nephew. Can he really love 1980s hair metal as much as his uncle, or would he love anything I told him to love just because he needs a father figure that much?
“I love you, Tommy, more than I love Mötley Crüe.”
He smiles.
“It’s true,” I say.
“Do you love me more than you love Portia?”
“Yes, but never tell her that.”
He laughs. “Go get me an aunt. I’ve never had one before. Go get her.”
I give him the devil horns, and he gives them right back.
“Remember, you can call me anytime, right?” I say.
“Go! Have fun! Rock out!”
“All right. Love you, little man,” I say, and then exit with Tommy’s gift and the engagement ring.
Danielle’s still staring at the television—some show about pregnant teenagers, which I’ve seen her watching before.
“Here I go. I’m actually asking Portia to marry me tonight.”
Danielle stands, walks over to me, and gives me a long hug. She squeezes too hard, and it makes me worry a little, but it also feels nice.
When was the last time we hugged like this?
“Wish me luck?” I say when she lets go.
“You don’t need it,” she says.
“How about you let me take Tommy tomorrow night, and you can have some time to yourself maybe,” I say. “Would you like that, if I—”
“I’m going to get a job. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“I’m going to get my shit together, Chuck. I promise. This is just temporary.”
“Good,” I say, and then for some reason I add, “I love you.”
“You too, big brother.”
We share a smile, and then I’m gone.
As I hide Tommy’s present behind the seat in my truck, I think about how hard my good luck must be for Danielle. I mean, when you compare Portia Kane to Johnny Rotten, my sister’s definitely holding the 45 to my LP. But what can I do about that?