Thanks, Dads - 4. Fathers' Day

Ryan Langley, seventeen, and chronically allergic to mornings and emotionally weaponized nostalgia, wandered into the kitchen at 11:43 a.m. with his hoodie up, pajama pants on, and socks mismatched.

The house was suspiciously quiet and… ambient.

Which could only mean one thing: parental plotting.

A cinnamon-scented candle flickered in the center of the island.

A fat stack of pancakes towered on the counter like a carb-based bribe.

And a single daisy stood at attention in a juice glass, too innocent to trust.

Ryan squinted. “Who died?”

“Ryan! Living room! Now!” Lee called.

Ryan sighed. “What did I do?”

“You’ll see!” Jack called back. “It’s not a punishment!”

That was definitely a lie.

Still half-asleep and fully suspicious, Ryan shuffled into the living room.

Jack was swaddled in a throw blanket like a benevolent cult leader, while Lee sat upright, remote in hand, eyes twinkling with the giddy menace of a man about to emotionally detonate a teenager using nothing but JPEGs and childhood sincerity.

Ryan froze. “Okay, what fresh emotional ambush is this?”

Lee clicked the remote.

The TV screen lit up to show a full-screen PowerPoint with a title that read:

A Fathers’ Day Celebration: The Evolution of Ryan Langley, Age 0–17

Ryan blinked. “It’s Father’s Day? I thought that was next weekend.”

“Wrong! It’s today!” Lee announced cheerfully.

Then he clicked the remote again. The screen changed.

Slide 1: Ryan, age two, wearing nothing but fairy wings and a plastic firefighter helmet.

Ryan sighed like he was about to be violated under the Geneva Convention. “I have rights.”

“Nope,” Jack corrected. “We adopted those too.”

Ryan flopped down on the couch with the resigned elegance of a collapsing marionette.

Lee clicked again.

Slide 2: Baby Ryan, incensed, mid-yeet of a stuffed pug.

“Prophetic, really,” Jack said. “You sensed Elton coming years before we adopted him.”

Elton snorted.

Slide 3: Toddler Ryan in a spaghetti explosion, glaring at the camera.

“You insisted on feeding yourself,” Lee recalled with amusement. “You wore more spaghetti than you ate. It was a power move.”

Ryan said nothing as he crossed his arms like they could shield him from the inevitable emotional wrecking ball.

Slide 4: 3-year-old Ryan asleep in Lee’s arms, Jack reading Goodnight Moon next to them.

“You wouldn’t fall asleep unless we were both there,” Lee said, his voice quieter now. “You needed us. Not one. Us.”

Ryan’s arms loosened slightly, a subtle crack in his stubborn line of defense.

Slide 5: Ryan’s first drawing of their family, made up of squiggly lines labeled “dad 1” and “dad 2.”

Jack laughed fondly at the memory. “You labeled yourself ‘Kid 1,’ too. As if we were planning sequels.”

“No little brother. Just a little pug menace instead,” Ryan deadpanned.

Elton let out a loud snort in response.

The slides kept coming. Halloween as Subpoena Man. A science fair volcano. Braces. A cape that read Drama Is in My DNA.

Ryan slouched. "Okay. You've made your point."

Jack offered a small smile. “We’re almost to the good part.”

The final slide clicked into place.

Slide 14: The Day We Met You

A grainy photo of two terrified dads holding a baby.

Lee's hair was longer. Jack looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Baby Ryan in the center, one eyebrow raised like he could already tell these two were going to be a handful.

Lee’s words came softer now. “This was it. The moment it felt real.”

“You looked at us like we were already doing it wrong,” Jack added. “But you didn’t cry. Even when we did.”

Ryan stared at the screen, his heart thudding weirdly in his chest.

“I don’t… remember it.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack assured gently. “We do.”

Ryan looked down at his feet. “So, this was your big Father’s Day plan? Pancakes and emotional assault via slideshow?”

Lee chuckled. “We call it Breakfast and Breakdowns.”

Ryan stood without another word and left the room.

Elton snorted in pudgment.

Lee blinked. “Too much?”

Jack hesitated. “Maybe he’s emotionally combusting… in a good way?”

They sat in silence.

Then Ryan returned.

Holding a tray of food.

Burnt toast. Over-scrambled eggs. The pancakes from the kitchen counter. And a peeled clementine that had been aggressively manhandled.

He placed it on the coffee table, cleared his throat, and avoided their eyes. “I made breakfast,” he mumbled. “Happy Father’s Day or whatever.”

Jack smiled. "We’ll take it."

Lee wiped his eyes. "There’s syrup."

"For the pancakes or in your eyes?"

"Both."

Ryan retrieved the syrup from the kitchen. "I’m eating six of these pancakes and then pretending this never happened."

Jack grinned. "Classic. Emotional denial. A Ryan Langley tradition.”

Lee chimed in. "We should make this a new tradition."

"Which part?"

"All of it. Minus the denial."

"I said 'or whatever.’ Don’t make it a thing," Ryan groaned. “I swore I’d stop letting you two emotionally blackmail me.”

They began dividing up the spread.

Without looking up, Ryan muttered, “Next year, I’m making the slideshow. Just warning you.”

Lee stopped chewing. Jack choked on his tea.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Ryan said, stabbing a pancake like it was the closest thing he had to a voodoo doll. “Seventeen years of blackmail material. And I have Photoshop.”

They laughed.

“We look forward to the retaliation.”

“Good,” Ryan said. “There’s a decent chance it’ll be in essay form.” He paused. “With satire.”

Jack turned to Lee. “We’ve created a monster.”

Lee’s eyes lit with pride. “And I love him more every year.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and proceeded to drown his pancakes in syrup the way his dads always drowned him in love.

Sticky. Dripping. Ridiculous.

And yet, he ate it anyway.

Every last sweet, soggy bite.