LITMIR.BIZ

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pee.”

       “Me, too.”

       “Okay,” Katie said. “Let’s go.”

       “Aww, I don’t wanna go in the girls’!”

       “Please, I don’t wanna go in the girls’, either!”

       “In public places, you cannot use restrooms without an adult you know with you,” Katie said calmly. “It’s a rule and it’s for safety.”

       “So no one gets us,” Andy blurted, far too loudly.

       “Well, if they’d had dinner with you, they wouldn’t want you, but still…”

       “I’ll go,” Dylan said. He shrugged. “I need the restroom anyway. And I used to hate going in the girls’.”

       “Sucks, huh?” Mitch asked.

       “Anything special I should know?” he asked as he was sliding out of the booth. “Like, should I watch for cherry bombs in toilets?”

       “Just watch for water sports,” she said. “Of all kinds.”

       “Gotcha,” he said. “Come on.”

       But they weren’t coming with him, they were way ahead of him, running through McDonald’s to the men’s room, slamming into said facility, so that he had to pick it up a notch to keep up with them. When he got into the bathroom, they were standing there, waiting. He just stared at them for a second. “I thought we had to pee,” he said. “Let’s do it.” And he held open a stall door because these guys were big for five-year-olds, but not quite tall enough for the urinals. “Seats up, please.”

       And, being twins, they gathered around the same bowl together rather than taking separate stalls. He just shook his head and laughed.

       Andy looked over his shoulder at Dylan. “You gonna watch?”

       “S’cuse me,” Dylan said. He made his way to the urinal and prepared. In just seconds the toilet in the stall flushed and there were two little boys, one on each side of him, which went a long way to creating an embarrassed bladder. He lifted a brow and peered at them. “Are you? Gonna watch?”

       And they nodded.

       Dylan leaned a hand against the wall and kept his groan inside. He sought composure. Finally he peered at the one he thought was Andy. “Could I have a little space, please?”

       Though he’d only spoken to one, they stepped back as they both got the message. Then turning as one, they bolted out of the lavatory. “Hey!” And there he was, stuck with his dick in his hand, doing absolutely nothing. “Crap,” he muttered, zipping up.

       When he got back to their booth, there was only Katie. “Everything go all right?” she asked.

       “Curious little buggers, aren’t they?”

       “Oh, no,” she said, color rising to her cheeks on a laugh.

       “No biggie,” Dylan said. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, indicating her half of a Big Mac.

       “Hmm,” she said, lifting it and taking a small bite. After she chewed and swallowed, she said, “My meal usually waits until they’re done with theirs. I was a little busy.”

       “Where are they? Were they taken into custody?”

       “Playground.” She leaned to the left to look past Dylan. “My secret weapon. I can keep an eye on them from here. I try to choose restaurants for their distraction devices. They’re like littermates—they listen to each other more than me, sometimes. A place to burn off some energy works to my advantage.” She popped a French fry. “Are you a little uncomfortable around kids, Dylan?”

       “Me? Not at all. I like kids.”

       “And yet, you’ll never marry?”

       He tilted his head, looking at her, and made a snap decision. No reason they shouldn’t have cards on the table. He had kissed her, after all, even if it was a completely impetuous and probably foolish move. That he’d never, ever done this with a woman before didn’t cross his mind. He followed another one of those instincts that were beginning to take over his life. “Well, I come from a broken home,” he said. “A very broken one. Many failed marriages among my immediate and extended family.”

       She lifted a curious brow and took a small bite of her burger.

       “My mother has been married four times, my father was married three times before his death, which was premature. That gives me lots of half brothers and sisters and stepbrothers and -sisters, many of whom have been married a couple of times or more. It probably has us all screwed up, but the thing that really works on me is what it does to kids—it can make kids feel so bad about themselves. I totally understand there are times it just can’t be avoided and the separated parents have to work really hard to be sure their kids get through the rough patch of divorce, but my parents weren’t real concerned about the kids. They were always worried about who they’d end up with next. And we always wondered, too. There’s just no reason to put kids through that.”

       She leaned left to check the boys on the play stuff, then leaned back and tilted her head at him, listening. He took that to mean he should continue.

       “I was my mother’s third child by her third husband, my dad’s first and only child by his second wife. Do the math, by the time I came along my folks had five marriages between them. If they can’t hold a marriage together, make relationships work, I can’t figure out why they kept having kids, but they did. Or maybe they could have concentrated on parenting the ones they already had before moving on, be sure they’re not completely traumatized? Makes sense to me…because it wasn’t just new stepmothers and stepfathers, but also quite a few potential stepmothers and stepfathers who lived with us, then disappeared.

       “Now my best friend, Lang, he’s been married eleven years and has five kids and you can tell when you look at those kids that he and Sue Ann have it together, that they have a solid marriage and the kids feel safe. The kids are normal—smart, happy, fun kids.”

       She took another bite. A sip of her drink.

       “What I think is behind that is that they know their strengths and weaknesses, and if I come from a family with relationship and commitment problems, long-term problems, and if I know how much it can potentially upset the kids, I shouldn’t walk that path. I’m crazy about kids, but this might be some DNA thing in our family—maybe we just can’t help it. Maybe it’s a curse—like eons ago some Childress pissed off a witch. Who knows why? My buddy Lang reminded me that I told him a long time ago, when we were in college, that most of the people in my family were so self-centered and short-sighted that when they get a little hungry they buy a restaurant.”

       She took another sip.

       He chuckled. “It’s only in the marriage and family arena where I think I might have the curse. I have good work and business relationships. Lang has been my best friend for over fifteen years. But the kind of background I have—it just doesn’t seem worth the risk to attempt the marriage and family thing. So, you should understand, Katie—that’s why I never date women with children.”

       She lifted her chin and both brows, as if surprised to hear that. She took a small bite and retired the last quarter of her Big Mac, apparently thinking of all he had said while she chewed and swallowed. And then she leaned toward him, looked him in the eye and said, “You call this a date?”

       And Dylan laughed so suddenly, he almost choked on his cola.

       When Katie pulled up to the school where Dylan’s bike waited, she recognized her brother’s truck. He was with his boss, Paul, unloading what looked like logs. “Huh, wonder what he’s doing.”

       “You going to ask?” Dylan wondered.

       “Nah. I’ll call him later. Jump out so I can get these heathens home and in the shower.”

       “Done,”

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