Bear, Otter, and the Kid (The Seafare Chronicles 1)

Where Bear

Throws a Party

WE DON’T speak the entire way back. As soon as we get back to the house, Otter says he’s tired and is going to bed. He gives Ty a hug and tells him he will see him very soon. He says good night to Creed, who is putting the Kid’s ice cream in a bowl for him. He doesn’t say anything to me. This does not go unnoticed by Creed. He hands Ty his food and sends him to go watch The Bovine Holocaust or whatever it’s called.

“So I take it you let him have it,” he says, sounding amused.

“What do you mean?” I ask wearily.

“Well, let’s see. You were gone for almost an hour in what should have been a five-minute trip. You both looked like hell when you came back. And just now, Otter didn’t even look at you before he went upstairs.” He grins. “So come on, tell me. You chewed him out for being such a douche bag and moving to San Diego. Right? Please tell me you recorded it. I bet you were absolutely terrifying.”

I laugh, despite trying not to. “Something like that.”

“So, why’d he do it?”

“Do what?”

Creed looks at me like I’m retarded. “Why’d he leave? I’ve never believed him when he said it was because he couldn’t handle Mom and Dad anymore. He must have said something to you.”

You needed people who were going to be able to be strong for you. I thought I could do that. But then that night happened, and I realized just how really weak I was. You were drunk and hurting and needing a friend, and then we kissed, and I realized I couldn’t be the stronger one. I thought that I was somehow pushing myself onto you, and that it was… I don’t know, Bear. I thought putting distance between us was the best thing to do at the time.

“Well?” Creed asks, making a face at the taste of Ty’s soy ice cream.

“No,” I lie. “He didn’t really sa

y anything at all.”

“A WHAT?” I say to Creed a few days later. He and Anna are sitting at the kitchen table in my apartment. We’re trying to put the finishing touches on the Kid’s surprise birthday party, which is two days away. I read at some parenting website that when you throw a party for kids, you are supposed to give out bags of crappy toys and Tootsie Rolls, so I enlisted their help to help me put it all together after we raided the dollar store near the beach. I don’t know why kids need more cheap plastic toys and candy, but who I am to argue with the Internet. “You’ve got to be joking!”

“What?” Creed says, looking slightly offended. “I heard he’s really good with kids. Our next-door neighbors used him at a party they had.” He looks at Anna for help, but she’s looking as horrified as I feel.

I groan. “We are not getting a fucking clown for Ty’s party. How could you even suggest that? Don’t you remember when we watched It when we were his age?

He grins. “We stayed up until dawn in the sofa fort we built in Otter’s room. You were such a pussy!”

Anna laughs. “From what I remember, the fort was your idea, and you could never see a clown again without screaming.”

Creed waves his hand dismissively. “I was nine. And that clown ate people.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Isn’t there something a little off about grown men who dress up like clowns and go to birthday parties? It’s seems like something you’d see on To Catch a Predator. I don’t know if I want this birthday party to end up on TV. I don’t think the parents would appreciate it.”

He sighs. “Fine. When this party starts to suck, and the Kid is embarrassed because he’s having the worst time ever, don’t come crying to me when he tells you he wants to come live at my house.”

I snort. “If he says that, you can have him.”

Creed picks up a ring pop and shoves it into a Scooby Doo bag. Then his eyes light up. “We could have Otter do it!”

Anna throws a dollar-store toy, and it bounces off his head. “That would be even worse! Besides, Otter would never dress up like a clown. He has at least a little dignity, right?”

Creed scowls. “Hardly. All he does now is mope like a goddamn teenage girl. Anytime I’m home, he’s in his room with the door locked. I’m telling you guys, he got worked over really bad in San Diego. I thought the whole point of having a gay brother was that they were supposed to be all cool and shit. I’ve got a defective gay.”

“Didn’t he have a boyfriend or something?” Anna asks. “I thought he lived with someone.”

“He did,” Creed says. “Jacob or Josh or something like that. He mentioned him a few times. He tells me to mind my own business every time I ask about it now. Naturally, I keep pushing. He’s bound to crack sometime.”

“I’m sure if he wanted to talk about it, he would,” Anna admonishes. “Just leave him alone, and he’ll come around.”

“He better,” Creed warns. “Sad fags are boring fags.”