“You’re resisting your inner peace, Jayden!” Pam chirped, while Bill, trying to film on an iPad, accidentally zoomed in on a squirrel.
Jayden saw his opening. He stood up, his head nearly brushing the ceiling fan. “Pam,” he said, in the low, calm voice he used to psych out opponents before a title match. “I appreciate the lifestyle. I do. The wellness, the crafts, the… peeing cherub. But my dad? He’s a man of action. He fixes things. You can’t put a gourd in a rope prison. You have to let him unclog a drain.”
The yoga segment was a disaster of epic proportions. Pam had set up mats on the back lawn, next to her new “tranquility fountain”—a concrete cherub peeing into a birdbath. Jayden, in the too-tight linen pants, tried to do “Downward Dog.” His massive frame created a crater in the yoga mat. When Pam instructed “Happy Baby,” Jayden looked less like a happy baby and more like an earthquake toppling a city.
“Nonsense! It’s just aggressive knitting!” She patted his bicep. “Now, go put on these linen pants.”
And every Tuesday, Jayden Jaymes, former gladiator, would sit on the porch with his dad and Pam, drinking terrible kale smoothies, tying useless knots in rope, and laughing until his ribs ached. It wasn’t the lifestyle he’d chosen. But for his dad’s happiness, he decided it was the greatest entertainment he’d ever known.
Pam looked hurt for a second. Then she looked at Bill, who was now using the macrame rope to tie up the tranquility fountain’s hose. A slow smile spread across her face.
The doorbell chimed not a doorbell chime, but the opening synth riff of “Let’s Get Physical.” Pam swept in, a whirlwind of turquoise leggings, dangling earrings shaped like pineapples, and a clipboard covered in glitter stickers.
