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mom’s physical needs, and once a week there was a house cleaner over, but as the only child, he was left in charge of keeping the house running smoothly. It was a lot of responsibility looking after a mom with MS, but he handled it without complaining. He even made his own spending money working at Splatterfest whenever he could. Dad was flexible with his hours. Mom helped by sending over food. Indie used to shovel the walks and his driveway in the winter and mow the lawn in the summer time. Now James did that.
    â€œHow come Kya’s not here?” Mom asked as she dug her fork into some eggs. Indie dished her a couple of slices of buttered Texas toast.
    I shrugged, pretending not to be worried. “She said she had plans.”
    â€œProbably with that boy who was over last night.” Indie shoved an entire piece of bacon in his mouth.
    I glared at him. “Just to watch a movie. And she kicked him out early, before the movie even ended.” I glanced at Dad, but he flipped another pancake and didn’t say anything.
    â€œThat girl has had way too many boyfriends.” Indie tossed me a piece of toast but completely missed my plate.
    â€œShe doesn’t take them seriously.” I grabbed the toast from the table and put it next to my eggs. “Besides, aren’t you the guy who majors in changing girlfriends?” He’d had a serious girlfriend for a couple of years, Shari, but since they broke up, there’d been a revolving door of girls. Even though Indie was five years older than I was and had finished college, he lived at home and worked at Splatterfest while working toward becoming a cop.
    Mom did his laundry, bought his underwear, and let him bring girls home for free dinner dates. There was no debating that what she lacked in parental warm fuzzies, she made up for in physical nurturing.
    â€œKya never takes anything seriously,” James mumbled. “Except perhaps a single-minded pursuit of average.” He shoved back an entire mouthful of eggs and made a face as I grabbed the bottle of ketchup and squeezed an inch-thick layer on top of my eggs. “What’s not average is the amount of ketchup your family consumes in a month,” he said.
    â€œWhat can we say? We like to support tomato farmers. Anyhow, stop talking about Kya when she’s not here to defend herself,” I said.
    â€œHow about you?” Indie slid behind a chair, grabbed the ketchup bottle from me, and squirted a high pile on his plate. “We’ve never seen you with a boy unless you have a gun in your hand. Other than James. And he doesn’t count. Maybe you need lessons on how to be less revolting to the opposite sex. First step, stop shooting them all the time.”
    James squinted at him as he finished chewing. “I count. And unlike you, I can count without using my fingers. You should try it sometime. Thinking, I mean.”
    â€œJames, you seriously need to get laid,” Indie said, and shoved a huge mouthful of food in his yap.
    James’s ears and face turned a shade to match the contents of our Heinz bottle.
    â€œIndie. He’s seventeen years old. He does not need to get laid,” my mom interrupted. “Good lord, how did I raise such foul-mouthed children?” She took the ketchup bottle to layer her own eggs in a sea of red.
    â€œUm, by being a foul-mouthed parent?” Indie shot back.
    â€œChild. Not children. I do not have a potty mouth.” I mouthed a swear word at him as Dad approached the table with a plateful of finished pancakes and he saw.
    â€œThe boy speaks the truth,” Dad said as he flipped a monkey.
    Mom directed her dirty look at him.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mom. We love you, despite your potty mouth.” Indie grinned at her.
    â€œYou sow what you create,” Dad said to Mom as he placed pancakes in the middle of the table.
    â€œAsshole,” she said back.
    â€œFamily time. No fighting,” I reminded