Bros - Part 6 (Patreon)

“So Dad, did you burn the meatballs again?” Austin smirked as he spoke around a mouthful of buffalo wing, using his forearm to wipe his mouth instead of the dinner napkin he had tied around his neck like a bib. The haze still in the kitchen was unmistakable evidence, telling the tragic, culinary demise of Carl’s Famous Meatballs. 

“I swear, this stove is way different than the one back in our old place.” The older fox made token efforts to explain, scrolling through his work phone with one hand, and holding a flat wing near his mouth to nibble on it with the other. He looked up from the screen for a moment to defend himself, gesticulating grandly with his half-eaten wing. “You know, these recipes always say ‘cooking time may vary’. I’m still optimizing.” 

“Bet they say ‘take them off if the pan catches on fire’ too.” Owen rolled his eyes as he mumbled, reaching across the table to grab another handful of tater tots from the basket in the middle. The joke made Austin snort a laugh, and he reached out with a fist; Owen reciprocated without looking up. “At least it got us wings, though.” 

“Yeah, real funny.” Carl rolled his eyes in a such a way as to make it obvious where his youngest son must have picked up the gesture. “Just wait ‘til you guys start having to cook for yourself, you’ll have the Barkdale Poison Control Center on speed dial.” 

The two boys shared a look over ‘speed dial’, then shrugged their shoulders in unison before returning their attention to the plates in front of them. 

“So.” Peace had reigned for almost the rest of the dinner, but as Carl gnawed on his last couple of bones and troubleshot a local data center, he remembered the boys’ plans for the evening. “You guys are going to a party tonight?” 

“Yup!” Austin was the first to speak up, wiping his hands with the bib around his neck, and licking his chops. “The Beta Alpha Beta Epsilon girls are havin’ a bunch of people over to like… celebrate gettin’ through mid-terms or something, and I- we.” He quickly corrected himself. “We. Both got invited. For, uh… you know, our grades bein’ so good.” 

Carl looked to his younger boy for confirmation, and he nodded his head.

“Yeah, no pass, no enter. They even got a sign on the front door.” Owen explained, tossing his last few tater tots into his mouth and cleaning flecks of salt out of his whiskers. “Aus says that everybody goin’, they’re all real over-achievers.”

“For sure. I almost didn’t wanna go, because it’s a bunch of friggin dorks.” Austin continued adding to the story, even though it was clear from the look on Carl’s face that he wasn’t exactly buying the explanation. “But I figured Owen would like it, since he’s a friggin dork too.” 

“Meathead.” Owen snorted in response, screwing up his muzzle and throwing a tater tot, which smacked Austin in the ear. 

“Nerd.” A wing bone came back spinning back, pinging Owen directly on the nose.

“Alright, alright!” Carl interfered before the arms race could escalate any further, hands up for a moment like a referee separating a pair of boxers. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. “No more foodfights. You guys have fun, and make sure you’re back before midnight. Alright?” 

“For sure!” Austin proclaimed with a big grin, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. He still had some sauce on his nose, his hands, and somehow, staining the front of his fresh diaper. “You gonna be ready to go by the time I get outta the shower?

“Party might be over by then, you look like a friggin oil painting.”