My father got nose-to-nose with Johnny. “This is my house, sonny boy, and I make the rules. One, you don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. B, you don’t talk smack about my underwear. And four, you keep your thieving mitts off my Polly.”

“Can I get anybody a drink?” I tried. “Wine? Beer? Tea?”

My father threw the first punch. I pulled Polly out of the way. Johnny tackled my father. A chair went over, then thudded along as they dragged it with them.

“Stop,” Polly yelled, like that was going to work.

“Anything I can do to help?” Galen said.

“Sure,” I said. “Go for it.”

Galen stood, took off the hipster leather jacket he was still wearing, held it out to Polly.

“Ha,” Polly said. “Like that’s ever going to happen again.”

Galen shrugged, put his jacket on the back of his chair. He leaned over my dad and Johnny, looking for a place to get a handhold.

My father grabbed Galen around the ankles, yanked.

Galen fell on top of my father and Johnny. Johnny grabbed Galen around the neck.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” I said.

We heard a knock on the kitchen door.

“Sorry to be so early,” Ethan said as he walked in. “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

Ethan noticed the pig pile, recognized Galen.

“Get off them, you piece of crap,” Ethan yelled as he reached for Galen.

“I don’t like the cut of your jib,” my father said. He grabbed Ethan’s legs and pulled.

Polly’s baby’s three wannabe fathers, plus the real one, rolled around on the speckled linoleum floor like a litter of supersized puppies. One of Galen’s shoes went flying across the kitchen. It was a beautiful shoe with a red lacquered sole. Even I could tell it was expensive.

“Christian Louboutin,” Polly whispered. “I mean, he’s always late with his child support payments, but he buys freakin’ designer shoes?”

We jumped back as the clump of bodies rolled in our direction. There weren’t a lot of punches flying, maybe because it was hard to tell whose fists belonged to whom in such close quarters. I heard the sound of fabric ripping.

“Thoughts?” Polly said.

“I have to warn you,” I said. “Most of our holidays end up this way.”

Polly shrugged. “Men. You can’t live with ’em, and you keep forgetting to live without ’em.”

We heard work boots clomping down the center staircase. Horatio bolted into the kitchen, barking ferociously and nipping at Galen’s stockinged foot. Dogs can always tell the good guys from the bad guys.

“Hey,” Galen yelled. “Get that ferocious mutt away from me.”

“Did you hear that, big guy?” I said to Horatio. “He called you ferocious.”

John and Joe were right behind Horatio.

Joe waved his nail gun. “What the hell kind of family did I marry into?”