Saturday, Leo's House
Saturday dawned with that pale Los Angeles sun that promised heat without quite delivering. I was in my room with my laptop open on my lap and the robotic arm connected via USB, adjusting the last parameters of the control code. The wheelchair motorization kit project was still just a collection of sketches and equations, but every weekend I advanced a little more.
The phone vibrated. It was a message from Alex.
Alex: "My mom is in crisis mode. She found a naked picture of a woman on the computer. She thinks it was Luke."
Me: "Was it Luke?"
Alex: "I don't know. But my dad is acting really weird. He keeps offering to 'handle the situation' all by himself. Very suspicious."
I smiled. Phil Dunphy, the hero we didn't ask for but who always ends up creating more chaos than he solves.
Me: "Do you want me to come over?"
Alex: "My mom says no, that this is 'family business.' But Haley is already insufferable. She thinks I read her diary. Like I care about her textbook social life."
Me: "Did you read her diary?"
Alex: "No. But Luke was messing around on her computer yesterday. It was definitely him."
Me: "Are you going to tell Haley?"
Alex: "No. Let her suffer for a while. It's entertaining to watch her throw a tantrum."
I put the phone away and went back to the code, but curiosity got the better of me. I closed the laptop, put the robotic arm in its case, and left my room.
"Going to the Dunphys' again?" my mom asked from the kitchen, with a smile that was half resignation, half complicity.
"There's a family situation. Alex asked me to come."
"Right, the 'family situation.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "Take these cookies. It's good manners not to show up empty-handed."
"Are they the oatmeal raisin ones?"
"The ones Alex likes."
I didn't say anything, but my mother winked at me, and I felt my cheeks flush slightly.
The Dunphy House
When I arrived, the front door was ajar. From the entrance, I could hear the chaos unfolding in layers, like an out-of-tune symphony.
The first layer was Claire.
"Phil, I don't understand why you won't let me talk to him! He's my son too!"
The second layer was Phil.
"Honey, this is a man thing! I know how to handle it! I was a kid once!"
The third layer was Haley.
"Alex, confess that you read my diary! I'm going to kill you!"
The fourth layer was Alex.
"I didn't read your stupid diary, Haley! And if I had, I would have fallen asleep from boredom!"
I walked in without knocking. It was what I did now. I was no longer a guest; I was part of the furniture.
"Good morning, Dunphy family," I said, holding up the cookie tray like a peace offering.
Claire saw me, and her expression shifted from contained fury to something mixing relief with embarrassment.
"Leo, this isn't a good time."
"I always say that. I brought cookies."
Phil appeared behind Claire with a smile too wide and eyes too bright. He was in "everything is under control" mode, which was his way of saying "I'm about to make everything worse."
"Leo! So glad you came! We were just having a... a family meeting. About... man stuff."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Phil, it's not 'man stuff.' It's 'our ten-year-old son saw a naked picture of a woman on my computer' stuff."
"On a tractor!" Phil added, as if that made it less serious. "Well, on a combine harvester, technically. But the principle is the same."
"A combine harvester?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
"With her... you know... exposed," Phil said, making a vague gesture with his hands that clarified nothing. "And a cowboy hat and cutoff jeans and... well, the point is it's not appropriate for a ten-year-old."
Claire glared at him. "Phil, how do you know so many details about the picture?"
The panic in Phil's eyes was instant and absolute.
"Because... because... I saw it when I was checking the computer! To protect Luke, I had to... examine it... in detail... to make sure it wasn't... a virus. Yes. A virus. The picture might have had a virus."
"Do pictures have viruses?" I asked.
"Ones that come from... from... suspicious sites. Yes."
Claire narrowed her eyes. "Phil, who sent that picture?"
"No one. I mean, it doesn't matter. The point is, I'm going to talk to Luke. Don't you worry. I've got this. I'm the father. The man of the house. The one who brings order."
At that moment, Luke came downstairs with his shoelaces untied and a ketchup stain on his shirt.
"What's going on? I heard yelling."
Claire and Phil turned to him in unison. It was like a choreographed routine.
"Luke, sit down," Claire said, her voice dangerously calm. "Your father and I need to talk to you."
"Am I in trouble?"
"That depends on what you tell us," Phil replied, striking a pose he clearly believed was authoritative. "Sit down, son. We're going to have a... a man-to-man conversation."
Luke sat on the couch, feet dangling, an expression of total confusion on his face.
"About what?"
Claire and Phil looked at each other. Phil cleared his throat.
"About... things you see on the computer. Things you... shouldn't see. Things about... women on tractors."
"Women on tractors?" Luke blinked. "Like in cartoons?"
"Like in cartoons," Phil said, then added in a low voice: "but without drawings and without animation. And with less clothing."
Claire elbowed him.
"Ow!"
"Phil, be serious."
"I am being serious. This is very serious. Our son's sex education is at stake. And his relationship with agriculture."
From across the room, Alex gestured for me to come over. I sat beside her on the couch, setting the cookie tray on the table.
"This is better than television," she whispered, with a smile that barely curved her lips.
"Do you think Luke was the one with the picture?" I asked quietly.
"I don't know. But my dad is acting really strange. Like he's got something to hide."
"Do you think the picture is his?"
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