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Her shift was from seven in the morning until seven at night, three days a week. I was glad she only worked three days a week, because it gave her more time with us. Luckily for us, Mawmaw had moved in to help keep an eye on us during the three days Momma wasn’t home.

  “Is he excited?” Momma asked as she sipped her coffee. We had the same brown eyes and hair color, the only difference being that Momma had blonde highlights put in hers to hide the gray hairs she swore didn’t exist.

  “Is he ever,” I chuckled. “It took me forever to get him down last night. I wasn’t sure if he’d stay in bed but he crashed. He’s still sleepin’ like a log.”

  “He gets that from his Uncle Boone. A bomb could go off right next to Boone and he’d sleep through it.” She smiled at memories I wasn’t aware of.

  “That’s true,” I replied. “Only Cotton’s farts could wake him up.”

  “Oh God!” Momma giggled. “Cotton’s farts would peel wallpaper!”

  “They do not! They smell like roses and honeysuckle.”

  We both turned as my brother walked into the kitchen clad only in his boxers, scratching his butt. His long bangs fell over his face. His hair was done in an undercut style. The sides and back where sheared close to the scalp, leaving the top untouched. His beard was brown like mine but a shade shorter. He walked by Momma and kissed her as I had done. As he passed me, he tried to pop me in the back of the head but I jabbed his side. He squeaked, dodging me.

  “Ass.”

  “Shithead.”

  “Why’re you doin’ up numbnuts? It sun ain’t even up yet.” I teased Cotton and he snorted as he poured his coffee.

  “Got up early to finish some last minute edits on a book goin’ out in two day.” He yawned hard. “And I smelled coffee.” He sipped and sighed contently. “No one makes better coffee than you Momma.”

  “Lazy shit.” I drawled.

  “Love you too, dingleberry.” He replied in turn.

  “Boys,” Momma sighed.

  She was used to us cussing but didn’t like it. She was about to give us a lecture when the back door flew open and Boone raced in. He skidded to a halt in the kitchen and dove into the cupboard. Finding what he wanted, he stood by the counter pouring over Mawmaw’s recipe book. We all watched bemused as he flipped through page after page looking for something.

  “Got it! It’s a tablespoon of lemon juice and two inches of fresh ginger!” Boone grinned and straightened up. “Mornin’ all. I forgot part of Mawmaw’s tarts and twang recipe. I wasn’t sure if any of you’d be up, so I came home instead of callin’.”

  He quickly checked his dark, wavy, slicked-back hair in the toaster to make sure it hadn’t moved. It never moved—that paste he used was like Elmer’s glue.

  All three of us had beards because, in our consensus, we all had weak chins. Sometimes I forget that, while I can see differences in the three of us, most people can’t. The Myer Triplets: Avery, Boone and Cotton. Yep—triplets. My poor Momma had all of us at once. We’d all been sweet and wide-eyed with innocent faces and the devil behind our smiles. We were hell on wheels growing up and Momma said we’d all given her all gray hairs. No more came after us. She said we’d made her ovaries dry up and her vagina fall out.

  As I said before, our father walked out on us when we were around three. Bobby Myer would rather drink and gamble than be a proper father. Momma had tried sitters at first, but most left after only a few days declaring they would never come back. We were definitely a handful back then. Then The Terminator moved in—our grandmother, Gladys Winston. In short order, she whupped us into shape, alright. She put the fear of God into us and we quickly fell into line. She was a master of guilt, an agent of terror and the quintessential southern grandma; tough as nails and sweeter than honey—until crossed. Then the switch came out and we all dove for cover. She’d worked part-time as a secretary at a law office in town on the days Momma didn’t work, so we were never left unattended.

  Boone bumped me as he went to get a cup of coffee. We were mirror images of each other. I’m the oldest, baby A. Boone arrived three minutes later, baby B, and less than sixty seconds later baby C, Cotton, came squalling out. The only difference between the three of us is that Cotton’s nose is narrower, due to nasal surgery. He got into a nasty fight as a teenager and the guy busted his nose up something fierce.

  My brothers and I have never been separated for long, except for the time Boone and Cotton had hospital stays. Boone had a bacterial infection and Cotton had his appendix out and his nose fixed. We hated being separated. Take our current living arrangements for example. Boone and Cotton share the small house next door, which they rented from old lady McGillicudy and my son Peg and I live with momma and Mawmaw. That’s why Cotton came over to Momma’s house in his boxers for coffee.

  I do love my brothers, but they’re a pair of lazy shits. Neither can remember to buy coffee, so they come over here for their morning cup instead. But at least they leave a tenner in the money jar by the coffee maker once a week to cover the cost.

  Boone joined us, sitting to my right. I’m sure we were quite a sight. We might look alike but we have totally different personalities. I’m the quiet one, level-headed and the leader of the group. Boone’s the joker. He found humor in everything—the more absurd, the better. The guy is one twisted fuck. Cotton is our scrapper with a hot temper and a short fuse. He spent more time in detention in school than Boone and I combined.

  I heard the shuffling of feet and looked up to see Mawmaw scuff into the kitchen. Hair in curlers with a ‘kerchief over it, her nightgown was flannel and screamed ‘unfuckable’.

  “Why are ya’ll so dang happy for. It’s dark out,” Mawmaw grumbled and pulled a Dr. Pepper out of the fridge. She was the only non-coffee drinker in the morning. She craved her Dr. Pepper and a smoke. She walked into the laundry room, opened the back door, leaned against the washer and lit up. Benson and Hedges menthol are her only vice. To this day, if I smell menthol I think of Mawmaw. “Lynda, you and Avery I get, you’re early risers, but why in God’s green earth are Boone and Cottonball up?”

  Cotton smiled. No one got away with calling him that but his Mawmaw. “I smelled coffee,” he said and tipped his cup at her.

  “I forgot a part of one of your recipes,” Boone added as he glanced at his watch. “Shit, I need to get back. Give Peg a smurp for me. ‘Bye Momma. ‘Bye Mawmaw.” He nodded at Cotton and me and said, “Ass and Hole.” He slugged back his coffee and hurried out the front door, slamming it behind him.

  Boone worked at 350 Degrees Bakery. He made cakes, but his specialty was wedding cakes. He also baked dirty cakes and grooms cakes, which made him very popular and he was booked solid for months at a time. He told me yesterday that, when he finishes this month, he would take a few days off. I said, “Fat-fucking-chance.” He was a born workaholic.

  I glanced up at the black cat clock above the stove and saw it was nearly seven. Momma would be leaving soon. As if she read my mind, she stood up and dumped her coffee into a to-go cup then kissed Cotton’s cheek before doing the same to me.

  “Give Peg a hug and kiss for me,” she said with a smile. “I’m headin’ in early. I’m sure I’m chargin’, today and I want to get a jump on things.” She looked toward the laundry room. “Momma? Can you pull out that beef stew and warm it up for dinner tonight?”

  “Sure can, Lynnie. Go on and git. I’ll mind the boys.” She blew a kiss at Momma who reached out and snatched it out of the air. She and Mawmaw had done this for years but it still made me smile every time.

  “I better get cleaned up. Peg will be wakin’ up soon.” I stood and stretched the kinks out of my back. I took my coffee with me and bumped Cotton with my hip as I walked by him. “You stoppin’ by the shop for lunch today?”

  “If I get done early enough I will,” he replied, his face splitting into a wide grin. “I’ll bring by the bike I just finished. It needs a blowin’ out.”

  Most people see the three of us and think bearded, tatto
oed scuzz. Just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover. We were all professionals of some type.

  I was actually accepted by the Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute at the age of eighteen and Boone followed me a year later. But after I graduated, I discovered I hated line work, so I took a job at a high-end butcher shop in downtown Atlanta and found my calling. I loved my job. Funnily enough, Boone soon discovered the same thing as I had. He hated line work but loved pastries. He got himself a job at 350 Degrees Bakery and, after a few years, became the head cake decorator. He loved it and, in my opinion, tended to work way too much.

  Cotton, however, was the odd one out. He’d refused to go into food. Instead he worked as a proof reader at a publishing house downtown. But on the weekends, Cotton restored vintage motorcycles on the side. It allowed him to express his creative side and the bikes he restored sold for top dollar.

  I padded into my bathroom and took care of my morning ablutions. I’d showered and was toweling off my beard and hair when I heard Peg.

  “Daddy?”

  Synching my towel tightly around my waist, I called out to him. “In the bathroom, bud.” The patter of small feet came closer and my son appeared at the door. I smiled brightly. “Mornin’ Peg.”

  “Mornin’.” He came in, rubbing his eyes and leant up against me. My son was not a morning person. He needed a shower and his breakfast before he was completely awake. He was very much like his Uncle Boone that way.

  “You hungry, bud?”

  “No.”

  “Thirsty?”

  “No.”

  “Want a snug?’

  “Yeah.”

  I reached down and lifted him into my arms. He curled up and laid his head on my shoulder, his little fingers fiddling with my beard. It had fascinated him since he was baby. He yawned hard and I yawned, too. I exaggerated it and he giggled, making me smile. Peg is the center of my world.

  Winnipeg Onslow Myer—what a handle and it was mine and his mother Daisy’s doing. I swallowed at the thought of her. I missed her so much sometimes. Daisy and I had dated back in high school. I’d known then I was bisexual and so had she, but we were young and in love. We got married then pregnant after about two years together. In fact, we knew exactly when Peg was conceived. We were at her mother’s house in Winnipeg Manitoba, Canada and I came up with the idea of naming him after where he was conceived. That’s how he got stuck with Winnipeg. Onslow was Daisy’s contribution. It was her father’s name.

  I had loved my Daisy. Independent and headstrong, she’d moved to Atlanta to go to college and ended up staying despite having all her family in Canada. She loved Atlanta though and, more importantly, she loved me. We’d lived in a small apartment right by Momma after we got married and for a brief time my life was perfect—until Daisy went home to Winnipeg for a visit in late January.

  Her sister, Pansy, had picked her up from the airport. It had been snowing hard and, as near as the police could figure out, an oncoming car lost control and slammed into them, head on, at over sixty miles per hour. Daisy and Pansy were killed instantly. I vaguely recall falling to my knees when her brother, Sheridan, called to break the news. My world collapsed around me—my Daisy was gone.

  The few weeks following the accident were a blur. I moped around the house after the funeral. Momma took care of Peg and gave me time to grieve… to a point. Five weeks passed and I hadn’t gone back to work. I’d gotten fired from my job and lost our apartment so I’d had to move in with Momma and Mawmaw. I drank too much and slept all day. In retrospect, Momma was way more patient than I would have been. Eventually, she’d had enough of my wallowing and let me know it. I remember being in my room one day and the door suddenly flung open, slamming against the wall, the sound like a gunshot reverberating in my ears. I was horribly hung over and I’d spluttered and cursed at her from my bed.

  “Get your ass outta bed, Avery Darwin Myer. Enough of the rollin’ ‘round in self-pity. I loved Daisy, too, with all my heart, but she’s gone now and her little boy misses her and his Daddy. Get your ass outta bed and take care of your son. He acts like he lost both parents. He’s confused and he needs you.”

  I’d opened my mouth to snap, but a sob had come out instead. All the hurt and grief spilled out of me and I’d bawled like a baby. Momma ran over and held me as I’d cried. Then more arms had wrapped around me and I’d opened my eyes to see Boone hugging me from one side and Cotton from the other, tears streaming down their faces. They’d rocked me and let me cry. I’d needed it. I’d needed them. Momma had let go at one point and left the three of us alone and Boone and Cotton had held me tight between them. It’s a multiples thing. We’d shared our grief.

  Eventually I’d stopped crying, blew my nose and stood up, with Boone and Cotton following behind me as I walked into Peg’s room. He’d been maybe two and a half at the time and sat on the floor playing with his blocks. I’d knelt down beside him and waited until he became aware of me.

  Peg had stood up and touched my face as if he wasn’t sure I was real and whispered, “Daddy?”

  I’d scooped him up into my arms and hugged him hard. “Yeah… Daddy’s back, buddy. Daddy’s back.” From that point on he and I were inseparable. Only work ever took me away from my boy.

  I was brought back to the here and now by a soft snuffle in my ear. Peg had fallen asleep again on my shoulder and I gently patted his leg to wake him. “Come on, Peg. Let’s get you in the shower.”

  From the age of three he’d started taking showers with me ‘cause I’d wanted to get him used to it. My mommy friends insisted on bathing their kids, which just grossed me out. I mean, come on, you’re sitting in ass water—nope, no baths for us—Peg and I showered. At first he’d followed me in and mimicked everything I did, but now he showered on his own.

  I turned on the taps and tested the temperature. When it was perfect, I tugged him to me, quickly stripping him down before nudging him under the water stream. That sure made his eyes pop open. I always set the temperature a touch cooler to shake the cobwebs from his little noggin’ and once I was sure he was fully awake, I turned the knob, warming the spray.

  “Okay, bud,” I instructed brusquely. “Hair, body then butt. Got it?”

  Childish giggles mixed with the noise of the spray and he called back, “Got it.”

  While he showered, I brushed my teeth, periodically checking on him and prompting him to hurry up. After ten minutes or so he hollered out, “All done!” That was my signal so I reached in and turned off the water.

  I grabbed a towel from the rack and dried him off. Once I was done, I wrapped the towel around his waist, just like mine, and motioned to the sink. Handing him his loaded toothbrush, I said sternly, “Brush. Don’t chew.”

  He scowled at me. He hated brushing his teeth. It was the only argument we got into in the morning. I stood over him like an overlord until he was done. Satisfied, I gave him the go ahead and he rinsed and spat into the sink. “Come here.” I wiped his mouth clean with his towel then turned my attention to his hair.

  I ran a comb through his damp chestnut-colored hair. I loved his hair. His mother had auburn hair and his had red highlights in it just like hers. His hair fell in lush curls around his face, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut it yet. I did let Mawmaw trim it into a boy’s style, but I refused to cut it short. The entire time I dealt with his unruly mop, Peg remained quiet.

  Hmm… something’s up.

  I touched his chin and he looked up at me, his gaze uncertain. “You excited about goin’ to school, Peg?” I repeated his name when he didn’t answer. “Peg?”

  “I won’t know anyone.”

  He was right. His friend Kyle was going to a different school because his parents’ address fell under another district.

  “You’ll make new friends,” I said brightly.

  “I want Kyle.”

  “Sorry, Peg.” I shook my head. “You know Kyle is goin’ to ‘nother school. But you’ll do fine. You’re a Myer and…?”r />
  He stood straighter. “Myer men don’t back down.” It was our mantra. He had picked it up from my brothers and me.

  “You got it!” I tickled him and his giggles quickly defused his anxiety. I slung his laughing body over my shoulder and carried him into my bedroom. I set him down on my bed then grabbed my favorite jeans and tugged them on my damp legs. I didn’t wear underwear. I was the only Myer who didn’t. I find them uncomfortable, always have. Finding a black T-shirt, I slipped it on and padded back to the bed. “Let’s get you dressed. Mawmaw doesn’t need to see your naked butt.”

  He thought that was hilarious and laughed all the way to his room. Six-year-olds love butt and fart humor. Short work later and he was in an Ink Masters T-shirt and jeans. What can I say; I want my boy looking cool. All dressed, he galloped down the hall toward the kitchen and screeched to a halt. He clambered onto one of the kitchen chairs and I pushed him closer to the table.

  “Waffles?”

  “Blueberry!”

  Ugh, when he got going, he was very cheerful and bright in the morning. Little shit.

  I popped a blueberry waffle in the toaster and set about getting the rest of his breakfast. I nuked some precooked bacon and tossed it on the plate. Then I poured a small glass of milk and set it in front of him. He grabbed the glass and dove in.

  “Don’t guzzle it, Peg,” I warned. “You’ll get too full.”

  He nodded and set it down after taking an extra sip. The waffle popped up and I plated it, slapped butter on it and covered it in syrup then put it on the table. Peg fell on it like a ravenous hyena. I bit back my smile, sat down with a fresh cup of coffee and simply watched him eat.

  He was at that cute age which, according to Momma, lasts ‘til about twelve. Then he’d become a teenager and it would be perfectly acceptable not to like him. He chattered between bites and my heart swelled. There was so much of Daisy in him. She was right there in his smile and how thoughtful he was. He was way more sensitive than I was at that age. I chocked that up to Daisy’s sweet nature.

  “Mornin’, Sugahbooger!” Mawmaw walked past and kissed the top of his head. He beamed up at her. Like the rest of us, he adored his Mawmaw. “First day of school? Ya’ll excited?”