The Muse's Undoing

“I’m not tired,” he says immediately.

Fischer buries his face in Vaughn’s neck and does something that makes the kid squeal with uncontrollable giggles, which in turn, makes me smile. Breathless, Vaughn wiggles out of his dad’s arms and stands facing the couch, a mischievous gleam in his eyes that makes me nervous.

He pounces, his hands out like he means to tickle Fischer, but I hear the distinct sound of an elbow to the crotch. I laugh and try to grab my nephew, but he only turns his spaz on me. While Fischer recovers, I manhandle the six-year old, eventually getting him on his back and tickling him until his lips are turning blue with gasping laughter.

“Uncle!” he screams.

“That’s me,” I say, as relentless as he is.

“I—mean—Uncle!”

“Is someone calling my name?”

“Matty!” he screams.

I let up and get him into a straitjacket hold, pulling him onto my lap and letting us both catch our breath. Fischer has bounced back and he’s standing above us now, looking sternly at his son. “You are a menace.”

“I got you good, though,” he says.

I snort a laugh as Vaughn tries to get out of the impossible restraint I have him in.

“Thirty more minutes,” Fischer says.

I give him a disapproving look. “He gets his way?”

“Like he said—he got me good. What’s the plan?” he asks Vaughn.

“Ice cream.”

“No go.” Fischer shakes his head.

“Pillow fight.”

“Deal.”

Jesus. If someone doesn’t wind up with another concussion, I’m gonna buy a lottery ticket on my way home.

The pillow fight is brutal. I have to move the coffee table so Vaughn can’t dive bomb us from it, but we’re all on the floor by the time it’s over something like ten minutes later when Vaughn starts losing some steam. Since I’m already down, I give him a few airplane rides on my extended legs while Fischer leans back on the couch and watches with a lopsided grin.

“Can you do this, Dad?”

“Probably not,” he says, “but I can arm wrestle.”

“How do you do that?” Vaughn asks as I lower him to the floor.

“Matty and I can show you.”

I frown at him. “Maybe a thumb war is fairer.”

“How’s he gonna get strong if he’s never challenged,” Fischer says. “Pull the table back over.”

I do, and Vaughn climbs onto it, sitting on his knees closer to his dad while I flex the fingers on my right hand. I look up at Vaughn. “Your dad’s already cheating,” I tell him. “He knows I’m left handed.”

“I can switch,” Fischer says.

“No—I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your kid.”

He smirks, and I wish I didn’t find that so fucking sexy—that and his forearm as he pushes up his sleeve to expose it. I take my position, already feeling the disadvantage as Fischer explains the rules.