If they were going to stay longer, it would be so cool to have his friends over. Man, they would freak over the game room. And they could build a fort in the woods, and maybe go tubing on the river in the summer. If his mom didn’t wig out over the idea.

Maybe he still could, even after they went back home. He could ask Brad, and then Brad would help him work on Mom. That was cool, too, having another guy so they could double-team her.

It was sort of like having a father. Not that he cared about that, but it was probably like it. Sort of.

Anyway, it was going to be totally awesome to have Thanksgiving here, with everybody piling into the house, and the guys all arguing about the game, and eating pumpkin pie until they busted their guts.

His mom made really good pumpkin pie, and she always gave him little pieces of the dough to make dough people with.

He wondered if Brad would think that was lame.

He looked over, then ran toward the house as Brad came out. “Hey! You want to throw the ball some? Moe’s teaching Homer how to fetch.”

“Sure.” He snugged the knit cap he’d brought out over Simon’s head. “Getting cold.”

“Maybe it’ll snow. Maybe it’ll snow six feet and there won’t be any school.”

“We can always dream.” He picked up the ball and winged it in a way Simon desperately admired.

“If it snows six feet, can you stay home from work?”

“If it snows six feet, I’ll make a point of staying home from work.”

“And we can have hot chocolate and play ten million video games.”

“That’s a deal.”

“Do you wear a condom when you have the sex with my mother?”

All the blood in Brad’s head drained out of the soles of his feet. “Do what?”

“Because if you don’t, you could make a baby. Would you marry her if you made a baby?”

“Holy Mother of God.”

There was a tickle at the back of Simon’s throat, a kind of sick nervousness. But he couldn’t stop the rush of words—they had to be said. “The guy who made me with her, he didn’t marry her, and I think it hurt her feelings. I have to look out for her now, so if you’re not going to marry her if you make a baby, you can’t have the sex.” Because his belly was jumping, Simon looked down and gave the ball a good kick. “I just wanted to say.”

“Okay. Wow. Okay, I really think I need to sit down.” Before even the jelly his knees had become melted away. “Why don’t we all go inside and do that . . . the sit down thing.”

“I’m the man of the house,” Simon said in a small voice.

“You’re a hell of a man, Simon.” In a gesture he hoped bolstered them both, Brad laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and sit down and talk about this.”

Brad prayed for wisdom, and whatever else would help while they peeled off their jackets. He figured the kitchen was best so they could occupy themselves with drink or food, or anything to make the discussion less horrendous for both of them.

Though he wanted a beer in the worst way, he poured them both a Coke. “About sex,” he began.

“I know about sex. Mom said it doesn’t hurt, but sometimes people yell and stuff because it’s fun.”

“Good,” Brad managed after a moment, and worried that he could actually hear his brain cells dying. “Your mother and I . . . Ah. Adults, healthy, single adults often have relationships that—the hell with this. Look at me.”

He waited until Simon lifted his head. All the doubts, the defiance, the determination were printed clearly on his face. Just, Brad thought, like his mother’s.

“I’m in love with your mother. I make love with her because she’s beautiful, and I want to be with her that way. I want to be with her in every way because I’m in love with her.”

“Is she in love with you back?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping.”

“Do you hang around with me so she’ll be in love with you?”

“Well, you know, it’s a pretty big sacrifice for me, seeing as how you’re so ugly, and you smell so bad. Plus you’re short, and that’s really annoying. But whatever works.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “You’re uglier.”

“Only because I’m older.” He laid his hand over the boy’s. “And somehow, despite your many flaws, I’m in love with you, too.”

Emotions rushed into Simon’s throat and seemed to flood onto his face. “That’s pretty weird.”

“Tell me about it. I want both of you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Like a family?”

“Exactly like that.”

Simon stared down at the table. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, but he wanted to make it right. “Would you marry her, even if you didn’t make a baby?”

So, it wasn’t to be horrendous after all, Brad mused. “I’d like to make a baby, now that you mention it. But . . . Hold on a minute, there’s something I want to show you. I’ll be right back.”

Alone, Simon rubbed his eyes hard. He’d been afraid he would cry, blubber like a girl or something. When you were having a real man-to-man talk, like Chuck’s father called them, you didn’t start crying.

He took a drink of his Coke, but it didn’t settle his stomach. Everything kept wanting to jump around inside of him. He struggled to calm down when he heard Brad coming back, and wiped at his face, just in case.

Brad sat down again. “This has to be just between us. Just the two of us, Simon. I need you to promise me.”

“Like a secret?”

“Yes. It’s important.”

“Okay, I won’t tell anybody.” Solemnly, Simon spat on his palm, then held it out.

For a moment Brad could only stare. Some things, he thought—oddly comforted—never changed. He mirrored Simon’s gesture, and they joined palms.

Saying nothing, Brad put a small box on the table and opened it, showed Simon the ring inside. “This was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when she and my grandfather had their fiftieth anniversary.”

“Wow. They must be completely old.”

Brad’s lips quivered, but he kept his voice steady. “Pretty much. It was her engagement ring, and he gave her a new one on their fiftieth. She wanted me to have her first, and to give it to the woman I’d marry. She says it’s lucky.”