The peaceful morning, if it could ever be called that in the Dunphy household, was shattered by Alex’s piercing scream.
“Mom!
Dad!”
Claire spun around, her face a mask of alarm.
“What happened?”
“Luke just shot me!” Alex shrieked, clutching her arm dramatically.
Luke, wide-eyed and terrified, immediately burst into tears.
“I didn’t mean to!”
Claire rushed over, bending down to examine Alex’s arm.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” Alex wailed, “the little bitch shot me!”
Phil, despite himself, let out a guffaw, quickly trying to stifle it behind his hand.
“Language!” Claire admonished, though her eyes were still fixed on Alex.
Luke, through his sobs, pleaded, “They’re only plastic BBs.
It was an accident.”
Claire stood up, turning a stern gaze on Phil.
“What did I tell you would happen if you got him a gun?
Deal with this.”
Phil, suddenly serious, knelt to Luke’s level.
“Buddy, uncool.”
Claire stared at him, aghast.
“…That’s it?
That- no, no, no, no, no.
The agreement was that if he shoots someone, you shoot him.”
Phil blinked.
“We were serious about that?”
“Yes we were,” Claire insisted, “and now you have to follow through.”
Luke, hearing this, immediately started crying again, a fresh wave of tears.
“I’m so sorry!”
“Liar,” Claire deadpanned.
Luke’s tears stopped instantly, his face a picture of indignant shock.
“Go,” Claire commanded, pointing towards the door.
Phil, caught between his wife’s unwavering resolve and his son’s terror, tried to find an out.
“He’s got a birthday party.”
Alex, never one to miss an opportunity for justice, chimed in, “What’s more important here, dad?”
Claire remained firm.
“You can shoot him afterwards.
He’ll be home at two.”
Phil checked his watch.
“I can’t shoot him at two; I’m showing a house at two.”
“What about three?” Alex suggested, ever helpful.
Claire shook her head.
“No, he’s got a soccer game at three and then oh, we’ve gotta leave for that dinner thing at five.” She walked over to the family calendar hanging on the fridge, scanning it.
“Four fifteen.
You could shoot him at four fifteen.”
Phil sighed, defeated.
“Yeah, I guess that works for me.”
Luke let out a mournful, “Aw…”
Claire, with grim satisfaction, pulled a pen from beside the calendar and scrawled, “Shoot Luke.”
Phil patted Luke on the shoulder, a look of genuine regret on his face.
“Sorry, buddy.
It’s on the calendar.”
Luke just slumped.
“Oh, come on.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Hayley, practically vibrating with excitement and nerves, darted towards the door.
“Don’t answer it; I’ll get it!” But Claire, propelled by a mother’s instincts, was already there.
Claire opened the door, a bright, if slightly forced, smile on her face.
“Hi!
Hey, you must be Dylan.” She extended her hand, shaking Dylan’s with a firm grip.
Dylan, replied, “Hey.
Dylan, yeah.”
“I’m Hayley’s mother.”
Hayley, mortified by her mother’s effusiveness, grabbed Dylan’s arm.
“Hey.
Now let’s go.” She tried to pull him upstairs.
“Okay, um…
hang on one second.
Um…
woah.” Claire paused, scrutinizing Dylan.
“Dylan, you’re still in high school?”
“Yeah, I’m a senior.”
“A senior.
Okay.
Cool.” Claire turned her head slightly, calling to Phil.
“Phil, sweety, honey…
he is Dylan and he is a senior…” she then whispered, barely audible, “and you need to scare him.”
Phil, now armed with an invisible swagger, approached.
“Let me meet this playa.
Phil Dunphy, yo.”
Phil sat on the couch, demonstrating his “scare” technique.
“It’s like that.
You just- you just stare down on them and let the eyes do the work.
Your mouth might be saying, ‘Hey, we cool,’ but your eyes are like, ‘No, we not.'”
He pointed to his mouth.
“‘Nice to meet you.'” Then to his eyes, narrowing them into a squint.
“‘No, it’s not.'”
Back to his mouth.
“‘S’all good.'” Then his eyes again, accompanied by a mumbled, “S’all isisn’t.”
Phil stood before Dylan, trying to project an aura of cool authority.
“Yo.”
Dylan, clearly confused but polite, replied, “Yo.”
Hayley, desperate to end the awkward encounter, interjected, “Okay, I see you guys have-”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Phil cut her off, his hand resting on the stair rail, trying to look intimidating.
“You two…
you two keep it real, know what I mean, son?”
Dylan just blinked.
“Not really.”
“Please stop,” Hayley pleaded, her voice barely a whisper.
“That’s cool,” Phil said, attempting to wave it off nonchalantly.
As he did, his hand, slick from the lingering baby oil on the banister, slipped.
“Ow!
Oh god, that’s my back!”
Claire rushed forward.
“Sweetheart…”
Phil yelped, clutching his lower back.
“Ow!
Oh, I slipped on the baby oil.”
Phil was now lying on the couch, still grimacing from his “injury.” He tried to continue his lesson, pointing to his mouth.
“Oh, where’re you from originally?” Then his eye, a fierce glint within it.
“I could defeat you if it came to a physical confrontation.”
Phil was being carried, rather unceremoniously, by a surprisingly strong Dylan, who carefully navigated him towards the living room couch.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”
Claire, hovering anxiously, fretted, “I don’t know about this.
Should I call a doctor?”
“No, no, no, no, no.
You’re very strong, homes,” Phil wheezed, clearly impressed despite his pain.
Dylan managed a small smile.
“Thanks.” He gently placed Phil onto the couch cushions.
“Okay, nice.
Nice soft landing,” Phil managed, sinking into the upholstery.
“There you go,” Dylan said, clearly wanting to escape the bizarre scene.
Hayley, seizing the opportunity, grabbed Dylan’s hand.
“Okay, let’s go.” They practically fled up the stairs.
Phil, still sprawled on his side, called after them.
“I am on my side, though, so just flip me right back and we’re good.
We’ll be good.
I just need to get flipped right on my back, and we should be fine, so…”
Dylan and Hayley were halfway up the stairs when a figure descended from the attic.
It was Ethan, his brow furrowed in concentration, muscles straining slightly as he slowly curled two rather hefty dumbbells.
He moved with a deliberate, almost ritualistic rhythm, completely absorbed in his impromptu workout.
His band t-shirt, now damp with exertion, clung to his lean frame.
He didn’t even seem to notice them until he was almost level, his eyes focused straight ahead, his bicep flexing with each rep.
Hayley, clearly mortified by the sudden appearance of her grunting, weight-lifting twin, quickly grabbed Dylan’s arm and practically dragged him the remaining steps, slamming her bedroom door shut with a resounding thud.
“Don’t worry about him,” she called through the closed door, her voice muffled but dismissive.
“He’s harmless.”
Ethan merely grunted, completing another rep, his expression unchanging.
He paused, lowered the weights, and then, with a purposeful stride, headed towards Alex, who was now quietly reading on the armchair, a smirk playing on her lips.
“I need a favor,” Ethan stated, leaning against the armrest, his voice low.
Alex looked up from her book, her smirk widening.
“Why?”
“Trust me, it’s fun.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.
“This better not be like last time.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
“You’re still on about that?”
“I had no eyebrows,” Alex said flatly, touching her forehead.
“They grew back,” Ethan countered, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.
“Look, all I want is to scare Dylan away, I couldn’t do it.” He gestured vaguely towards his own presence.
Alex snorted.
“You’re not scary.”
Ethan sighed, then a glimmer of an idea sparked in his eyes.
“But we know someone who is.” He said, gesturing subtly with his chin towards the kitchen, where their mother was still fussing over Phil.
Alex considered this, a mischievous glint in her own eyes.
“I want to go to the museum.”
Ethan blinked.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t the joy of annoying Hayley outweigh the need for payment?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
Alex closed her book, giving him her full attention.
“While that is fun, I want more.
The Natural History Museum, the new dinosaur exhibit.”
Ethan groaned internally.
Dinosaurs were fine, but the museum?
It was so…
structured.
So educational.
But the thought of Dylan and Hayley was gnawing at him.
He pictured them holding hands, maybe even sharing an earbud.
The horror.
“Fine,” he conceded, reluctantly.
“Next week.
Promise.”
Alex’s smirk returned, clearly satisfied.
She got up and headed upstairs, a spring in her step.
Moments later, a shriek echoed from Hayley’s room.
“Alex, get out!
Mom!”
Claire, still trying to help Phil sit up straight on the couch, sighed.
“Alex, leave your sister alone.”
Alex’s voice, surprisingly calm, floated down the stairs.
“I was just getting my book, gosh.”
Claire, exasperated, muttered, “I know, sweety, but you need to respect their privacy.
What are they doing up there?”
Alex, now descending the stairs, walked past her mother, a completely innocent expression on her face.
“Nothing.
Lying on the bed watching a movie.”
Claire’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Okay.
Okay.
Um, I’m making a cake for tonight.
Do you wanna help me with the frosting?”
Alex, ever the manipulator, agreed readily.
“Sure.
So, you know, if Hayley got pregnant, would you ever pretend she was mono for a few months, and then, like, tell everyone the baby is yours?”
Claire stared at her youngest daughter, her mouth agape.
“…What?”
Ethan, who had returned to the couch and was now meticulously cleaning his fingernails with a drumstick, chimed in, completely deadpan, from his spot.
“The senior at school was out sick for, like, four months, but…
then a week later, she was breastfeeding at the corner of a carwash.”
Claire’s jaw dropped.
“Hayley is not getting pregnant!”
“Just saying if,” Alex replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she glanced at Ethan.
Claire shook her head, trying to regain her composure.
“I know.
And I know you two like to make trouble for your sister, but it’s not gonna work this time.
You know why?
‘Cause your sister is a good girl.”
Ethan, still focused on his drumstick, murmured, “Just like you?”
Claire paused, a strange, distant look in her eyes.
“Exactly, I was just like her when I was…” Her voice trailed off, a flicker of memory crossing her face.
Ethan could practically see the wheels turning in his mother’s head, the past colliding with the present.
Her eyes, initially firm, softened with a dawning realization, then hardened with a familiar resolve.
She looked towards the stairs, a dangerous glint replacing the maternal concern.
Ethan caught Alex’s eye from across the room and, with a subtle nod, raised a hand for a high five.
Alex returned it with a triumphant slap.
“When are we going to the museum?” Alex whispered, already feeling victorious.
“I thought ruining Hayley’s first relationship was a good payment,” Ethan mumbled, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
“It is,” Alex conceded, “but I want to go the museum.
You promised.”
Ethan sighed, knowing he’d been outmaneuvered.
“Next week.”