Baby Floyd was sick. Very sick.
Once they'd arrived at her pod Grandma Rosiepuff sat everyone on the couch and took a long, measured breath.
John Dory listened as she explained to them that baby Floyd hadn't been moving much inside the egg as he grew. She said that while it was not entirely unheard of to have a baby that didn't shift positions often, Floyd hadn't so much as rocked his egg in the past week, and that such stillness was cause for concern. That morning however, the morning he was born, the egg had begun to grow cold.
When an egg lost all of its heat, Grandma explained, it meant that the baby inside had passed away.
When mom first noticed the drop in temperature she'd sent dad to fetch Grandma Rosiepuff. Grandma, whose grand-niece, a word John Dory had never heard before, had lost two babies while still in the egg, had come running. Doing her best Grandma tried everything she could think of, everything she had tried in the past, and more, to help.
However, when all of their attemps to rewarm the egg failed, it left them with a choice: to allow whatever was going to happen, to happen, or, force the hatch and hope that love, nourishment, and hot water bottles would be enough to sustain Floyd's fragile little life.
They'd chosen the later, and very carefully broke and picked away at the shell, until the tiny baby was born. Now, all they had left to do was love him, and give him every opportunity they could to flourish, and grow.
John Dory sat staring grimly at the wall, absorbing all the information that Grandma Rosiepuff had given him, as she offered to lead them in prayer. Their parents didn't pray, and John Dory wasn't sure who this "Loving Creator" was, but praying seemed important to Grandma, and made her feel better. So, even if he couldn't shake himself from his brooding, or offer any sort of attention to the words she was saying, John Dory scooted a little closer to his brothers who clasped their hands together and bowed their heads.
John Dory meanwhile couldn't shake the disturbing mental imagery that had taken hold of his mind. Rubbing sweaty palms on the couch he pictured the egg, so fragile, so precious, with its tiny tuft of pink hair peeking out of the top. It made him nauseous to imagine someone, anyone, doing harm to the egg. But the idea that they'd cracked it, opened it up and pulled the baby, baby Floyd, out into a world he wasn't ready for? It made him absolutely sick to think about.
Then, John Dory pictured the use of a hammer, and shuddered. The little boy knew that Grandma wouldn't lie to him, and if she'd said it was necessary to break the egg and force the hatch, then he believed her. It just didn't mean he had to like it.
When the others had finished what they were doing when, in a manner typical of him, Spruce began to rattle off an endless slew of anxiety ridden questions.
"Grandma, is baby Floyd gonna be alright?" he asked, getting up to follow her as she set about making a light snack for the boys, and tea for herself.
"I don't know, sugar plum." Grandma said truthfully as she started making sandwiches.
"Can he go back in the egg?" he asked, tail swinging from side to side in sharp, aggravated movements.
"No, he can't." she shook her head.
"Why not?" Spruce pressed.
"He just can't, the egg is broken."
"But he's too little." Spruce stated before diving back into his inquisition. "When will he get better?"
"I don't know."
"When can I hold him?"
"I don't know."
"Why can't-"
"Sweet molasses on a stick!" Grandma snapped gripping the counter for support, her cheeks deepening with upset.
The room froze over with a tension filled chill. Grandma never, ever got angry.
The woman took another deep breath before glancing down at Spruce, then the other two.
"All of this is really, really scary huh?" she asked.
They all nodded.
"How about we make this a picnic, and you boys can get out as much energy and worry as you can on the playground?" she asked as her eyes started misting up.
They thought about the offer for a long minute.
Spruce was nervous and edgy, longing for reassurance, but reluctantly he agreed. Clay who didn't quite seem to grasp the situation or its dire implications was still sulking from being yelled at during their song. Eventually he nodded his agreement as well. This just left John Dory who didn't feel like he was all the way there, and truthfully, he wasn't. His mind was with his baby brother, his heart willed him strength, and his soul wished Baby Floyd's tiny lungs the air he struggled for.
Only John Dory's body was present inside Grandma Rosiepuff's pod, and that he managed to puppet into a half-hearted thumbs up.
"Alright." Grandma sighed with finality. "Spruce, you help me make the sandwiches, John Dory, gather up some toys, and Clay," she said with a slightly firmer tone. "Sweet pea, go potty before we leave."
With that they set work.
The next morning mom came over, while dad stayed with Floyd. She seemed a little nervous, and apprehensive to be there, or, more accurately to be away from Baby Floyd. She smiled, made conversation with the boys, and read to them a few books before leaving again.
It would have been a treasured moment for John Dory, as it had been for the other two, if not for his overhearing the tearful relief in mom's voice when she whispered to Grandma that Floyd had made it through the night.
It hadn't even occurred to John Dory that death could be lingering so near. The eight year old knew that Baby Floyd was too early, too small, and too fragile, that was plain to see, but dying? That was a bitter truth that had slipped past him as a possibility.
He'd hidden himself away in the bathroom while mom selected a few books from the shelf Grandma kept well stocked for them. His heart had been beating impossibly fast and hard as it went to war against his ribcage. His ears rang loudly, and head spun wildly. Somewhere inside his stomach the little boy felt a bubbling well of resentment beginning to grow.
Why couldn't grownups just tell the truth? he wondered scornfully as he walked in slow disoriented loops within his compact hiding place.
Why were they always whispering to each other? Mom with dad, dad with Grandma, Grandma with mom, and all of them together! So much whispering! He thought, fists shaking as he clenched them tight.
So many secrets! No, worse, so many lies! They always told him that things were going to get better. They always promised that things would be alright. But nothing was alright, ever!
No, things never got better, there were only different kinds of bad than the ones before.
Why did they use the word "sick" for everything? Everything from the sniffles to mom, to- to-
Baby Floyd was dying!
John Dory crumbled to the floor in a heap of overwhelming grief.
He hadn't even gotten the chance to know him, to hold him, to love him! No, that wasn't quite true. John Dory already loved Floyd with all his heart. The baby hadn't even needed to hatch for that to be true. It was also what made this secret knowledge hurt all the more keenly.
Thinking quickly, guilty, of how his own tears and weeping might upset his mother, his brothers, or even Grandma Rosiepuff John Dory snatched a hand towel from its resting place and stuffed it into his mouth to stifle his uncontrollable sobbing. Curling up on the floor the little boy screamed into his terrycloth gag as he fought against the impending sense of doom that robbed his body of all its warmth.
Dying.
Baby Floyd was dying.
John Dory sucked in a hot, muffled breath, one that caught sharply in his throat. His chest hitched, as the saline taste of tears and snot filled his mouth. Trembling, he clasped his hands over his face and tried to command himself to stop.
He couldn't cry. Not like this. He wasn't allowed to. He had to stay strong. For mom, for dad, for everyone. If he let this, if he let anything, overwhelm him how was he supposed to make sure his brothers were alright?
He had to stop.
He had to, but he couldn't.
Biting down on the fabric John Dory flailed on the ground for a minute. A landslide of grief, anger at himself, and an all encompassing dread crushed him, body and soul. He hurt everywhere in a way he'd never hurt before. Then, in a singular moment of clarity he wondered, is this what it felt like for mom?
Mom.
He had to stop.
Stop for mom.
He had to make it stop.
Stop for Spruce.
Stop for Clay.
Stop for... for Baby Floyd.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop!
Please, somehow make it stop!
Eyes shut John Dory practiced taking long, slow breaths, even as his chest shuddered in painful spasms. Gradually however, the controlled breathing became easier, the room that spun around him began to slow, his chest stopped hurting, and even though he was still cold and tingly, he felt like he could get up.
Biting the cloth had been a stupid idea, he thought to himself, but at least it had worked. Tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper the eight year old washed his face with cool water paying special attention to his now sore jaw, and very gritty eyes.
The young Troll he saw reflected at him looked miserable, sporting red, and swollen eyes. It was something he was going to have a hard time explaining, but he couldn't exactly stay in the bathroom forever, either. Pulse racing with renewed anxiety he scrambled to come up with a convincing lie, so as not to reveal the secret he knew, or allow his fears to infect his brothers.
Thinking quickly he grabbed one of Grandma's perfume bottles from the counter and sprayed it several times onto the front of his shirt. The typically pleasant floral aroma quickly overpowered the boy who began to cough and choke, eyes and nose burning with irritation as he applied far more of the fragrance than was necessary.
Heading towards the living room John Dory blinked rapidly against the fumes.
"There you are," mom had smiled up to him from where she sat reading. "I was about to call for search and rescue!"
John Dory managed a polite laugh.
"Sweety, are you right? You look like you've been crying." mom asked, half closing the book Spruce had been particularly interested in.
"I got perfume in my eyes." John Dory muttered his half-truth.
"I'm sorry baby, come here let me see." mom said putting the book aside and opening her arms to him.
It was all John Dory could do not to climb right into those welcoming arms and weep into a loving embrace he cherished more than any other.
"I'm sorry." he muttered, as she gently peered into each eye, but he wasn't talking about the perfume.
"No one's mad." Mom said, turning towards Grandma to confirm her statement.
"Not in the slightest, jellybean." Grandma chuckled. "You boys can borrow Grandma's perfumes whenever you want. Just not the cologne on my dresser. That belonged to Grandpa Rod."
John Dory's heart felt a little lighter knowing that his fabrication had not only succeeded in shielding his family from his outburst, but that it hadn't done any actual harm either.
"Just spray your shirts before you put them on." Grandma Rosiepuff added as a helpful afterthought.
John Dory stayed with mom, Spruce, and Clay until the story was finished and mom had kissed them all and left.
After that he sat, still feeling distanced from himself and the world around him. Quietly he watched Clay enjoying a high energy game of dolls as he bounced and crashed the little figurines across the floor. Spruce curled up nearby with the books re-reading them, his mouth moving in large exaggerated shapes as he did. The purple haired boy was obsessed with books, like dad, John Dory thought, but he liked it best when someone else read to him.
The thought of joining Spruce crossed John Dory's mind for an instant, but it was only a fleeting thought. He still didn't feel there, so interacting with anything that was there seemed like a monumental undertaking. Besides, he felt heavy, and the couch cushions were soft and deep...
He must have dozed off for a minute, because when he jolted upright in his spot on the couch where he observed the others John Dory noticed that the dolls were now scattered in a chaotic array across the floor, and Spruce had lost all joy in his activity and now glared hard at the page in front of him.
Most pressing however, was the fact that Grandma was coming back down the hall with a heavy looking basket of laundry. Quick on his feet the eldest raced over to shove Clay's toys out of her path earning his brother's ire as he disrupted his game.
Anger of his own flooded into that growing well within John Dory's stomach as his little brother began to kick him. It was all the eight year old could do not to kick back as he stood over Clay and continued to shift toys out of the way with his feet.
It would have been so easy to kick him, he thought. He could get away with it too by claiming it was an accident. It would make him feel better, and give him an outlet too, but only for the moment. He'd feel bad later, John Dory knew that from experience.
"There's nothing more important than family." he muttered between grit teeth as Clay continued to assault his shins.
"All right boys, Grandma's got to do some laundry, everyone outside!" Grandma Rosiepuff announced cheerfully as she walked into the living room.
Spruce didn't say a word as he flung the book against the wall in response.
"Hey!" his big brother shouted before Grandma could get a word out. Spruce sat glaring at the book, then everyone else, before getting up and going outside.
"It's alright jellybean." Grandma said watching sadly as the little boy stormed outside. "I'll talk with him in a minute."
John Dory narrowed his eyes at Spruce's back, but relented to Grandma's better judgement. That was when Clay tried to shoot past Grandma and out the front door. John Dory was faster though, and well experienced in wrangling the yellow ball of energy and caught him by the tail.
"Ow!" Clay yelped, tail becoming taught as his anchor of a big brother inadvertently pulled him onto his bottom.
John Dory pointed to the figurines that had been kicked into a loose pile. Clay stared back at him defiantly. Shaking with fresh upset the big brother pointed again. Clay, rising to the challenge, folded his arms.
Allowing a hiss of frustration out between grinding teeth John Dory let him go. No one could make Clay do anything he didn't want to do, not even Grandma. If he got really lucky John Dory could turn cleaning into a game and then Clay would help, but today just didn't feel like a day worth trying for.
He watched his brother bolt outside before with a sigh moving to tidy up. Safely stowing the dolls, and organizing the much abused books John Dory straightened out the doilies that decorated the coffee table. When, at last, everything looked good enough he finally followed the others to the yard.
Lingering near the doorway John Dory could see Clay racing around the branch lined by the many pods of their neighborhood, quickly engaging what kids he could in a game. Spruce meanwhile sulked nearby, until Clay jumped onto his back with a roar of laughter. His playful nature was infectious, and soon Spruce had forgotten whatever it was that had him so upset and he was running around too.
They were so close, John Dory thought as he watched them rough house together. He envied them.
Whether it was because he was so much older than them, or, because they were only a year apart they seemed to have a bond that he just couldn't have. Deep down though he knew, knew it had nothing to do with age gaps, and everything to do with being the oldest. He was the big brother, he had to make sure everyone was alright, taken care of, listening, and doing what they were supposed to. Big brothers couldn't just run around and goof off, they had responsibilities.
Sometimes John Dory wished he hadn't been born first. The rest of the time however, he was glad, because it let his brothers be silly. And as sad as it made him to always have to watch from the sidelines, he couldn't help but laugh at their antics.
"Jellybean, go play!" Grandma Rosiepuff said just firmly enough for John Dory to know she meant what she was saying as he approached the washing bucket.
"Its okay, I like to help." the boy shrugged, speaking honestly.
It was true, it often gave him time to think as he rubbed the clothes over the washboard. He thought a lot, about a lot of different things. Somethings he dwelled on, and somethings repeated themselves so loud and so often that he could think of literally nothing else those were the things that scared him.
Sometimes he talked to Grandma about his thoughts as they cleaned, and it helped him feel better. Other times she told him stories from when she was little, or a favorite of his, how she met Grandpa Goldenrod. Occasionally Tiger-Lily, or one of his other Grand-folks would bring their washing over and it was like getting to be a part of a secret world no one else knew about as they all talked with one another.
Plunging his hands into the warm water John Dory with a practiced skill avoided looking at Grandma and acknowledging the brow raised skeptically in his direction.
"Boys your age should be skinning their knees with their friends, not pruning their hands with cranky old ladies." she muttered, but left it at that.
The two quickly fell into the comfortable chatter that was typical of the chore before too long. It was here, over the washbasin that John Dory emptied his well. He tactfully worded his complaints about the adult's pension for secrecy, his fears for Baby Floyd, and even his jealousy of the relationship Spruce and Clay shared.
"Why don't you just go play then?" Grandma chuckled, though a strained type of frustration was clear in her voice.
"I don't know." he admitted. "I just can't."
"Why can't you?" Grandma Rosiepuff asked, prodding his ribs with a soapy finger when he'd fallen silent.
This he couldn't admit to, the boy felt. If he did it would make Grandma feel bad, it would make her try harder, and she already did so much for them. How was he supposed to explain that he couldn't just stop being the big brother when something could go bad at any moment, and then it was up to him to pick up the pieces?
"I don't know." he muttered.
Grandma was quiet for a long while.
"You know," she mused aloud. "I was about your age when I started journaling er- keeping a diary." she laughed giving her eyes an exaggerated roll. "Girls keep diaries, boys journal." she explained in a way that made it clear she thought that such a differentiation was ridiculous.
"Why?" John Dory asked as he wrung out a shirt and tossed it into the basket to be hung.
"I don't know," Grandma winked as she echoed his commonly used phrase. "Someone somewhere was embarrassed by something and decided to change the verbiage."
"What's a diary?" John Dory followed his first question with another.
"Its an empty book that you fill with all of your thoughts and feelings." she elaborated. "Its sort of like being the author of your own story. You write down everything important that happened during the day, and how it made you feel, or what it made you think about."
"Its very good to do when you have a lot of big feelings, or confusing feelings because it gives you time to think, and a place to put it all so that if you need to, you can come back to those feelings later." Grandma was watching John Dory out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. "I can get you one, if you'd like."
John Dory shrugged.
"Just think about it." Grandma instructed before holding up a pair of Clay's pants and in a very comical way half shouted. "Does that boy even wear underwear?" as she examined a big brown stain that went down the middle seam of the apparel.
"Wearing underwear isn't fun," John Dory rolled his eyes now. "Clay doesn't do anything that isn't fun."
"Underwear is a lot cheaper than pants are." Grandma commented to herself as she tried to scrub out the stain with a brush.
Giggling as a thought occurred to him John Dory chose to share this most entertaining thought with Grandma too. "He needs funderwear!"
Grandma Rosiepuff laughed warmly. "Oh, no, that sounds too close to the real thing, he'd catch on too fast!"
"Hmmm, funderdrawers?" the big brother pitched.
"Perfect!" Grandma giggled.
The remainder of the afternoon the two conspired against Clay, and his war against under clothing. That evening John Dory even sketched up a design, and Grandma broke out the fabrics. All things considered, it turned out to be a good day. One that was the first of many.
After weeks of the three oldest boys frequenting both of the pods they considered "home," the immediate crisis period seemed to be over. After that, everything settled into the all too familiar pattern life always found when there was a new baby in the house.
Only, this time, John Dory was old enough to be of some actual use.
Laundry was a well loved chore by this point, one he took up readily, though, of course not without his washing buddy, who timed her laundry days accordingly. In addition to this doing dishes before bed quickly became a part of John Dory's routine, one that when disrupted by a helpful parent left him with an odd amount of free time. Free time with no task allotted to it.
It drove John Dory mad.
Soon, however, those sporadic free moments were allocated to poetry, a budding interest of the boy, one that helped him express his innermost self. The poems made him sad though, they were mostly about mom; mom, his worries for Baby Floyd, and how stood apart he felt from his brothers. Writing them, in addition to the diary he kept at Grandma's house did help, even if he almost always cried as he worked on them.
Then there was his new habit, the habit of checking on his brothers while they slept. He couldn't shake his first harrowing glimpse of Baby Floyd and routinely had nightmares that his little brothers stopped breathing in their sleep. Because of that whether it was after lying awake unable to fall asleep, or jolting up in bed unable to stay asleep John Dory would sit on the edge of his brothers beds and just watch.
It made him feel better, to see them breathing easily, to hear Clay snore, and watch him fidget even as he dreamed.
When he was satisfied with watching the two of them John Dory would sneak into their parent's room and stick his hand between the bars of the crib. There he would feel the gentle, if sometimes sporadic respiration of his youngest, premature brother. Sometimes the relief was enough to make him weep for joy, others he was so comforted he fell asleep, right where he was.
Dad and mom promised him that Baby Floyd was going to be alright, and even let John Dory hold, and nap with him from time to time. Still, his uncertainty lingered long after everyone else seemed to accept that the danger had passed.
John Dory loved his brothers, and couldn't imagine life without them...
"Do you know what today is?" Mom asked brightly one morning.
Appraising her hue with caution John Dory kept a keen eye out for a radiance that, thankfully, wasn't there.
"No." he shook his head.
"Its my anniversary with your dad!" she smiled, gently rubbing a burp out of Baby Floyd as she massaged his small, sensitive stomach.
"It is?" John Dory asked, looking up towards the calendar on the wall.
The date wasn't marked, but the little boy could remember that sometime a few weeks before Clay's birthday dad would always bring mom chocolate and flowers. Clay's birthday was coming up soon, so it stood to reason that mom was right.
"Yep, we've been married ten years now." mom grinned.
"That's a long time." Spruce observed with his deep, five year old insight.
Mom laughed.
"Do you know what daddy and I haven't done in a long, long time?" Mom asked then.
"What?" Spruce asked.
"Gone to a really fancy restaurant." Mom mused.
"Then go." Clay who John Dory was surprised to find paying attention commented as he drew.
"Its not as easy as that kiddo." Mom replied.
"Why not?" Spruce wanted to know.
Mom shrugged. "Restaurants cost money, and besides, I'd want to take you boys with us." Cradling Baby Floyd mom kissed him on the forehead. "I'd miss you too much."
"Can we make a restaurant?" John Dory asked looking at mom hopefully.
"What?" she asked, brows knitting together slightly.
"Can we make a restaurant?" he asked again, trying to find a way to elaborate on the plan that was beginning for formulate in his mind. "Go to the market, buy fancy food, put out a fancy table cloth, and real napkins, then we all eat together?"
Mom's eyes sparkled with excitement. "And we'll all wear our very best clothes and use our very best manners!" she beamed leaning over to give him a hug. "Thank you sweetheart, this is going to be the best anniversary ever!"
John Dory's heart swelled with pride as he hugged mom back. He was glad he could fix this problem for her, and could do something that made her genuinely happy. It felt like it was a rare accomplishment outside of her casual praise over the laundry or dishes. He swung his feet gleefully where he sat.
"Are you boys ready to get to work?" Mom then inquired, bouncing her eyebrows at his brothers.
"Yeah!" Clay shouted jumping to his feet immediately.
"Then let's go to the market!" she laughed.
Spruce quickly agreed too and rushed to put away the puzzle he'd been working on. He loved trips to the market place. John Dory on the other hand, did not, and his stomach filled with butterflies at the realization that this meant he had to go too.
With Baby Floyd snug in his sling the family set out shortly after the plans had been hatched. Spruce and Clay were lively and full of energy as they darted around ahead of mom, going from one stall to the next as the played. Sticking close to her side John Dory wrung his tail between his hands. There was always just so much going on at the market, that it made him anxious.
"Mom!" he whispered urgently when he noticed Spruce and Clay being called over by a vendor.
"Its alright. I can see them." she said waving her approval to the vendor who smiled back and held out a tray of candied nuts for the pair to try a sample. "Do you want to run up and grab some too?"
John Dory shook his head and pressed himself closer to mom's side.
He hated the market place. It was nothing like people watching with dad in that little nook of an ice cream shop they frequented. There were so many more people here, he thought, reaching for mom's hand when someone bumped him from the other side. They were all so loud, so colorful, so busy. Then there were the smells, some sweet, some savory, others fresh and growing all competing with one another in a way that left him feeling nauseous.
On top of all this however, Spruce and Clay hadn't a care in the world, and their big brother periodically, and alarmingly lost track of them in the crowd.
It was all just too over-stimulating for John Dory who couldn't quite concentrate on mom's questions or suggestions for dinner. Becoming irritable he found himself snapping at her, and agreeing to almost anything as long as it meant they were done and could go home.
At home, he laid on the couch tracing circles into the cushions had he waited for his headache to go away, and tried to unwind.
Baby Floyd was down for a nap, and the other two were in the kitchen helping mom scrub and prep the produce. Listening to them talk from where he lay the nine year old felt terrible for the way he'd behaved towards his mother, especially considering the whole "home restaurant," idea had been his to begin with.
After he felt a little better and his brothers had moved on to something else John Dory got up and made his way to the kitchen. To his relief mom stood at the counter humming to herself as she consulted her cookbook, color neither too dull or too bright. She felt most like his mom when she was like this. That made it worse knowing how he'd talked to her while they shopped.
"I'm sorry mom." he apologized as he tip-toed in. "I was really mean when we were shopping."
Mom turned to look at him. "Yeah you were, and it really hurt my feelings." she informed him. "But, you've never liked going to the market place, so I understand. It can be... too much sometimes, even for me. I'm not mad."
"You aren't?" he dared to ask.
"No, I'm not." she promised coming over to cup his cheek.
"Can I still help you cook?"
"I'd love nothing more!" mom said.
Hand over hand the two peeled, chopped, grated, and sautéed the afternoon away. By evening the boys were well dressed in clothes that felt stiff and tight as they admired the decorations they'd made from paper and glue. By the time dad came home the table was set, the candles lit, and John Dory proudly led the way in plating as "head chef."
"Ask them what they want to drink." he whispered to Spruce after having gone over restaurant protocol and procedure with mom as they cooked.
"Do you want water, or juice?" Spruce asked as Clay danced in front of the open fridge, waiting for instructions.
"They want juice!" the eldest of the two "waiters" yelled from where he stood beside the dinner table.
John Dory slapped his palm against his forehead and went to fetch his wayward brother.
"No, Spruce! That's not how you do it!" he scolded, trying hard to ignore mom and dad chuckling at them as he did.
"We're a fancy restaurant. Act fancy." he demanded of his family.
Mom and dad tried to look sincere.
John Dory didn't understand what was so difficult about all this. It was a serious situation afterall, the game was falling apart, and their anniversary was going to be ruined, but the two of them sat there with the giggles. The boy fixed them with a look meant to demonstrate the importance of the evening, but it only made things worse. Without warning a snort of laughter burst out of mom's nose, then dad doubled over and struck the table as his composure failed him as well.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Dad wiped his eyes. "I'm going to go get Floyd, I'll be back."
John Dory sighed as he watched him go before reminding Spruce again, "Be fancy."
"Okay!" Spruce smiled before leaning over and whispering. "They want fancy juice."
John Dory let out a groan, grabbed his brother and hauled him back into the kitchen where Clay had poured their drinks into a pair of... bowls. The head chef gaped at the scene incredulously.
"What is that?" he whisper-yelled.
"I made soup!" Clay beamed clearly very proud of himself.
John Dory felt his cheeks burning.
"Oh, good idea!" Spruce enthused. "But it needs to be fancy soup!" with that he snatched a few handfuls of berries and dropped them into the concoction.
When he was done, and before John Dory could stop him Spruce picked up the bowls and called "Here's the soup!" as he brought the disaster in for their parents to witness first hand.
"Oh, thank you." Dad grinned as he sat back down with the baby.
"Oh, my, yes, thank you so much, it smells lovely!" mom added.
Peering out into the dining room John Dory could just hear her whisper, "They've all worked very hard to make this happen."
"I can tell." Dad said softly as he reached out to take mom's hand.
Trying to put his own disappointment for the way the evening was unfolding aside the little boy watched them for several long minutes. They seemed really, really happy as they sat, mom's fresh bouquet standing between them. Spruce had been right earlier, ten years was a long time. It made John Dory glad that he could help make tonight special for them.
"Okay, salads next!" he announced clapping his hands together and looking back to his brothers turned team. "Everybody ready?"
After they had dished everything up, and John Dory took a few seconds to clean the sauce he'd spilled on the floor, the family sat together enjoying the products of the boy's hard labor. It was a night that brimmed with a warming joy, one which filled every heart seated around the table as they laughed, and regaled one another with stories long after the meal was over and food was gone...