“So far, yeah. Amelie brought an extra bag of laundry with her yesterday, though.”

“Those two are each other’s best friends and worst enemies. Frenemies. They fight over who gets the washing machine, but give them a common enemy and they’re tight.”

I shoot Charlie a look. “And we’re any different?”

His grin is filled with pizza.

“Jesus, Charlie. Swallow before you smile.”

“That’s what I always say, too.” He leers.

I groan. “For that, I pick the movie.”

“Not another foreign film,” he groans, then perks up. “Unless it’s French. Love the French films.”

“That’s because they all have threesomes in them. At least, the ones you watch.”

“YouPorn has an excellent selection of high-quality foreign films.” He pops open another beer and shrugs.

“Please tell me your laptop has a screen protector on it.”

He nods. “Keyboard, too. You really have to, with the USB attachments they make now.” His eyes go blank, and he begins to talk in a businesslike, clipped tone. “If you don’t, the keyboard gets sticky, and no one wants to go to the Apple Genius Bar with the equivalent of an artificial insemination sample.”

“Charlie!”

“I’m not kidding. You know that company that makes the surfing equipment we sell? They’ve been bought out by the same mega-corporation that’s making dildo drones.”

“Did you say dildo drones?” I look at my beer with suspicion. Two empties are next to me, so unless he spiked this with a hallucinogen, I’m not the crazy one here.

“Sure. It’s like Google Glass, or Virtual Reality. Next great invention.”

“No, the next great invention would be a vaccine that cures the Zika virus. Or cold fusion. Dildo drones rank somewhere above dog bongs and below remote-controlled zippers.”

“Already exist.”

“Remote-controlled zippers?”

“Dog bongs.”

“Someone invented a marijuana bong for canines?”

“Sure. Even doggies need to chill once in a while. Plus, the endocannabinoid system can be very powerful when it comes to inflammatory diseases, and in veterinary medicine—”

“Dog bongs, Charlie. Can dogs even inhale?” My brother’s a Yale Law dropout who couldn’t manage past his first year, but he clearly just picked the wrong grad school program. Biochemistry would have been a better fit. Only Charlie could struggle to maintain a permanent address and a steady job, but know the inner workings of the canine neurotransmitter system.

Then again, he might have become Walter White. Don’t let the man anywhere near an RV.

“I guess so. No one would have invented the dog bongs if they couldn’t.”

“Charlie, who do you think would create such a device?”

Silence.

“Stoners. People who are baked out of their minds. People who go through the Taco Bell drive-thru and buy a ten-pack of soft tacos and who think God talks to them through the microphone while their fingers turn into antennae.”

He shoots me a dirty look.

“Those same people are the ones who look at their mother’s bichon frise in the basement apartment where they live and think, ‘Poor Peanut needs a bong.’” I’m pretty sure they invented most of the television shows my kids watched as toddlers. Whoever came up with The Big Comfy Couch and the French show Téléchat must have been huffing on some very human bongs.

“I happen to be friends with the guy who is waiting for his patent for dog bongs to clear.” Charlie runs a hand through his hair and starts peeling the beer label on his bottle. “And it was a yorkie poo named Fluffy,” he says under his breath.

“I work eighty hour weeks as a corporate drone in the Financial District and there are guys making money getting the family pet high.”

“It’s a growing field.”

“So is Alzheimer’s research.”

“Got to follow your bliss,” Charlie says softly. “When did you turn into a grumpy old man? All you need to do is start wearing socks with sandals, get some Sansabelt slacks, start using Viagra and yell at kids on your lawn. You’re becoming Grandpa Louie.”

“I don’t have a lawn. I live in a townhouse.” I give him the hairy eyeball. “And I don’t need Viagra.”

“We live in a townhouse.”

“You’re only here for a visit.”

“And don’t knock Viagra. It’s great as a recreational drug.”

“I do not want to hear about your twelve-hour erection.”

“That’s not what she said.”

“That’s it. We’re watching The Revenant.”

“What? No, Nick, c’mon. Don’t make me watch Leo DiCaprio having sex with a bear.”

I do a double take. “There’s no bestiality in the movie.”

“I heard it sucked.”

“No. What sucks is listening to you right now.” Dog bongs. What’s next? Edibles for hermit crabs?

The front door slowly opens, the sound making us both tense by instinct. We share a look of primal danger. Then I realize Charlie’s more worried about his beer as he scrambles to catch it.

“You expecting anyone?” Charlie whispers.

“No.”

“Daddy?” It’s Elodie, looking shame-faced, the crease between her eyes making her resemble Simone. It’s been a week since she called Chloe’s phone. I haven’t seen her since. Not a single text other than I’m sorry.

This has been the longest I’ve ever gone without contact. Even when the kids were in France for their annual visits with their mother, we had daily phone calls and texts.

“Hi, honey,” I say, studying her. Whatever she feels she needs to say, I don’t plan to make it easy. Not hard, either. But this is a life lesson, and I don’t have many more to impart to my kids.

“Uncle Charlie!” she chirps as she spots him, running into his arms with a sweet abandon so different from her cultivated worry. I see her face over Charlie’s shoulder as he bear hugs her, lifting her off the ground, her pony tail stuck under his arm as he laughs.

“I can’t believe you cockblocked your dad, Coco,” he says as she’s midair.