A week passed quickly after their hasty retreat from Evelyn's house back to the relative safety of Charlie's Malibu house.
In the living room, Charlie sat at the piano, trying to teach Jake.
"No, no, relax your wrist, kid," Charlie instructed, pointing at the keys. "You're playing a C-major seventh chord, but you're hitting it like a brick. You want to roll into the dominant, not punch it. Give it some breath."
Jake relaxed his fingers, playing the progression correctly.
Charlie sighed, rubbing his temples. He was deeply confused. He knew, for an absolute fact, that the kid had sat down just two weeks ago and flawlessly banged out an intricate jazz progression that required professional class dexterity. Yet now, he was playing like an amateur who had just discovered where Middle C was. Charlie eventually decided that Jake was pretending to be bad so they could spend time together. It was kind of pathetic, but also somewhat endearing, so Charlie let it slide.
Of course, he didn't know that this was Jake's real ability without the help of Argus.
Just then, Alan came trudging into the living room, a massive plastic laundry basket balanced on his hip.
"Got to run to the grocery store," Alan announced, out of breath. "Jake, would you mind helping me fold these clothes before I go?"
"Sure," Jake said, abandoning his poor piano playing and hopping off the bench.
Alan set the basket down and then stared pointedly at Charlie.
Charlie sighed, standing up. "I could help, I guess."
"Thank you," Alan said with a tight smile, turning toward the door.
Jake immediately started sorting through the basket. Within seconds, he pulled out a piece of fabric. He held it up by the strap. It was a bright, cherry-red lace brassiere.
"A little bit too big for you, Uncle Charlie, isn't it?" Jake asked, his voice deadpan.
Alan stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around, panic flooding his face, and lunged forward, snatching the bra out of Jake's hand.
"This is... ummm," Alan stammered, his eyes darting wildly as his brain frantically searched for an age-appropriate lie. "This is... for..."
"It's okay, Dad. I know," Jake said evenly.
Alan froze. "You... you know?"
"Of course," Jake nodded solemnly. "Uncle Charlie suffers from gynecomastia. It's a benign enlargement of glandular tissue in the male breast, usually caused by an imbalance of estrogen and testosterone hormones. It's quite common" Jake turned to Charlie. "Maybe you should try a sports bra first. The lace seems like it would cause chafing."
"I do not have gyne—" Charlie started, highly offended.
"Uhum!" Alan coughed loudly, his eyes wide and silently screaming at Charlie to just accept the excuse.
Charlie looked from Alan's terrified face to Jake's perfectly blank expression. He sighed, defeated. "You're right on the money, kid," he grumbled, annoyed.
Jake let out a sharp, unexpected bark of laughter.
Charlie narrowed his eyes. He realized instantly that he was being played. "Oh. Haha. Very funny, kid. No one likes a smartass," he muttered, crossing his arms as he realized he'd just been manipulated into admitting he had "man-boobs" to cover for a mysterious woman's underwear.
"Alright, I'll be back in an hour," Alan said, profusely sweating but deeply relieved that he didn't have to explain the concept of one-night stands to his ten-year-old.
Night quickly fell. Charlie was sprawled on the couch watching a movie, while Jake was sitting cross-legged on the rug, rapidly flipping through a thick textbook.
"Hey, what are you reading?" Charlie asked during a commercial break.
"Oh, I'm just reading University Physics with Modern Physics, 15th Edition," Jake replied, turning another page.
Charlie looked over at the small stack of massive, intimidating textbooks Jake had already plowed through that afternoon. "Are you really fully understanding those books?"
"Oh, I'm just reading it to add it to my library," Jake explained.
Charlie looked around the room. "Your library?"
"My mental library," Jake said, tapping his temple. "I read them, and I store them in my mental architecture. Whenever I need the information, I just access it there."
"You're kidding," Charlie said, highly skeptical.
"Go ahead. Pick any book from the pile," Jake offered, pointing to the stack.
Charlie stood up, grabbed a massive, green textbook titled Campbell Biology, 12th Edition, and flipped it open to a random spot in the middle.
"Alright, smart guy. Page 412, paragraph three, second sentence."
Jake didn't blink. "The Calvin cycle uses the chemical energy of ATP and NADPH to reduce CO2 to sugar."
Charlie frowned, looking down at the book. "Page 855. Boxed text at the top."
"Echolocation in bats relies on the emission of high-frequency sound waves and the interpretation of the returning echoes to form a spatial map."
Charlie slowly closed the book, staring at his nephew. "So what, you remember everything?"
"Basically," Jake said.
"Okay. What was I wearing two weeks ago, on a Sunday?"
Jake paused while using Argus. "A mustard-yellow bowling shirt with black piping, tan cargo shorts, and those yellow flip-flops"
"Dammit."
Charlie thought hard for a second. He realized he had no idea what he had worn two weeks ago and cursed.
Just then, Alan walked out of the guest room, throwing a jacket over his shoulder. "Alright, I'll be back in a while."
"Where are you going?" Charlie asked.
Alan saw Jake sitting on the rug and immediately panicked. He didn't want Jake to know he was desperately running back to Judith's house to act as her unpaid handyman.
"Oh, I'm going to, uh... get the groceries."
"You already bought the groceries this afternoon," Charlie pointed out.
"Uh... those were the morning groceries. I'm going to buy the night groceries."
Charlie stared at his brother, utterly baffled. "What?"
"He's going to help Mom take out the trash and fix a leaking pipe," Jake said without looking up from his physics book.
Alan gasped. "What? How do you know?"
"You have a high pitch when you lie, Dad."
"No, I don't!" Alan protested, his voice instantly hitting a squeaky, falsetto note.
Alan stopped, hearing the squeak echo in the room. "...Oh. Now I hear it." He hung his head, realizing his son was completely right.
"Did Judith throw you out or not?" Charlie asked suddenly, putting the pieces together.
"Yes, but it doesn't mean she doesn't need me!" Alan defended himself weakly.
"Yeah, it kinda does," Charlie said.
"Well, we are still married! It is still my house!" Alan argued. "She still counts on me to do a few chores around the place. It leaves an open door for reconciliation!"
"I don't think so, Dad," Jake interjected.
"What? What do you mean?"
"You are only dragging out the inevitable," Jake said. "Do you want some advice?"
Alan looked at his ten-year-old son, his expression suddenly serious. "Jake, listen. You may be a genius, but you just don't understand how adult relationships work yet."
"Okay," Jake said, immediately turning back to his book.
An awkward, heavy silence fell over the room. Alan shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly agonizing over what Jake might have said.
"But..." Alan started slowly. "If you wanted to say it..."
"Oh, I don't want to impose," Jake said politely.
"Oh, it's not imposing at all! I just meant... if you had a thought, you could share it."
"Well, I mean, if you don't want to hear it, I don't want to waste your time," Jake replied smoothly.
"I didn't say I didn't want to hear it! I just said—"
"Oh, for God's sake, just tell him!" Charlie yelled, throwing his hands in the air, deeply annoyed by the endless passive-aggressive banter.
"Alright," Jake said, looking directly at his father. "You have to stand your ground. You must let Mom know that if you are divorcing, she loses access to your utility. You cannot act as her personal handyman while she actively rejects your emotional presence. It creates a paradigm where she receives all the benefits of the marriage with none of the obligations."
Alan stared at him, taking in the brutal, logical truth of the statement. He swallowed hard.
"Oh, please, Jake," Alan scoffed dismissively, trying to save face. "As if that would work. You are still too young to fully understand the complexities of the adult world."
Alan turned on his heel and marched out the front door.
As soon as the door clicked shut, they could hear Alan's muffled voice from the driveway, frantically practicing. "Judith, if we are divorcing, I cannot help you with the trash! Judith, if we are separating, my utility is no longer available! Judith—!"
"What a schmuck," Charlie sighed, taking a sip of his beer.
"Hey, that's my dad," Jake protested mildly. Then he paused, listening to his father arguing with himself in the driveway. "...But yeah. You're right."