A Beatles tune flowed from the Bose radio that sat on the windowsill above the sink. His parents were side-by-side washing pots and pans, and singing along with Paul and the rest of the boys in the band. He couldn’t help but grin at the way they still, after so many years, loved being around each other. His smile fell when his father reached around and squeezed his mom’s butt. “You two are worse than a couple of teenagers,” Gavin groaned. “If I’d come in any later, who knows what I would have walked in on?” “Tough noogies.” His mother kept her hands in the sink and didn’t even turn around, but she wiggled her butt at him. “You’re lucky we have clothes on.” “She’s not wrong,” his father sang. He glanced over his shoulder at Gavin and waggled his salt-and-pepper brows. “All kinds of fun happens around here now that we live alone.” “Aw, c’mon,” Gavin groaned. “Don’t gross me out. I haven’t had dinner yet. It was my night to cook at the station, and you know I don’t eat my own cooking.”
