Third Wheel
Little ones scamper between adult legs, food covers every available surface, and several conversations are occurring simultaneously.
A shoulder bumps into mine. “You must be Taylor.” A deep male voice announces. “This is my wife Martha. I'm James, and somewhere are four little ones.”
I choke on my beer. Four kids? They have four kids? They are our age and already have four kids.
“Breathe,” Jackson prompts as he delivers chicken and chops from the grill. “James, how did you stupefy our dear Taylor so quickly?”
“Dude,” James teases. “I just introduced mi familia.”