The kitchen where I burned the Thanksgiving turkey on purpose one year, with no thought to potentially burning down the house. Everyone had to eat edamame. I think Otter almost cried. I counted it as a win. I might have been a slightly manipulative little shit when I was younger.

The hallway around the corner where I found Dominic and Stacey. I look away.

Up the stairs and there’s an open door that leads to my room. Albert Einstein sticks his tongue out at me, though the edges of his poster are now curled. A battered copy of Brave New World sits on a shelf next to a shell I picked up the day we let Mrs. Paquinn go into the ocean.

A shirt hangs on the wall, put there when I became too big for it. MEAT ISN’T NEAT, it says.

Pictures in mismatched frames are scattered on the desk. I don’t know why I left them behind. I guess I thought I’d always be back sooner than I was.

I’m one, and Bear holds me in his arms, his forehead against mine. I know who took the picture, but she doesn’t deserve my thoughts.

I’m five, and I’m sitting on Bear’s shoulders at the beach, laughing. I don’t remember about what. It doesn’t matter because I was with my big brother.

I’ve just turned nine, and I’m bouncing in a jumping castle at a birthday party I didn’t know was going to happen. I thought then that it was the best day of my life.

I’m nine, and I’m standing with Otter in front of the Green Monstrosity, both of us covered in dirt and sweat. Otter’s arm is around my shoulder as I hug his leg.

I’m ten, and Dominic and I are in the backyard, our foreheads together as we conspire. Over what, I can’t remember.

I’m twelve, and Dominic and I are camping with Bear and Otter. He and I are walking side by side, backpacks hanging off our shoulders. I’m half his height, and for every step he took, I had to take three to catch up.

I’m thirteen, and there’s Dominic.

I’m fourteen, and he’s by my side.

I’m… I don’t know. I’m some random age and Dominic is there. He’s always there.

The last picture is just him, his first day in uniform with the Seafare Police Department. The uniform fit him well. I remember thinking with a dark sense of wonder just how handsome he looked, just how wonderful he was. How big his arms looked. How strong his thighs were.

“Kid?” Creed calls from up the stairs. “You hungry?”

I allow myself to touch the picture just once. It seems only fair.

IT DOESN’T take very long before Corey’s prediction of our patented brand of what-the-fuckery to raise its Hydra-like head. I really don’t think it’s a question of if anymore, but more when. There’s no way you can put this family together in a room without all our crazy coming out to play.