Girls are a whole other animal. You have to worry about low self-esteem and poor self-image, eating disorders, cutting, drug abuse, sluttiness, catty mean-girl attitudes, and the horde of adolescent bastards who are just dying to get their dicks wet and won’t give a damn if they leave a broken heart, pregnancy, or an STD in their wake.

Even though Mackenzie is coming along nicely, once puberty hits, all bets are off. The fewer distractions I have when those days come, the better.

As Matthew and Delores get up off the floor, I ask, “Where is Michael, anyway? With Helga?”

Unlike Kate and me, Matthew and Dee had no issues about hiring a nanny. And Delores may be crazy, but she’s not stupid—no way she was gonna have some sexy, young au pair rocking her cradle. Helga’s a professional Russian nanny. She’s suspicious and distrustful of anyone not related to Michael—and sometimes even of those who are. She bears a strong resemblance to Brutus from the Popeye cartoons. She’s got a femstache and a permanent scowl, and she could probably kick my ass with one hand tied behind her back.

I like her.

Because she thinks the sun rises and sets with my nephew. She calls him her babushka, and it’s easy to see that she’d lie, cheat, steal, or kill for him. That makes her okay in my book.

Mackenzie giggles. “Uncle Drew, Rain’s name isn’t Michael, it’s Rain.”

Dee-Dee’s eyes turn sharp as they regard me. “Uncle Drew knows his name, Mackenzie. He’s just being a jerk.”

I stare Dee-Dee down, not giving an inch. “Rain isn’t a name. It’s a meteorological event. Every child deserves a normal name. He’ll always be Michael to me.”

I’m working on having his birth certificate changed. A little forgery never hurt anyone. Christ, what kind of uncle would I be if I let the kid go through life with a f**king name like Rain? As if the chips weren’t already stacked against him with a crazy woman for a mother.

“You’re an ass.”

“It’s not his fault his mother’s a wack job and his father’s a victim of reverse spousal abuse.”

Matthew adds his pathetic two cents: “I like the name Rain.”

So sad.

I sneer, “No, you don’t.” I point to my temple. “That’s the brainwashing talking. She’s got you under her evil spell. You’ve been twat-notized by the golden watch between Dee’s legs.”

If I slap him hard enough, think he’ll snap out of it?

Delores doesn’t take it lying down. “Brainwashed? Look who’s talking. James is your golden watch. I swear sometimes that’s the only thing keeping Kate with you.”

A few years ago that comment would have bothered me. Not anymore. “Please. We all know it’s my dick that’s keeping her with me. And that’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so I’m really not worried.”

Before Dee can retaliate, the front door slams open with a bang, and the blur of an eight-year-old, light-haired boy comes barreling through the living room. He gives my sister a crooked grin. “Hi, Mrs. R.”

Alexandra smiles. “Hi, Johnny.” Then she turns toward our parents. “Mom, Dad, you remember Johnny Fitzgerald from downstairs? He’s kindly offered his services this weekend to help keep the little ones entertained.”

Johnny Fitzgerald. Sound familiar? Think back, way back.

I’ll give you a minute to flex the old memory.

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Remember the foolish, misguided preschooler who told Mackenzie that penises were better than baginas, a lifetime ago? Yep—that Johnny Fitzgerald.

He lives one floor down. Ever since preschool, he and Mackenzie have been connected at the hip. His dad’s an old-money ass**le—his mom’s a functioning alcoholic. Alexandra has him over as often as possible so he can gain exposure to a normal family unit.

Mackenzie pokes her finger at Johnny. “You can help—but you have to do what I say. I’m in charge.”

I throw a smirk my sister’s way. “Boy, does that sound familiar.”

On cue, James squawks from the corner. “Mine! Is mine!”

Alexandra lifts an eyebrow. “So does that. Must be genetic.”

Then Mackenzie and Johnny’s newest battle of the sexes begins. “Hold on a second, Kenzie,” he says. “I should be in charge. I’m a boy and they’re boys.”

“So?”

“So, I can show them how to do things you can’t.”

My niece’s hands fall to her hips, imitating my sister’s stance perfectly. Talk about genetics. “Like what?”

“I can show them to throw a baseball.”

“So can I.”

“I can play cars with them.”

Mackenzie scoffs, “So can I.”

Johnny goes in for the kill. “I can show them how to pee standing up.”

There’s a heavy pause. Mackenzie frowns.

Johnny starts to think he’s won. So young, so dumb.

Until Mackenzie smiles. Triumphantly. “They wear diapers—they don’t use the toilet yet.”

Johnny lowers his head in submission. Might as well get used to it now, kid. “Okay—you can be in charge.”