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Courtland flits around the house, picking up toys and shoving them into the basket he holds against his hip. Sweat rolls down his back and makes his tank top stick to his skin, and he wishes their father would just splurge and get a better air conditioning unit already. Their current one seems to only work on its own arbitrary schedule.
“Colt, put that toy back, please, I’m trying to clean up here,” Court says, watching his little brother pick up a Transformers action figure from a different basket on the floor. “Please, Colt.”
“Listen to Cory!” Ryland shouts. “Or else we can’t go to the beach!” He shoots his twin a mean look from his spot on the couch, but it’s not very effective. He kind of just looks like an angry chipmunk.
“What if I want to take it with me?” Colt remarks, raising a taunting eyebrow. He may only be six years old, but he already has the attitude of a teenager. Court dreads the day he actually becomes one.
“Why would you want to take Optimus Prime to the beach?” Court asks. He walks up to Colt and holds out his hand, waiting. Reluctantly, Colt hands over the toy, then goes to sit next to his brother on the couch, pouting.
“I’m almost done, then we can go,” Court says, adding more toys to the basket. “I have to clean up before Dad gets home, you know that.”
“We know,” the twins sigh in unison. They slump against the couch, kicking their legs over the edge impatiently.
Court speedwalks to the twins’ room and sets down the basket of toys. He has to clean up before their dad gets home, or else there’ll be hell to pay. If he walks into the house, and the boys aren’t home but the house is a mess, Court would have to take a beating so hard he’d be out of commission for a week—it’s happened before. Only once. He’d learned his lesson.
“You two have your swim shirts on?” Court re-enters the living room, shrugging on a backpack full of water bottles, snacks, towels, and beach toys.
“Yes, Cory.”
“Sunscreen?”
“No, Cory.”
“Shoot, guys, you know you’re supposed to put it on half an hour before sun time,” Court scolds, although he knows the twins would never remember such a thing. “Well, that’s okay. I’ll put it on you when we get there. One time won’t hurt, right?” He removes one arm from his backpack and spins it around to dig his hand inside, making sure he packed the sunscreen. He nods to himself when he feels it, puts the backpack back on. “Let’s go.”
“Yay!” the twins shout, jumping up from the couch. “Beach time, beach time.” They scramble to the front door, pushing and shoving each other. Court shakes his head.
Court slips on his runners and helps the twins with their sandals, checking over their clothes to make sure everything is on properly.
“Wait,” he says, standing up straight and staring down at them where they sit on the stairs. “Hats, guys. Where are your hats?”
“Aw, Cory,” Colt moans, “we don’t like the hats!”
“That’s too bad, Colt, because the hats protect you from the sun.” He steps past the twins and ascends the stairs to return to their bedroom. “Stay there, I’ll get them.” He hears Colt whine but also thinks he hears Ryland say, quietly, “I like my hat…”
Court scans the twins’ room until his eyes land on their hats, clumsily shoved under Colt’s bed. He fishes them out and almost misses Ryland’s glasses sitting on his bedside table. He sighs and grabs those, too.
“Ry, you forgot your glasses,” he says when he’s standing in front of them again. He places Ryland’s glasses on his head, adjusting the eyeglass retainer behind on the back so they don’t slip off. Then, Court takes out Ryland’s hat—a yellow bucket hat with frog eyes on top—and plops it on his head, adjusting the chin strap so it stays on.
“God, you look cute, Ry,” he laughs, patting him on the head before moving to Colt and shoving the blue hat with a shark fin on top over his messy hair. He adjusts the chin strap, fighting against Colt’s impatient little hands.
“Okay, let’s go, boys.” Court turns to open the front door and ushers the twins outside. “Hold each other’s hand.” He locks the door, shoves his keys in his pocket, and turns to his brothers. “Now, my hand. Remember, always hold someone’s hand while we’re walking.” He holds out his hands and each twin takes one. Court shakes their arms gently to get their attention. “Okay? You hear me?”
“Yes, Cory.”
“Good. Now we can go to the beach.”
It’s an incredibly taxing process, taking the twins anywhere, but the beach is especially exhausting. They love the beach, all three of the boys, but they so rarely get to go. Their mother would take them occasionally, and Court cherishes those memories, but he’s worried the twins weren’t old enough to remember those trips. Their father never takes them anywhere.
They have to catch a number of buses to get to their destination—Crissy Field East Beach—and by the time they arrive, it’s almost noon. They’d left quite early, much earlier than any of them preferred to be awake, but Court had promised himself that he would try to take the twins to the beach at least once this summer. And today seemed like the perfect day to do just that.
“Okay, boys,” Court says as they stand at the last crosswalk before arriving at the beach, “we’re going to find a nice, shady spot, lay down our towels, and I’m going to put on your sunscreen.” Colt bounces up and down impatiently next to him, and Court grips their little hands tighter in his. He’s never worried about Ryland running off, but an excited child is an unpredictable child.
The lights change and Colt darts forward, dragging Court and Ryland behind him.
“Colton!” Court yelps, trying to tug him back. “Colt, relax, the beach isn’t going anywhere.” Colt’s a fast little bugger, and the light is shorter than it should be, so Court just quickly spins Ryland around so he can be picked up without letting go of his hand. Then Court can jog across the street with Colt, Ryland giggling in his arm and kicking out his legs.
Court stops once on the opposite sidewalk, putting down Ryland and pulling Colt to him. “Colt,” he says, voice stern, “you can’t be doing that when crossing the street. One of us could have fallen and gotten hurt.” He kneels down and tries to get Colt to look at him, but the only thing Colt can see is the sandy beach and the cold waves of San Francisco Bay.
“Sorry,” Colt says, although Court knows he doesn’t mean it. It’s fine, he reminds himself. There’s plenty of time to teach Colt how to behave in public.
“That’s okay,” Court says, standing up. He holds out his hands and each twin grabs one. “Now, let’s go find a nice spot.”
They take off and end up finding a spot half in the shade of a large tree, with a picnic table nearby.
“Sand or picnic table, boys?” Court asks.
“Table!” Ryland shouts at the same time that Colt runs to the sand and starts jumping up and down, pointing to the ground and grinning wildly.
“It seems I’m the deciding vote,” Court sighs.
“I want the table because the sand has spiders and I don’t like spiders,” Ryland says, nodding matter-of-factly. “I don’t like spiders.”
“If the sand has spiders the table probably does too!” Colt yells back. He throws his arms up in exasperation.
“Hm,” Court hums. “I’ll pull the table over here, and you can decide where you want to sit.” He walks to the table, and Ryland keeps a hand twisted in the back of his shirt. “You want to help me, Ry?”
“Okay.”
Colt runs over too, and the three of the push and pull the picnic table over the sand so it’s right where Colt had been jumping up and down. Court sets his backpack on top of the table and begins taking out supplies. He hands Ryland the towels, and Ryland dutifully—and clumsily—lays them out on the sand, standing back with his hands on his hips when he’s done, looking proud.
“Good job, Ry,” Court says, smiling down at his brother. “Come here, you two, up on the table.” He takes out the bottle of sunscreen as the boys clamber to sit on top of the table, fidgeting with impatience.
Court applies the sunscreen to Colt first, and then Ryland. He gets their ears, noses, and cheeks first, then moves onto their arms and legs, making sure to get up and under their swim clothes as well (“The sun can see through your clothes.” “Gross!”). After getting their chests and backs, he helps each of them off the table and sets them on the ground.
“Now remember,” Court begins, kneeling to be eye level with them, “stay where you can see me at all times. Do not go off and play with another kid without coming to ask me first, and if anyone you think is weird starts talking to you, yell out and I’ll come running. Stay close to each other, too, and don’t leave your brother behind, Colt.” He taps the edge of Colt’s hat, giving him a stern, but still playful, look. “Don’t go too far into the water, either.” Court straightens up and brushes the sand off his knees. “It’ll probably be cold anyway, it usually is.”
The twins stand there and stare up at him, waiting for him to continue. Their eyes are huge and glistening blue in the hot afternoon sun, and it causes a pang in Court’s chest. He misses his mom. He sees her every time he looks at his brothers, and he just hopes she’s proud of him.
“Okay,” Court sighs, “go play. Don’t forget I have drinks and snacks, and I have to reapply your sunscreen in two hours.” He holds up two fingers to emphasize the last point.
The twins are off and running down the beach long before Court finishes talking.
Court sits down at the picnic table and digs out the baggie of snacks he packed. He reaches in and grabs himself a granola bar and a strip of fruit leather; he hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, choosing instead to focus on getting the twins up, fed, and ready to head out. They’re always his main priority.
He watches the twins playing on the beach, eagerly digging a rather large hole with their hands, seemingly having forgotten that Court had packed some toy shovels. What is it with kids and digging holes at the beach?
Court finishes his snacks just as his brothers come sprinting back to him, panting. Ryland holds onto the back of Colt’s shirt, trying to slow Colt down so he can keep up. Colt seems oblivious to his brother’s grip.
“What’s up?” Court asks. “Having fun?”
“Why don’t you come in the water with us, Cory?” Colt asks, tilting his head to the side quizzically, and Court thinks he looks a bit like a curious puppy. Ryland lets go of Colt’s shirt and sits at the table, digging in the bag of snacks.
“Someone has to watch our stuff, Colt,” Court says. He smiles at his brother, and he hopes it doesn’t look too sad. He wishes he could just let loose and enjoy the beach like a normal fifteen-year-old, but nothing about Court’s life has been normal so far.
Colt pouts and kicks at the sand. It only lasts a second, though, then he’s perked back up and moving to rifle through the backpack. “You brought toys, right?”
“Of course I did.” Court gently moves Colt’s hands out of the way and reaches into the backpack for the bag of toys at the bottom: a large bucket, a couple smaller ones, and some variously sized shovels and rakes. He dumps them out on the table. “There ya go, buddy. Help yourself.”
“Awesome!” Colt immediately grabs the largest bucket, a slightly smaller one, and a shovel. “Are you coming, Ry?” he asks, turning to his twin. “I have an idea.”
Ryland looks up at his brother, tearing his attention away from the fruit leather in his hands. “Can I finish my snack first?”
Colt rolls his eyes. “Fine. Bring a shovel when you’re done.” And he’s off, but he doesn’t go very far this time, staying closer to the table than the water.
“You having fun, Ry?” Court asks, watching his little brother as he snacks.
“Mhmm!” Ryland hums. He swallows his food. “Lots of fun, thanks Cory. This is great.” He flashes a big smile before sliding off the bench and running after Colt. He gets halfway there before turning back to grab a shovel. “Forgot something.” He returns to his brother.
The twins work on digging their second hole, but this one is longer than it is deep, and now Court’s curious. It looks like someone could lie down in it, or at least sit on the edge and extend their legs, like an extra-small wading pool if it had water in it.
As if in sync with Court’s thoughts, Colt jumps up and exclaims, “Keep digging, Ry, I’m gonna go get the water now!” He picks up his two buckets and runs across the beach, stumbling a bit over the loose sand.
Court switches his attention between his brothers, keeping an eye on each of them while they complete their individual missions. He watches Colt dunk the big bucket into the water, holding it in place while it fills up. Once the big one is full, he takes the smaller bucket, fills it with water, and places it inside the big one. Then he lifts the bucket out of the water, struggling to hold up the weight of it, and makes his way back to Ryland.
“Double the water!” Colt shouts as he gets back to Ryland. “Rylie, look, I got double the water, see?” He pulls the small bucket out and pours it into the hole, and then tips over the big bucket, which has significantly less water in it than it could have.
Ryland is silent as he watches his brother, momentarily halting his digging.
“You’re stupid,” is all Ryland says. He goes back to the hole, packing sand around the edges so the water doesn’t flow out.
Colt stands still in front of his brother, and Court can see him shaking slightly. He’s about to get up to intervene when Colt reaches down and grabs a clump of wet sand, balls it up between his hands, and tosses it at his brother, hitting him square on top of the head. Without even looking up, Ryland starts wailing, and then Court is practically flying to his brothers to stop Colt from throwing another ball of sand.
“Hey, Colt, hey,” Court says, grabbing his wrist gently. “No throwing sand, Colt. It’s not nice.”
“He called me stupid!” Colt shouts, stomping his foot. “I’m not stupid.” His bottom lip quivers slightly and his blue eyes are wet.
“I know, I know.” Court runs a hand up and down Colt’s back. “Go sit at the table, okay? We’ll be there in a second.” He nudges his brother in the direction of the table, and Colt begrudgingly listens.
Ryland is still crying, and Court scoops him up into his arms. “It’s okay, Ry,” he says softly. He reaches up and brushes the sand off Ryland’s hat, careful not to let any get in his eyes. “Let’s go sit and talk this out, okay?” Ryland sniffles, but nods.
Court sets Ryland down on top of the table, and wordlessly picks up Colt to sit them side-by-side. Court sits down on the bench and faces them, keeping his body between them to avoid any close-quarters squabbling.
“Now, what happened?” Court asks. “Colt?”
“Rylie called me stupid,” Colt repeats, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t like when he calls me stupid.”
“That’s understandable. Nobody likes to be called stupid.” Court turns to Ryland. “Ry? Why did you call Colt stupid?”
“There’s no such thing as double the water!” Ryland pipes up. “That doesn’t even make sense.” He rolls his eyes, but the sass is downplayed by the snot dripping from his nose.
Court has to hold back a laugh. Times like these he’s reminded just how smart Ryland is for his age. Even Court had taken a moment to realize what was flawed about Colt’s “double the water” plan, but it seems Ryland caught on right away. He probably could have pointed it out better, though.
“Ry, do you think there’s a better way you could have told Colt his plan wouldn’t work?” Court prods. He’s not sure prompting Ryland like this will work, but he gives it a shot anyway. He wants the twins to be able to identify these kinds of things on their own, so they have the tools to work through their disagreements when he’s not there. They’re still so young, he just hopes they catch on quickly.
Ryland shrugs and mumbles something, looking down at his lap. Court reaches up and taps Ryland on the chin, not forcing his gaze but just letting him know that Court would like to see his face while he talks. It takes a moment, but then Ryland raises his head and says quietly, “I guess I could show him why it doesn’t work.”
Court nods. “Yeah, exactly. Good job, Ry.” He turns to Colt, who’s glaring a bit at Ryland, but he drops it once Court’s attention is on him. “Colt? Could you have responded differently to being called stupid?”
“No!” Colt immediately shouts. “It’s not nice to call me stupid!” He crosses his arms and turns his meanest glare onto Court. Again, something like an angry chipmunk.
Court sighs. “How would you feel if Ryland threw wet sand at your head? Do you think it would feel nice? Or would it feel bad?”
Colt holds the glare for a few more seconds before dropping his head and mumbling, “Bad.”
“I think it would feel bad too,” Court agrees. He takes one of his brothers’ hands in each of his own. “Listen, boys,” he says, ducking his head to meet their eyes, “you two are the most important people in each other’s lives. You came into this world together, which means you were meant to live through it together, and you can’t let little things like some incorrect math tear you apart.” It’s cheesy as all get-out, but it’s something their mom would have said. She probably would have worded it better, though.
Ryland reaches out his free hand and puts it on top of Colt’s lying flat against the table. “I’m sorry I called you stupid, Colty,” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes with his other sleeve. “You’re not stupid.” He hiccups softly.
Colt continues to stare down at his lap, face red and scrunched up in anger. It softens after another moment, though, and then he says, “Thanks. I’m sorry I threw sand at your head.”
“Thanks.” Ryland pats Colt’s hand and pulls it away, but Colt grabs it back and holds onto Ryland’s fingers.
Court just gazes at his brothers and sighs, his heart full and broken at the same time. They never cease to amaze him, only six years old and already so grown. He’s so ridiculously proud of them, like they’re his own children, and they might as well be, since he spends most of his time parenting them. It also makes his heart ache, though, because he knows they deserve a more carefree childhood, one without all the terror and heartbreak they’ve already had to endure. They can act so mature sometimes, but Court wishes they didn’t have to. He hopes they can all survive another three years, and then Court will be eighteen and he can fight for custody of his brothers and take them far, far away from their father, and they can have at least part of a normal and safe childhood.
“Thank you for apologizing to each other without me having to make you,” Court says. “I’m proud of both of you.” He kisses each of his brothers on the top of the head then stands up from the table. “Now, why don’t you show me what you’ve been building over here?”
Colt jumps down off the table. “Yes!” he shouts. “Come on, Rylie!” He grabs Ryland’s hand and helps him down off the table, then they both run back to the hole they’d been digging and filling with water.
“Sit,” Ryland says quietly. “Sit right here, Cory.” He pats a small mound of sand at one end of the shallow pool, and Court does as he’s told.
“Put your legs in,” Colt instructs. “Like this!” He sits adjacent to Court and extends his legs into the hole. The scant water inside barely covers anything, but Court thinks he has the idea. He spreads his legs out in front of him, and Ryland does the same. Colt and Ryland move their legs to sit on top of Court’s instead.
“Since you can’t leave our stuff and play with us in the water,” Colt begins, looking at Court, “I thought I’d bring you the water.” He grins, absolutely beaming, and Court feels like he could cry.
“Oh, Colt.” Court reaches out a hand and rubs the top of Colt’s head. “That’s so sweet of you, thank you.”
Court sits with his legs in the shallow water for a bit while the twins play in the sand next to him. Colt begins to bury Court’s legs and when Court looks around to find Ryland, panicking for a second, he sees him curled up on the towels and beginning to fall asleep.
“Are you ready to go, Colt?” Court asks as his brother piles more sand on his legs. “I think Ry’s ready to go.”
Colt sits back and crouches, sighing much too wearily for his age. “Fine,” he mumbles. He knows there’s no point in fighting, especially when Ryland’s already half-asleep. As wild as he can be, Colt will always listen to Court when he has to.
“Can you pack up the toys, please? I’ll gather your brother.” Court shifts his legs to break them free of the sand, feeling his knees crack as he bends them for the first time in about an hour. “And try to shake the sand off them before packing them away, Colt.”
Court hauls himself to his feet and stretches, shakes his legs out and walks back to the picnic table. He picks up the towels that Ryland isn’t currently occupying, rolls them up, and puts them in the backpack. Colt grabs himself a granola bar and a water bottle before stuffing the rest back into the bag. Court puts on the backpack and turns back to Ryland.
“Colt, make sure you’re always holding onto either me or the backpack,” Court reminds him. “I’m going to carry your brother.”
“Aw man,” Colt whines, but he grabs hold of a backpack strap. “Why can’t I be carried for once?”
“You have too much energy, that’s why,” Court laughs. He picks up Ryland under the armpits, towel dangling off Ryland like a cape, and hoists him up, grunting under the weight; he keeps forgetting how big his brothers are getting to be. Ryland instinctively wraps his arms around Court’s neck and rests his head on Court’s shoulder, still snoozing. Ryland wraps his arms around Court’s waist, and Court holds him with one arm under his butt for support. He holds out his free hand for Colt, who grips it tightly.
“Let’s go home, buddy.”
The brothers arrive home around their regular dinner time, and Court is relieved to see their father hasn’t come home yet. Court’s not sure where he is, if he’s at work or with friends or maybe he even left town, but he doesn’t really care that much. He knows how to take care of his brothers. They’ll be fine without him.
“Colt, take off your beach clothes and leave them in the bathtub, please,” Court says as he toes off his runners. “And then put on some clean clothes.” For most kids, that last part might not be necessary, but for Colt… Well, he’s a pretty rambunctious kid. It’s just a good thing they never have company.
Court climbs the stairs and goes to lay down Ryland on the couch. He stirs as Court’s taking off his sandals.
“Hey, bud,” Court says softly. “We’re home now. I’m going to make dinner in a bit. What would you like?”
“Mac and cheese and hotdogs!” Colt shouts, running back into the living room in just his underwear. “Please?” he adds in his normal voice.
Court laughs. “Okay. But you need to get dressed first.” He turns back to Ryland, who just shrugs and rolls his eyes.
“I will when it’s ready!” And with that, Colt runs back to their room, arms held high in defiance.
Court sends Ryland off to get changed and then begins preparing dinner. Mac and cheese with hotdogs is one of the few things Colt will eat without putting up a fight, so it’s a regular in their house, but Court would be lying if he didn’t say he wishes Colt would expand his six-year-old palate more like Ryland, who will eat just about anything. Oh well, there’s still time, he figures.
After dinner, Court coaxes the boys into the bath for a quick wash, and they begrudgingly crawl in together. He knows they’re getting a little old to keep bathing them at the same time, but it just makes things so, so much easier.
“Did you two have fun today?” Court asks as he rinses Ryland’s hair, making sure to shield his eyes from the soapy water.
“Yes,” they say at the same time. They sit at opposite ends of the tub, and Colt’s playing with his Optimus Prime action figure, just waiting for Court to finish up with Ryland so they can get out, get into their pajamas, and get ready for bed.
“That’s good.” Court pushes Ryland’s wet bangs out of his eyes. “I’ll try to get us out more this summer. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds great, Cory,” Ryland says, spitting a bit of bath water out of his mouth. He smiles up at his older brother.
Court helps each boy out of the tub, dries them off, and then helps them get into their pajamas: Mario shorts and top for Colt, and a space-themed set for Ryland. He lets them run off and play for a bit while he cleans up the mess in the bathroom.
Not much later, Court’s finished cleaning up and sets off to find the boys for bedtime. He searches upstairs and downstairs (even though they never go downstairs, that’s their dad’s personal space), and they’re nowhere to be found. He checks his own bedroom first, knowing that they like to curl up in his bed sometimes, but then he peeks into their room and finds them snuggled together in Colt’s bed, already asleep. The sight makes Court’s heart ache, again.
Ryland’s glasses are askew on his head as Colt holds him around the shoulders, pressing his cheek to Ryland’s temple. Ryland’s curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around Colt’s chest, and his mouth hangs open slightly. You would never be able to tell that they had been fighting earlier in the day.
Court steps into the room and stands over them for a moment, deciding if he should gently rearrange their bodies so they don’t wake up sore and complaining. He carefully removes Ryland’s glasses and sets them on the bedside table, then tries to nudge them into more comfortable positions, but Colt just tightens his arms around Ryland’s shoulders and crinkles his nose in protest. Court sighs, resigned, and covers them up with the blanket before turning out the light and leaving the room, letting the door sit slightly ajar.
Court gets into his own bed, too tired to wash the day off himself like he had his brothers. He decides to just wake up extra early to have a morning shower before getting the twins up for the day. He has work tomorrow, but he can’t go if their dad doesn’t come home to be there with the twins, and Court is torn between hoping he comes home and hoping they never see him again.
Court falls asleep with his arm hanging off the bed and his bedside lamp still on.