nothing left to cut off!â
âNobodyâs getting gangrene,â I declare to Jackie with the supreme confidence of a man about to succumb to gangrene.
âItâs just nature, is all Iâm saying,â Mom continues. âWhen the big, stupid Tyrannosaurus rex âor two of themâknock over a thicket of trees, or eat the helpless baby dinosaur, you donât get mad at them. Thatâs what they do! Theyâre not acting with malice or anger, or even forethought. Itâs simply the act of a dumb, unthinking creature. So when we expect them to behave differently, weâre disappointed. And that makes us unhappy.â
Jackie stabs at her food.
âOr angry. The key to not being those things is to manage expectations and to accept the natural limitations of things. Pass the potatoes.â
â How could you let him get that? â Jackie finally shouts at Steve.
âWhoa! Iâm not the boss of him.â
â And who does that? â Jackie shrieks. âWho would tattoo a ⦠a ⦠a stump?â
âAre you saying people with stumps donât have the same rights as non-stumpy people?â I object. âThat doesnât seem fair.â
âShut up! Isnât it illegal to give a drunk person a tattoo?â
âYou canât tell me to shut up and keep asking questions.â
âBe nice to your brother, heâs been through a lot,â Mom mediates. âAlso, heâs stupid.â
âThanks, Mom.â
âHave some more broccoli. Itâs a superfood, good for your tiny brain.â
I accept the bowl and immediately pass it to Steve.
âI wish I could shed some light on this, but I remember nothing after leaving the bar,â I strain to recall. âActually, I donât remember leaving the bar either.â
âGreat!â Jackie enthuses. âWe can add alcohol blackouts to your litany of recent problems.â
âOr you can stop keeping score. No one asked you to come here.â
What follows isnât the good kind of silenceâa quiet, peaceful respiteâbut the kind that immediately precedes explosive confrontation or foreshadows lifelong estrangement. As if sensing this, Dad attempts to redirect Jackieâs fire to a different target.
âWho drove last night?â he asks no one in particular. âWeber?â
âI did,â Steve boasts.
Jackieâs head swivels, an angry tank turret. âReally.â
âWhoa, I wasnât near as fucked up as those two. I remember everything.â
âBring me up to speed,â I urge him. âThereâs not enough liquor under Dadâs sink to make me want a tattoo. What the hell happened?â
âYou werenât going to, but then the tattoo artist started talking about tribal tattoos and manhood rituals and how some cultures use them to mark life changes, and some other shit. And then you both creamed your jeans over this Sunny Lee chick.â
â We did? â
âJesus God,â Dad exhales.
âWhoâs Sunny Lee?â Mom perks up, genuinely interested.
â What? â Jackie shrieks. âI went to school with her. What does she have to do with anything?â
âYou went to school with Sunny Lee?â Iâm stunned.
âThe tattoo artist was a big fan of this Sunny Side Up, or whatever the fuck it is,â Steve remembers perfectly. âYou were like a couple of girls sharing lipstick. Then we all did shots, and he got to work. You went first.â
âItâs called The Sunny Side .â
âWhatever,â Steve says, bored now.
âSheâs on the radio,â Dad explains to Jackie. âWeird facts, science, history, that kind of thing.â
âIâm in love with her,â I announce.
âDo you even know her?â
âNo! But sheâs your friend; you can introduce me.â
âI havenât seen her in twenty years! She