blondie [muke af]

twenty nine

twenty nine

Michael covered his laugh with his hand as he continued flipping through photo albums with Ms. Hemmings. He was laid out on his stomach, his feet kicking back and forth. "Luke, oh, my God, look at your lil' pale bottom," he said with a chuckle. He pointed to a photos of naked three-year-old Luke.

"I was three!" He defended, opening his eyes to look over at the duo. A headache was ringing over him as he laid on the opposite couch, his eyes closed shut as he tried to settle his breathing.

"That was at Ben's sixth birthday party," Mama Hemmings said, "He ran around like that for a good twenty minutes before we stopped him."

Michael was laughing loudly, an open-mouthed smile etched on his face, "Amazing." He turned the page, more photos of blonde boy growing up in every pocket of the page.

"That's when we first moved to New York, he was so confused," she said, pointing a photo of three-year-old Luke looking at his fingers looking beyond just confused.

Luke was mortified as they continued to flip through pages and pages of his childhood. He raised the blanket around him more towards his shoulders as he flipped onto his stomach, his right arm hanging over the edge. It was weird for him to think that in only a matter of weeks, he wouldn't be able to lay on his stomach without fear of crushing his child.

"About five more minutes for the burgers," Mr. Hemmings walked in, sweat etched over his retreating hair line.

Florida was hot, a good ninety-five degrees. Michael was already sunburnt from his five minutes and a half outside.

Luke's father sat on the couch, a cold soda in his hands. He placed his open hand on Luke's leg, asking if he felt alright.

Blondie nodded slowly, trying not to trigger the migraine approaching.

"This is my favorite photos of him, ever," Michael said, pulling out the 4 x 6 photograph of Luke in an over-sized parka. His cheeks were red, the smile on his mouth missing his two front teeth.

"Oh geez, Andy, look at him," Ms. Hemmings called her husband, pointing at the photo, "Do you remember that coat? It was a hammy-down from one of the older two."

"You're the one who put it on me," Luke tried defending himself once more, opening his eyes to look at elementary aged him in a large, blue coat. Mittens were on his tiny hands, snow pants dragging on their ice-covered driveway.

"You were the cutest thing in the entire world," Mike cooed. "Can I keep this?"

She nodded, continuing to flip through pages of Luke playing with legos and various birthday parties. "Remember when you built that Lego castle, and then Jack knocked it down? You cried for days."

Luke could feel his cheeks turning red with embarrassment of the memories. "I worked hard on that."

"I did that stuff to Cy when he was growing up, I still feel guilty," Mike admitted. "Where is he?" Michael suddenly realized his brother was not in the living room with them. He figured the fifteen-year-old was still mad at him for the morning quickie between Mike and Luke.

"I think he's in the backyard, by the pool," Mr. Hemmings answered.

"Cy's outside?" Mike furrowed his eyebrows, "Holy shit, this is a new one."

"Don't be mean," Luke groaned, rolling over once again except to lay on his back instead.

Michael stood up. "I'm gonna go check up on him but be back to look at more baby photos in a minute." He smiled, walking out of the living room.

Ms. Hemmings didn't speak until she heard the sliding glass door open and close, "I'm so in love with your fiancé."

"Me too," Luke laughed. He quickly cringing as the pressure increased against his head.

"Everything he says and does is so amazing."

"Are you fangirling about my partner?" Luke asked, starting to sit up on the couch. His feet were aching, something he didn't notice until he tried to stand up.

"Maybe a little."

Michael sat on the end of the lawn chair, moving seat's feet to the side. "Are you alright?"

Cy nodded, keeping his eyes closed. He was only in a pair of shorts, his tee shirt wrapped on the back of the chair. "Collecting the sunshine."

Mike laughed, running his hands over his own basketball shorts. "You've been out here for awhile, I was worried."

"Don't worry so much, you're killing my vibe," Cyril said with a completely straight face. He brushed a loose strand of hair that was falling out of his bandana tied tightly to his forehead.

Michael let out a bellowing laughter, "I'm trying to have a nice conversation with my brother, you fucker."

"That doesn't sound like a nice conversation," he responded, finally opening his eyes. The sun almost blinded him as he curled up his legs underneath him, reaching behind him to put on his shirt.

"So annoying," Mike sighed. "Dinner is ready in a few, go make yourself hot again."

"I'm uncomfortable with my brother calling me hot." Cy stood up, walking past Michael.

Mike rolled his eyes.

The Hemmings started placing plates outside on their garden table as he stood up, ready for the rest of the night.