“No way!” Daniel heard a familiar voice as he was filling his plate with appetizers from the copious buffet. “Dannyboy! What brings you here?” asked his former brother-in-law—the cool one, in his opinion, and the only person in that family still allowed to call him that. The only person, in fact, who still talked to him—or had ever talked to him for that matter, including his ex-wife.

“Well, it’s Chloe’s wedding and I’m trying to give my best last impression of cool Uncle Dan, I guess,” Daniel offered.

“I figured that, Captain Obvious,” replied Jack. “It’s just that I’m surprised to see you here after Big Sis kicked your sorry ass out of her house. It’s her niece after all.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows at ‘her house’, remembering who had provided the lion’s share of the funding for their mutual abode. He had definitely lost a lot more than just his marital status over the divorce. All in the past now, he reminded himself, and soon couldn’t help wearing his signature smirk at the reason why he had been invited.

“...and colorfully flamboyant as ever, I see,” teased Jack in his continuing monologue, commenting on Daniel’s colorful attire.

“Of course,” chuckled Daniel. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral. Supposedly the happiest day of the couple’s life. So what’s with all the black? Unless, of course, we’re mourning the couple throwing away their last ounce of reason. Who in their sane mind still gets married nowadays, apart from religious reasons? In times where religion is little more than a status symbol for a handful of easily impressible dimwits... Opium for the masses.” A distinct tone of resignation and cynicism was audible next to his obvious sarcasm as he cited Marx.

Jack laughed in response. “Well-rehearsed, that little speech. Is that what being married to Big Sis did to you?”

A crooked part-sour, part-smug grin appeared on Daniel’s face but before he could comment on that remark, Jack added, “To be honest, dude, I never quite understood what she saw in you... nah, scratch that. I never understood what you saw in her. I tried to warn all of her boyfriends but they had to know better. Some of them actually deserved her caprices but I felt sorry for you. I really liked having you as a brother-in-law.”

“Missed you too, Jackie,” Daniel chuckled.

They hugged, drawing a few hostile looks from the older family members over the public display of same-sex affection, and from those who recognized Daniel.

“Let’s get a room, Jackie babe!” Daniel exclaimed loud enough to cause a few faces to distort in disgust and throw them even eviler glances—the worst punishment in holier-than-thou-class white people society. Content of their overt provocation, he and Jack slowly walked away from the buffet together, both their plates filled with delicacies and a cheeky, boyish sneer over their faces.

“Okay now, for real, how come you’re here,” Jack insisted once they had reached the backside of the church and sat down on the porch of the back door, munching away on their selection of hors-d’œuvres.

“Chloe wouldn’t have any of my protest,” Daniel tried between two bites. He washed them down with a generous gulp of vintage Mumm Impérial Extra Brut. “Not that I tried much, really, but still, she kept telling me how she wouldn’t have her favorite uncle missing her wedding. Well, technically, not her uncle. And you know... How could I ever refuse little Princess Chloepatra any wish? I caved. So here I am, doing it for her. Knowing your family, it might just as well be the last time I see her, so there’s that. Would be a shame to miss that opportunity.” His voice had a subliminal melancholy to it.

Jack patted Daniel’s shoulder. “Princess Chloepatra? Now that’s a nickname I sure haven’t heard in a while. I can imagine you must be the last one who’s still allowed to call her that. I remember her being rather... fond of you.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Daniel chuckled.

“What? The little girl crushing on her aunt’s hubby?” Jack tempted.

Daniel laughed. “Far more than that,” he quipped with a distinct proud undertone.

“More than an innocent little girl crush?” Jack echoed.

“Much more,” Daniel offered, knocking back another large sip from his flute, not even trying to hide his obvious rejoicing in old memories. “Fuck yeah!” he fired Jack’s suspicions.

“Wait... was it that summer?” Daniel’s unsuppressed dirty leer was all the affirmation Jack needed. “What happened that summer? When she spent her vacation with you? Not long after your divorce?” Jack pressed on. “I remember everyone being surprised that no one could talk her out of spending some time with you. I couldn’t hold that against her. Difficult times, those teenage years, especially for girls raised in such a strictly religious environment. Hormones, Catholic hypocrisy and a family that interprets the sexual frustration over a called-off engagement and the prospect of not losing one's virginity it brings as hysteria. I could all-too-well understand her eagerness to spend some time with someone as chill as you.”

“Know what? Go grab us a couple beers and I’ll tell you the whole story,” Daniel offered, now beaming with self-pride over an episode in his life long-passed. “...in all juicy detail.”

As soon as Jack had produced the two bottles—and two more for good measure—glasses once clinked, Daniel took a large drag.

“So... I’m listening,” Jack hinted.

“I,” Daniel began, mouthing the words into the opening of the bottle that was still against his lips, causing the characteristic glass bottle echo, “fucked her that summer.”

“You what?” Jack snorted his sip out of his nostrils. “Fuck! The carbon in the nose is nasty!”

Daniel’s grin was as wide as it was amused over having finally shared his secret revenge against his ex-wife’s family after all these years of secretly regaling over it.

Eyes open wide and unsure of whether he should allow himself to be amused as well, Jack reiterated, “You fucked your ex’s—my—niece?”

“You betcha,” Daniel replied, washing down his words with another sip of the fermented barley tea.

“Dude... You better tell me everything, and this story had better be good.”

“Well, I got this phone call one day from her mother...

***

It was early one Saturday morning. Well, early... Early for the morning after a night out drinking with the boys anyway. It was the phone that tore me from my alcohol-infused sleep. I swear my head was pounding to the rhythm of the ringing. Still beats waking up next to that nagging hag, I thought when I remembered the reason for my latest escapade... and for the good two dozens before that.

“Hello,” I barely managed, hearing my own slur in just these two syllables, rubbing the root of my nose.

The caller didn’t seem to mind but I remember vividly how your other sister’s shrill buzz saw voice sandpapered its way through my sensitive eardrums to the soupy remains of my brain. “Daniel, it’s Tiffany. Chloe wants to spend some time with you.”

“The witch’s older sibling, nice!” I muttered, only realizing it too late and praying, for once, that the greater powers up there had garbled my voice enough for her to miss it. “Chloe? Little Princess Chloepatra? Spend some time with me? Uh... sure... but...”

“No buts, Daniel, puzzling as it is, it was her nineteenth birthday wish to spend some time with Uncle Daniel as she put it,” came her voice, power-drilling directly into my brain, making me think it was the higher powers’ way of collecting their debt in saving me from my lapse just seconds earlier. “Also, her fiancé broke up the engagement and left her. She’s devastated. We’re counting on your help. And please stop calling her that childish name. It’s silly and she doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s a young lady now.”

Deporting the sulking kid to me for babysitting. Yeah, so much for Catholic charity.

Well, what was I supposed to do? I was alone, recently divorced, not feeling too great myself and I liked the kid, so what the hell... Also, it’s not like I was gonna get laid anytime soon, creative and witty Tinder profile or not. But still, a whole week without as much as a posh wank... Guess I just had to live with that.

We agreed that they’d drop her at the insultingly humble single-room cave... er abode I had been renting since the divorce. The place felt already crowded with me alone and my optimistically bought king-size was occupying the better part of the living-slash-dining-slash-bed-slash-basically-everything room but the place came with a lawn big enough for two lounge chairs so at least, I could treat her to some sunbathing and a nice barbecue. Also, she probably wanted to go out and do stuff, so we’d only need a place to crash, really.

The only thing that needed sorting out is where I’d be sleeping. I was more than willing to offer her the bed and ruin my poor old back with the unlevel ground in my backyard—weather permitting, naturally. But why worry before the question popped anyway? I hadn’t survived to my late thirties with that premise for no reason.

So there we were, Saturday shortly before noon, her parents critically eyeballing the ran-down place I could barely afford after my ex’s investment in somewhat more, er, easily charmed lawyers—with my money, of course. The kid was just standing there, barely acknowledging my presence, loudly chewing her gum and headphones blasting her ears with... the Christian death metal version of the latest hip TV preacher’s sermon or whatever those outrageous Catholic teenage punks were into.

I spared her parents the awkward handshake and the forced pleasantries by just turning around and opening the door for her. I was probably doing her a greater favor than them anyway, considering I wasn’t planning on sticking to any of this religious shtick, and maybe even sharing a couple of cold ones with her or, god forbid, letting her watch the violent and oversexed prime-time flicks with me and giving her ideas about what’s outside of this limited shell. Imagine a girl her age going to bed after nine, or even worse, sleeping in the next morning. Un-im-aginable! Or yet curse words.

Once the apartment door shut, she offered me a far touchier hug than under her parents’ eagle-eyed watch, headphones still on, nonetheless. From them, I heard the distinct beat of Eminem’s Rap God while her full-boobed hug, too, suggested she was not all that chaste after all.

I chuckled internally and couldn’t help a bright smile as I pictured us having a wonderful time together, bonding over provocative tunes and trashy movies. I was looking forward to playing my role as the cool uncle and corrupting that innocent little mind of hers. Not what you’re thinking, rather the small things like eating with your elbows on the table, burping after a healthy helping of coke, giving silly answers to casual questions... You know, the little things parents desperately try to decry as Satan’s little temptations and gateways to a sinful life, which makes kids love them all the more.

Although, I must admit, that feeling her soft boobs pressed against my chest did give me some ulterior ideas which I brushed off as a recently divorcé’s hormonal troubles. Blame me, she’s a cute girl. The hug did last a lot longer than I was prepared for, though. And her fingers were scratching my spine in just the right places to trigger a gasp I barely suppressed. This too did its part in making me question her motives. Given her most recent heartache, we were just in a similar hormonal predicament, I wagered.

When I let go of her and tried to look her in the eyes, she resumed munching on her gum and staring blankly at the wall, however. Yeah, definitely just my hormones, I reminded myself.

“Princess Chloepatra,” I offered maybe a tad too cheery. “So great to have you over,” I tried to catch my vocal outburst, which she brushed off with a shrug and a casual chewing gum bubble that popped onto her luscious lips. Seeing her lick the thin film of synthetic gum base, I forced a considerable lump down my throat, wondering if she was even aware of what her little display was doing to a recently divorced man in the prime of his fifth spring.

She grabbed the enormous sports bag she had for a luggage, eyes glued to the wall, and managed to pronounce “where?” without even bothering to stop chewing or moving her lips, making me second-guess my initial delight over having her for the week.

I pointed to the bed and told her to get comfortable. “Lunch in twenty minutes sound good?”

No later than the last syllable had left my lips, she produced her phone from her purse and nodded her approval while fidgeting with that stupid thing.

“Sure, make yourself comfortable,” I offered, not bothering to make my voice sound believable anymore.

Whatever her mom had told her about me seemed to put some distance between us. But then why come over anyway? Her birthday wish? And her engagement? Not five minutes here and already more mysterious than St. Exupéry’s disappearance. Or had I just lost touch with teenage kids? I was twice her age, after all.

Well, interesting vacation indeed. At least, I would be having some company. That’s what I was trying to tell myself unconvincingly.

She was nice enough to put the phone away for lunch and help me with the dishes, so from a formal point of view, she was at least not a bother to have around. Her passiveness, however, did annoy me quite a bit; mostly because I was trying to lighten the mood and make the situation less stiff by cracking a few of my best jokes, but rather felt like the creepy dad trying to be rad around his teenage kids. I could coax a few answers from her, still, although they were rather monosyllabic and her intonation a testimony of juvenile indifference.

After doing the dishes, I asked her what she wanted to do. “Wanna go outside a bit? Shopping? The lake?” I tried to read her preferences by observing her elusive facial reactions. “The forest? Wanna go to the movies?”

“Lawn looks nice,” came her first three-syllable reply. “Can I sunbathe?”

“Sure, it’s your vacation. Whatever you say goes,” I agreed, wondering why she’d come here to sunbathe and not just do it at home. Still, I thought I’d quickly see her eyes looking back into mine after I said ‘whatever’. Probably just my wishful imagination again.

I agreed because, frankly, I wasn’t taking advantage of the lawn enough. “Sounds fine and let's have some burgers tonight, yes?” I could tell from the way she nodded that she was trying very hard to keep her indifferent mask while her eyes were glistening with enthusiasm. Just what was up with this girl? “And wanna ask a few friends to come over too? Have a bit of a BBQ party?”

She shook her head. “Wanna spend some time with you.”

“Seven syllables? Color me impressed,” I chuckled unconvincingly, to which I thought I’d see her cheeks slightly flush and her facial features tense up. Still, she managed to keep them at bay. That girl was weird. Was I really so old that I had already forgotten how it was to be her age? Thinking back to the many hearts I broke for the sole reason of appearing cool and being popular... yeah, not my proudest time.

Chloe was sitting on the bed and rummaged in her bag and found a one-piece bathing suit. She threw me a suggestive glance indicating that I should look away while she changed into it. When I saw the nondescript pile of black Lycra in her hand, I tried to read her eyes for a nonverbal message of how her mother had successfully prevented her from showing more skin than necessary. In my humble abode, it was her decision. If she liked the tan lines... They certainly wouldn’t bother me, I caught myself thinking, chastising myself for my impure ideas.

“I’ll unfold the lounge chairs while you change into that, yes?” I offered in a feeble attempt to cover my momentary absence of mind. Had I not been cursing myself for being a creep, I might have interpreted the twitch in her cheeks as an amusement over my reactions.

I shrugged it off and walked out, whispering to myself that my behavior towards my ex’s niece would have to improve instantaneously if I didn’t want to lose the prospect of having her around more often. You see, it wasn’t because I needed her family’s validation—they had lost any respect for me (if they’d ever had any, that is) when The Witch had won the divorce. I just didn’t want you guys to think I was the creepy uncle, is all.

While I was still muttering my disapproval over my own behavior and adjusting the cushions on the lounge chairs, Chloe stepped out. Her strategically monstrous shades covered the look of pure, amused mischief that must have been in her eyes when it dawned on me that her bathing suit had only been a decoy while I was setting up the chairs.

You wouldn’t believe that from a family of Catholic fundamentalists, a girl would spring, wearing a pathetic excuse for a triangle in front of her crotch, held in place with little more than dental floss and a top that barely covered her areloæ, let alone contained her breasts and threatened to bare them almost fully should her nipples tent the virtually nonexistent fabric that covered them in case she’d get excited. With each step she took, her boobs swayed enough for me to be afraid they’d just pop out, revealing their juvenile glory.

That was before I remembered my resolution I had formulated just minutes ago before discarding it just as quickly and unceremoniously. Immediately, I sought her eyes to give her my best apologetic glance but could only see the reflection of my pathetic mercy-begging expression in her shades. No way of telling whether she was bristling with anger or happy that her garment was having the intended...