Charlie Harper, lounging in his silk robe with a Bloody Mary in hand, peered over his sunglasses at his brother. “Alan, do you ever stop whining? You’re like a car alarm with a therapist.”
Alan, hair disheveled and stress levels already peaking, clutched a manila envelope. “This is serious, Charlie. Judith wants to change Jake’s school. Again. She says the new one has a ‘more holistic, less toxic masculinity-based approach to learning.’ What does that even mean?”
Charlie sipped. “It means she’s been spending too much time on Facebook groups with names like ‘Crystals and Curriculum.’”
Just then, the sliding door opened and in waddled 12-year-old Jake, wearing a T-shirt that read “Math is for Losers” and holding a Pop-Tart. “Uncle Charlie, you got any food that’s not covered in weird green stuff?”
“You mean basil?” Charlie asked.
“No, I mean spinach. Or lettuce. Or whatever that healthy garbage Alan tries to sneak into stuff. I’m onto him.”
Alan sighed. “Jake, spinach is good for you. It has iron.”
“So does my bike. Doesn’t mean I wanna eat it.”
Charlie burst out laughing. “The kid’s got a point.”
Before Alan could respond, Judith stormed in without knocking—as usual—wearing a power blazer and a scowl. “Charlie. Alan. I need to talk to you about Jake’s emotional development.”
Jake slumped onto the couch. “Here we go…”
Charlie smirked. “You mean the emotional development that involves Pop-Tarts and video games?”
Judith crossed her arms. “Jake needs a more nurturing environment. He told me yesterday that the only advice he gets from you, Charlie, is ‘never date a waitress named Destiny.’”
“Hey, that’s solid advice. Destiny was a walking lawsuit.”
Alan tried to mediate. “Judith, can we maybe discuss this… calmly? I mean, maybe Jake’s fine where he is. He’s finally making friends, even if half of them are Fortnite characters.”
Judith narrowed her eyes. “That’s exactly why we need to talk. Jake said his best friend is a llama.”
Jake perked up. “He’s not just a llama, he’s a Loot Llama.”
Charlie laughed so hard he spilled his drink.
Judith pointed at Charlie. “This. This is the influence I’m talking about!”
Jake, seeing an opportunity, jumped in. “You know what? I think I’ll just stay here full-time. Uncle Charlie gets me. Plus, he lets me eat ice cream for breakfast.”
Alan’s eyes bulged. “No, no, no, that’s not how this works!”
Charlie raised his glass. “Too late, Alan. He invoked the ice cream clause. It’s binding.”
Judith groaned. “Fine. But don’t call me when he’s bouncing off the walls at 2 a.m.”
As she stormed out, Jake leaned over to Charlie. “Hey, can we get tacos for dinner?”
Charlie smiled. “Kid, I like your style.”
Alan, meanwhile, just buried his face in a couch cushion. “Why is my life a sitcom?”
Jake shrugged. “Because you’re the punchline, Dad.”
