Life in the Cooper household had never been quiet, but now, with a genius prodigy, a walking disaster of a four-year-old, two puppies, and a baby on the way, the chaos levels had reached new heights.
John continued working on his art portfolio with laser focus, determined to not only win the $10,000 but also ensure his paintings were sold for the highest price possible. Meanwhile, Georgie had declared himself The Greatest Big Brother in History and had started preparing in his way.
And by "preparing," that meant practicing how to cradle a football while calling it "baby training."
One morning, as the sun rose over Texas, John sat at the dining table, painting his last piece that would complete his entire portfolio, sipping a cup of very slightly caffeinated coffee (Meemaw had snuck him a sip, but nobody needed to know that). Across from him, Mary sat, rubbing her belly, already feeling the exhaustion of pregnancy creeping in.
George, still groggy from sleep, walked into the kitchen, scratching his belly. "Mornin'," he mumbled before freezing at the sight of Georgie, who had wrapped himself in a blanket like a makeshift baby sling.
Inside the blanket? A very uncomfortable-looking Charlie, one of their puppies.
"Georgie, what in the hell are you doin'?" George asked, rubbing his temples.
"I'm practicing for the baby, Dad!" Georgie announced proudly. "Look! I'm holding Charlie like a newborn!"
Charlie, clearly unimpressed, wiggled uncomfortably in his "sling."
"Put the dog down," Mary sighed.
"But Mama, I need to learn how to be gentle! Babies are tiny, and I can't be droppin' them!"
John raised an eyebrow. "That is, in fact, the most logical thing you've said all week."
Georgie grinned. "See? Even the genius agrees!"
"Yeah, but you're suffocating the dog," George pointed out.
Georgie gasped and quickly unwrapped Charlie, who took off running as soon as his paws hit the ground. "Okay, maybe I need a new baby practice buddy." He turned to Cooper, the other puppy, who immediately ran under the couch.
"Absolutely, not! Don't even think about it," John said, going back to his painting.
Mary shook her head. "You'll get plenty of practice when the baby arrives, Georgie. Until then, leave the poor dogs alone."
Georgie crossed his arms, deep in thought. "Fine… but can we at least name the baby something awesome? Like… Captain America Cooper?"
John didn't even look up. "That's a terrible idea."
"Okay, okay. What about Duke Danger Cooper?"
"No."
"Ooooh! Rocket Power, Cooper!"
"You're getting worse," John deadpanned.
George chuckled. "Kid, I admire your creativity, but you ain't namin' the baby."
Georgie huffed. "Fine. But if y'all pick somethin' boring, I ain't callin' 'em by their real name. I'll make up my own."
Mary sighed, already regretting the future nickname wars.
Later that day, while Mary rested in her room and Georgie attempted to teach the puppies how to "save people," which mostly involved them licking his face as he lay dramatically on the floor, John sat in the garage with George, going over some numbers.
"So let me get this straight," George said, squinting at the notebook in John's tiny hands. "You're tellin' me that if I give you $200, you can turn it into $500 in a month?"
"Yes," John said confidently, pointing at his calculations. "I've been keeping track of betting odds and probability. I can place small, calculated bets and make sure the risk is minimal."
George let out a low whistle. "Well, I gotta admit, you got more brains than I ever did at your age… hell, probably more than I do now." He leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Alright, I'll give you the $200—"
"Yes!"
"But," George interrupted, raising a finger, "if you lose it, you gotta do chores for a whole month."
John considered this. "Fine. But if I make a profit, you split it with me 70/30."
"60/40."
"65/35."
"Deal."
John smirked, shaking his dad's hand.
George doesn't know that John was willing to go as low as 50/50, but he lowballed his percentage the moment John said 70/30; his entire focus became the 70 and making offers closed to 70% instead of just resetting the figure into a more advantageous to his side.
'SUCKER!, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH' John said inwardly.
That evening, John sat in his room, working on the final details of The Reflection of Youth while Georgie sat on the floor with a notebook, scribbling furiously.
"What are you doing?" John asked, still painting.
"I'm makin' a Big Brother Rulebook," Georgie declared. "Rule #1: Always have snacks. Babies love snacks."
John side-eyed him. "Babies drink milk for months before they even eat food."
Georgie frowned. "Okay, new rule: Borrow John's money for baby stuff."
John immediately snatched the notebook. ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!."
Georgie grinned. "Well, you gotta help me think of real rules then."
John sighed, setting his paintbrush down. "Fine. Rule #1: Always be patient. Babies cry a lot."
"Okay, okay." Georgie wrote it down. "Rule #2: If the baby farts, blame someone else."
John shook his head. "You're hopeless."
Georgie beamed. "Yeah, but I'm fun."
The night ended with Mary laughing as Georgie ran around the house, dramatically reading off his "Big Brother Rules," while John sat back, sipping a juice box like a 40-year-old businessman who had just closed a stock deal.
Between a genius brother, a chaotic one, two mischievous puppies, and a baby on the way, one thing was certain…
Life in the Cooper household was never going to be boring.