“Wow,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Only took you almost two months to bring that up.”
“Had to wait for the right time,” Knox says with a laugh. “Dude, Dottie sent us a picture.”
“Of course she did,” I say with an eye roll. “Let me guess, you showed Milly?” I ask Carson.
He nods. “She saw at the spa, but yeah, obviously. A picture of you chowing down on a cock waffle had to be shared. Pretty sure she sent it to—”
“If you say her brother, I’m going to fucking scream.”
Carson closes his mouth and slowly reaches for his water.
“She sent it to him, didn’t see?”
Carson doesn’t say anything.
“Carson, just tell me, did she? Did she send it to my idol? My hero. My number-one man? Cory Fucking Potter?”
Carson clears his throat. “I think you know the answer to that question.”
I place my head in my hand. “Why is life so unfair?”
“Blame yourself and your late-night shopping,” Knox says.
Sighing, I say, “Can I admit something?”
“Please do,” Carson says with a grin.
“I’ve made them every goddamn weekend ever since. They’re the best waffles I’ve ever had.” Carson and Knox both bust out in laughter. “And you know what?” I jab the table with my finger. “I’m man enough to admit liking penis waffles. They’re fucking delicious and there’s no shame in eating a phallic breakfast on the weekends.”
“This is why I’ve put off brunch for this long,” Knox says, gesturing toward me. “Because of this.”
“I should have had brunch at my place,” I say. “I would have made you some waffles and proven to you that penis waffles are superior.”
“You don’t know that.” Carson casually sips his water. “Have you ever tried a pussy-shaped waffle?”
I go to answer and then pause. “Huh, you know, I wonder if it would be better?”
“Only one way to find out,” Knox says.
I point at him. “You’re right.”
I take out my phone and search for a female counterpart to my waffle maker.
“While he’s doing that,” Knox says, “Can I ask how you’ve been doing?”
“Fine,” I say. “A little gassy lately, but I think it’s from the ice cream intake I’ve had this week.”
“I’m not asking you, you moron,” Knox says. “I’m asking Carson.”
“Oh.” I chuckle and look up. “Yeah, how are you?”
“Doing okay.” Carson fidgets in his chair.
I reached out to Carson after Dottie came home and told me about their struggles to get pregnant. I wanted to make sure he knew I was there to talk when he needed it. He reached out a few times, and I know they’ve stopped trying, taking a break because of the stress of it all.
“Has the break helped Milly?”
Carson nods. “I think so. We threw out the charts and the schedule because I think it was too much for her. We’ve tried reconnecting and started the process of adopting.”
“Adopting, that’s pretty fucking cool,” Knox says. “She’s okay with that?”
“Of course, why do you ask?” Carson says.
“One of my mom’s friends was looking into adoption a while back. I remember them talking about it. My mom’s friend never went through with it because she wasn’t mentally ready to give up on the chance of carrying her own baby. It’s a very intimate and personal thing for a woman. Have you talked to her about that?”
Carson gives the question some thought. “You know, I haven’t.” He scratches the side of his face. “I never thought about that aspect of a pregnancy, the connection a mother has during pregnancy. I was just thinking of the end result.”
“Because you’re not the one carrying the baby,” I say, chiming in as I press purchase on a vagina waffle maker.
“Yeah, you’re right. I should probably ask her about that.”
“You should,” Knox says. “I know this has been hard on her, so see if she’s ready to move on from trying for a biological baby.”
“I’ll talk to her tonight,” Carson says. “Thanks, that’s an important conversation to have.”
“It is,” I say. “It’s really important.” I set my phone down. “Honestly, after hearing about you and Milly, Dottie and I had a conversation about our own kids.”
“And?” Knox asks.
“Get ready for the best fun uncle around.”
“You’re not going to have kids?” Carson asks. “I would have thought you needed someone to carry on the famous Orson Ass.”
I pause, my mind reeling.
Holy.
Fuck.
“Hell, I didn’t even think about that.” I grip my forehead in distress.
“Great, look what you just did,” Knox says while I pick up my phone to text Dottie. “Don’t text Dottie, Carson was just being a dick.”
“No, this is not something we considered. We need to talk about this, right away.” I excuse myself from the table and weave my way through the restaurant until I find a quiet corner near the bathrooms. I dial “Bae’s” phone number and wait impatiently for her to answer.
“Hey, aren’t you are at brunch with the boys?” she asks when she answers.
“Dottie, we didn’t talk about something really important and now I’m freaking the fuck out.”
“What did we not talk about?” she calmly asks.
“You know that conversation we had awhile back about not having any kids?”
“Yesss,” she drags out.
I glance around to make sure no one is listening to me, stuff my hand in my pocket and quietly ask, “What about my butt?”
Silence.
Then . . . “Uh, what about your butt?”
“You know . . .”
“I really don’t know and I have a meeting in ten minutes, so if you can speed this up, I’d appreciate it.”
“Dottie, if we don’t have kids, my butt dies with me.”
“Your butt is dying with you either way, unless you have some sort of insane idea that I get your butt molded in gold or something, which although I wouldn’t put that past you, it’s not happening. Is that what you mean? You want to mold your butt and give it to our kids? You know I’m all about weird gifts but that’s just not something you should give your offspring.”
“I’m not talking about that, but thanks for the idea, writing that in my will.” I hear her exaggerated breath. “I’m saying if we don’t have kids, I won’t pass my butt genes on to anyone and is that really fair to the human race? To stop my butt here?”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. The butt can’t end with me. And what about my potato salad recipe? No one will say hey, you know what, I have my grandpa’s potato salad recipe I can make to bring to the barbeque. And that’s sacrilege.”
“Jason, you know I love you.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“So remember that when I say . . . you’re insane. You don’t conceive a baby in the hopes of passing on the genes of your prominent ass.”