FQWL: First date(s?)
Apr. 2nd, 2013 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
When my alarm finally goes off at five, I sigh and get out of bed, giving up on the idea of possibly convincing my brain to let me get a few shreds of peaceful sleep. Knowing Amanda came home safe didn’t do anything to ward off nightmares and memories, and I feel like I didn’t get more than a handful of minutes of uninterrupted sleep at a time. I put the coffee on, extra strong, and take a hot shower. Hopefully I can catch Craig for his run. Maybe.
Dressed in an old t-shirt and some sweats, I pour myself a mug of coffee and add milk until I can take more than hesitant sips. As I’m drinking, I get a text from Craig saying he didn’t want to knock and wake me up, but if I’m already up he’s ready to start his jog. I let him know I’ll be right out and scrawl a note for Amanda on the whiteboard in the event that she wakes up.
It’s a cool morning. Craig and I jog around the cul-de-sac and out to the park, circle that and come back. He looks invigorated, but I’m ready to take another shower and see if I can nap.
“Good run, bro,” he tells me, clapping me on the back. “Way to go, keeping up! You should join me again. We’ll get you into shape in no time.”
“Thanks,” I pant. “Yeah. Good. Let’s.”
“Remember to hydrate, bro. And if you’re still up for helping with breakfast, come by in an hour.”
I give him a thumbs up and he jogs off. The first thing I do when I get inside is down a glass of cold water, and then I take a quick shower and put on jeans and a different t-shirt. Still no sign of life from Amanda’s room. I erase the whiteboard and scrawl a new note, then I slip back out and over to Robert’s. The door is open, which makes me wary, particularly with the state of disarray his house is in. Carefully, I make my way to his bedroom and peek around the doorframe. The bed, thankfully, is occupied only by one body and that body is Robert. I leave him water and painkillers, pick up the half-empty bottle of whiskey and cap it before it gets knocked over, and retreat to the kitchen. While his coffee is brewing, I check his fridge to see what I’ll need to bring over and discover that he must have done some shopping because there’s eggs, bacon, butter, cheese, milk, and a can of ready-made biscuits. The leftover biscuits are gone. The freezer has frozen pancakes, cheap sausage, and a bag of Reese’s cups. There’s still flour in the cabinet, though, so I get to work making real biscuits while the bacon sizzles in the frying pan.
As I’m putting the biscuits in the oven and the bacon onto paper towels to drain, Robert shuffles out of his room and heads for the coffee maker. He glares at me, then turns away to pour his coffee. “Make the eggs over easy,” he growls before sitting slowly at the table.
“You got it,” I tell him, cracking eggs into the bacon grease.
“Why are you here?”
It’s a demand, but not really an angry one.
“I’ll be doing breakfast at Craig’s this morning. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you if you came over and I wasn’t there.”
Robert grunts, but doesn’t say anything else. When breakfast is done, I plate it and set it in front of him. He picks up the fork, looks at me, and puts the fork back down.
“You look like I feel. What happened?”
I sit down and sigh. “Amanda went out last night and came home an hour and a half past her curfew. She ignored my texts. I know she’s safe, but that didn’t stop me from having nightmares.”
Robert reaches out and takes my hand. I squeeze his gently, and he squeezes back.
“That sucks. I drink on nights like that, but that doesn’t help you any. I guess that’s why you’re up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
“I’m always up this early,” I tell him. “I’m going to start jogging with Craig, I think. Give me something to do with my mornings when Amanda goes to college. Uh…sorry if you didn’t want me over here,” I add as it occurs to me that I did just kind of enter his house uninvited.
He takes his hand back and snorts in amusement. “If I didn’t want you over here, I would have locked the door.”
We both freeze as it sinks in that he just said by omission that he did want me here.
“You know what I mean,” he growls. “If I don’t give a shit, the door will be unlocked.”
“R-right. Of course.” I check my watch to try to hide that I’m probably blushing. “I should…go see if Amanda’s up and head over to Craig’s.”
“Yeah.”
Awkwardly, I leave Robert to his breakfast.
Amanda enters the kitchen as I’m wiping the whiteboard off again.
“Hey…” she starts hesitantly. “I thought about what you said last night. I should have texted you. I was having fun, and I didn’t want to stop, so I ignored them. But if anything had happened…” She looks down at her feet. “I’m really sorry, Pops. I won’t do it again.”
“I’m sorry for freaking out on you,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “You’re an adult. I trust you to make good choices. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
“Dad, no. I was making a bad choice. You were right to call me on that.” She hugs me back.
“I forgive you, Manda Panda.”
She giggles. “If I’m an adult, how come you still call me that?”
“Because I’m also your father,” I answer cheerfully, “and it is the right of every parent to embarrass their child no matter how old they are. Now,” I say as I release her, “I’m going over to Craig’s to make breakfast for him and his girls. You coming with?”
Amanda grins at me. “You know it.”
=
Breakfast with Craig is hectic and noisy, but from the look on his face, still less so than usual. Briar and Hazel are thrilled to have a full country breakfast, and offer to help clean up if I promise to come back next Sunday and do this again. Amanda and I promise before heading back home. She sits down to work on an overdue paper for Hugo’s class, and I brace myself and create a profile on Dadbook. There’s a selection of getting-to-know-you questions, and I guess I should fill them out, but some of them are…dumb.
On a Friday night, I am most likely to:
…sink into blissful oblivion and sleep.
If I could take one thing with me onto a desert island, what would it be?
…uh, a boat, obviously.
What are my turn-ons?? Whoah there, getting kind of personal, Dadbook!
Robert’s stubble leaps to mind, making me blush. I’m not going to admit to that. I type in ‘street smarts’.
What did I want to be when I grew up?
Like I had the time or energy to think about that? I was more focused on raising my baby sister. I put down ‘a good father’.
What’s my favorite movie genre?
Why, is someone going to ask me out? What if I don’t want anyone to ask me out? Sarcastically, I type ‘old comedies that haven’t aged well’.
What’s my ideal date?? Is this a support network, or a dating site??
The fact that I’ve never dated nor wanted to date just makes this more irritating. Arson, I type angrily.
What do I never leave home without?
Considering I left my home twice this morning with nothing but the clothes on my back, I pull up a Buffy, the Vampire Slayer quote: “My keen fashion sense.”
I spend a lot of time thinking about?
I suppose this one’s not so bad. I answer ‘how proud I am of my daughter’.
Profile complete, I wait while the system checks my address and then, unsurprisingly, all seven of my neighbors pop up as suggested contacts. I accept them all and go browsing through their profiles. Some of their answers make me laugh. Some of them make my eyebrows go up, like Hugo’s. Miniatures and muscles? There’s some hidden depths there, for sure. Joseph’s sounds like he’s trying to sound as noble and upstanding as possible. I save Robert’s for last, sure he won’t have answered honestly, and I’m not disappointed. I dash off a few notes to some of them – asking Hugo when trivia night is, telling Damien I’d love to have tea sometime, reminding Brian that we should arrange a camping trip – and a couple of messages come in while I’m doing that. Craig thanking me for doing the breakfast thing and asking if I’d be interested in hanging without the kids sometime. Mat welcoming me to the platform and expressing how much he’s looking forward to seeing what I can do at trivia night. Joseph praising my cookies and asking if I’d be willing and able on such short notice to join him for baking brownies for the church bake sale this afternoon.
What time does it start? I message back.
Three, although I try to be there for two to make sure everything’s set up.>
Grinning, I crack my knuckles. Save me half a table, I’ll bring cookies, brownies, and my caramel-apple crumb cake.
There’s a delay before Joseph’s message comes in. Thank you, I will.
Time to use my powers for evil. I head into the kitchen.
Three hours and a roast beef sandwich later, Amanda's celebrating her completed paper by going out for ice cream with The Emmas and I’m sliding cookies two at a time into sandwich baggies when an unknown number messages me.
WYD?
I’m about to fuck with the random person when I remember I gave Robert my number.
PACKING FRESH-BAKED COOKIES FOR A BAKE SALE.
The phone gets set on the counter while I keep packing.
HOW MUCH?
I can’t resist.
FOUR DOZEN. PLUS BROWNIES AND APPLE CRUMB CAKE.
The last tray is being packed when the reply comes in.
JOSEPH ALREADY PUTTING YOU TO WORK?
I’m laughing as I type.
IT’S NOT WORK. IT’S ART.
The last of the cookies are piled into the shopping bag next to the bag of brownies and the one of apple cake. I grab my keys, wallet, phone, and the bags and head out to my car.
Robert’s leaning against it, smirking.
My heart jumps into my throat and I do my best to not give him a goofy grin. “Hey,” I say as I get closer.
“Hey.” He holds up a five-dollar bill. “Three cookies, a brownie, and a piece of cake.”
I duck my head to hide my blush. “Sure, let me just…unlock the car…”
I set the bags on the driver’s seat and fish out three baggies of cookies and one each of brownie and cake, and hand them over. Robert hands me the money, which I drop in the cookie bag.
“Thanks,” he says, stepping away from the car. “Tell Joseph I said hi.”
“Uh…sure, and you’re welcome. Or maybe I should be thanking you for your patronage?”
He snorts in amusement and walks away. It takes me a minute to shake myself off of just watching him go and move the baked goods to the passenger’s seat before climbing in. As I’m backing out of my driveway, I watch him disappear into his house. Moments later, Joseph comes out of his own house and waves for me to stop. I put the car into park and roll down the window.
“Mind if I ride with you?” he asks, giving me a sheepish grin and hefting a bag of his own. “Mary took the minivan and the kids to get them settled, and this way, she won’t have to come back for me.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I tell him. “Just put the bags in the back.”
“Hey,” he says as he moves the bags, “why is there a five in with the cookies?”
Keep it together, Jack. Don’t blush. “Oh, uh…Robert bought some. He said to tell you he says hi.”
The look on Joseph’s face is priceless. It’s like he’s not sure what he’s feeling so he’s trying all the emotions out at once and none of them fit. Without another word he sits in the passenger’s seat, buckles in, and nods for me to drive.
=
I forgot to leave a note for Amanda, so I text her as soon as we’re set up and let her know where I am and why. She texts me back and tells me to save her a brownie. I hide one in the empty bags. The church bake sale gets underway pretty quickly, and I’m a new face, so there’s a lot of people buying my baked goods for the novelty factor. I see a few of the neighbors. Brian goes for the brownies, while Mat tries the caramel apple crumb cake. In what feels like no time at all, I’ve sold out and Mary’s coming around with a cash box to collect our earnings. Joseph still has some brownies left, and he gets into a rather uncomfortable conversation with Mary about using boxed mix. She tries to drag me into it, insulting the congregation, but I tell them both I’m only involved for the opportunity to cook. Joseph thanks me for my contribution, I collect my “empty” bags, and then I’m on my way home.
Amanda squeals over her brownie and thinks it’s cute that Robert bought cookies from me. I try not to think of the saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She gets started on homework, I get started on dinner, and the evening passes in domestic serenity. Just as I’m about to tell her to pack it in and go to bed because she has school in the morning, I get a text from Robert.
YOU UP?
YEAH, I type back.
WYD?
“Who’s that, Dad?” Amanda asks.
“Robert,” I answer her. JUST CHILLIN, I answer him.
CHILL AT J&K WITH ME
Amanda’s reading over my shoulder. “Do it, Pops,” she says. “Go, have the social life I can’t.”
“Ugh, fine,” I huff with insincere irritation, and we both laugh. I text Robert back. OK. OMW. “I’m trusting you to go to bed,” I tell Amanda. “Remember, good grades for good colleges.”
She kisses me on the cheek. “I remember, Dad. I’m going. You go, too.”
“I’m going. Sleep well. Love you, Manda Panda.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I stand for a good-night hug, then collect keys and wallet and head out to Jim and Kim’s. It’s a beautiful night, though, so I decide to just walk. Robert’s in a booth, and I can’t help but smile as I approach.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
He looks up at me. “Hey, buddy.”
And then Mary’s next to me. “Ahoy there, skipper.”
“I brought Mary along,” Robert says in a sort of unapologetic declaration that still comes off as an apology. “I needed a drinking buddy.”
There’s something going on that I’m missing, but I nod like this makes perfect sense. I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea of having an unhappily-married woman making passes at me, but I’m more of a designated driver than a drinking buddy.
As if she could hear my thoughts, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so scared, kiddo. We’re just having a drink.”
Robert nods slightly. “Yeah. Speaking of which, I think it’s time for the first round. Coke for you, Jack?”
“Oh. Yes, please.” Cautiously, I sit down across from Robert while Mary goes to the bar and comes back with wine, whiskey, and my Coke.
“You sure you don’t want anything in that Coke?” Mary asks as she sets the drinks down. It’s obvious from her tone that she’s judging me.
Robert takes his whiskey. “Leave it alone, Mary.”
She gives him a funny look before shrugging and sliding into the booth next to him. “Here’s to bad decisions and relaxed moral values,” she says. She and Robert both look like they’re the butt of a joke Mary just told. I say nothing and sip my Coke.
What have I gotten myself into?
When our drinks are gone, Robert grabs his jacket. First round or not, he looks like he’s got a few shots in him already.
“Let’s get marching,” he says tersely.
“What?” I wasn’t expecting that.
“The night’s still young,” he says as Mary slides out of the booth. “Come on, we’re bar hopping.”
“Oh.” I really don’t understand anything that’s going on. “…alright.”
We leave the bar and walk down the street to another one, an Irish pub.
“Next round,” Robert declares, leading us to the bar.
Moments later, we’re in a garish green booth sipping our drinks again, with Mary on Robert’s side, watching me with a disapproving look.
“Jack,” she says in a poisoned purr, “get the next round, won’t you?”
I order more wine and whiskey and bring the drinks back. Mary says something I can’t hear, and Robert laughs uproariously. I take my seat and slide the glasses over while Mary tells a story about pot brownies at the last bake sale. Robert seems to find it funny, but it’s the whiskey that makes it seem so amusing. At the conclusion of the story, Mary pins me with a piercing look.
“Do you smoke weed?” Before I can do more than open my mouth, she says, “I have two big fat blunts in my purse right now. Wanna blaze?”
Robert’s Dadbook profile answers suddenly leap to mind, and I grin. “You with the feds?” I demand in an overdone way. “This is entrapment. I worked hard for what I have, and no two-bit corner boy is gonna drop the dime on me. So you take what you’re pushing somewhere else, and I’ll keep running my business the way I want it run.”
Mary blinks. “What?”
“Remember,” I tell her sternly. “You come at the king, you best not miss.”
“Jesus, kid, dial it back,” she says as Robert giggles helplessly. “I’m just kidding around, cowboy.”
“Lay off him,” Robert gasps between giggles. “He’s alright.”
“Fine, fine,” she sighs.
We sit around, cracking jokes and sipping our drinks. Slowly, Mary and I warm up to each other, although in her case it may be the alcohol and in mine, it’s basking in Robert being relaxed and happy.
After a bit, I look at her and say, “Isn’t the next round on you?”
“You trying to ditch me, pal?” she asks pointedly.
Robert frowns. “Mary, slow down.”
“No, no, it’s fine. You want me to scram, I’ll scram. Jack wants alone time with his new best buddy. Read you loud and clear. The wingman breaks formation to pursue their prey. Now if you fellas will excuse me,” she says, sliding out of the booth, “Mary needs to sink her teeth into a helpless boy.”
I am baffled by this reaction, but Robert just grins.
“Go with god,” he says, and off she goes to sidle up to a younger-looking guy at the bar. “She grows on you,” Robert says, as if that explains everything.
I have no idea what’s going on. “I feel like she…kinda delights in making men suffer,” I say hesitantly.
Robert shrugs. “Well, she does.”
“What about…” I hesitate. “…her and Joseph?”
Instantly, Robert’s tense again. “What about ‘em?”
Okay, how can I phrase this diplomatically. “She doesn’t…act the way I would have expected her to. As a married woman.”
Thankfully, Robert relaxes. “Oh, that’s just a thing she does. She’s harmless.”
“Tell that to the poor thing she’s hanging off of,” I joke. “Guy looks like he’s seen war.”
Robert lets out a bark of laughter. “Good to see you’re not one of those straight-laced types.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I got pretty wild back in my day.” Especially running around with Keg-Stand Craig.
“Still got a little wild in you?” Robert asks me slyly.
Too much, considering how my heart just leaped. “You know it,” I tell him.
He grins and orders a couple more shots and a Coke. Oh god, what is he planning? I don’t say anything, and as we sit sipping, the silence gets more comfortable.
“You know,” Robert says suddenly, “too many people think that they have to fill the dead air with noise. Personally I think they’re afraid of the silence. Or they’re afraid of what the other person is gonna think of the silence. If you want some unsolicited advice, just learn to be comfortable with silence. Nothing wrong with two people sitting in silence and drinking.”
I don’t say anything, but I do smile and toast Robert with my glass. After a surprised moment, he smiles and toasts me back. It’s a very nice smile, one that warms me from the inside out.
Fuck, I think I’m in love.
“So,” Robert says into the comfortable silence, “you ever kill a man?”
I almost choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“You know, watch the life drain from someone’s eyes. It’s not just their life, you know,” he continues solemnly. “It’s their hopes and dreams draining away. Every memory and experience they’ve ever had…gone.”
He’s fucking with me. I grin.
“Nah, left that to the wife.”
Robert bursts into laughter. “You got me,” he wheezes before downing another shot. “I was just messing with you, but you got me.”
I grin. “Oh, I was serious. My wife was a sniper.”
That gets him laughing again. “To your wife,” he chuckles, toasting with the last shot. “They never knew what hit them.”
It’s my turn to chuckle at that. We touch our glasses together and down the contents. Robert gets out of the booth, shrugging his jacket on and I want to press myself against it, smell the leather and whatever other scents cling to it.
“Let’s roll,” he announced in a too-loud voice before apologizing. “Inside voices,” he chides himself. “Let’s roll,” he repeats in something less of a declaration and more of a warm invitation.
We leave the bar.
“Where to?” I ask, gauging Robert’s level of inebriation. He’s a bit wobbly, but not too bad.
“You’ll see.” He grins at me, something between shy and predatory anticipation.
Robert leads me to a run-down strip mall that’s basically abandoned this late at night, and tells me to wait before vanishing into the liquor store. A few minutes later he comes out with a wine bottle in a brown paper bag.
“I didn’t think you’d want one of your own,” he says as he opens it. “But if I was wrong, you’re welcome to share.”
Thankfully, the darkness hides my blush. “What is it?”
“White Zinfandel.” He takes a drink from the bottle. “It is delicious, fruity, and refreshing. Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just glad to see you enjoying something.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize it’s true. Robert genuinely looks like he’s enjoying himself, and I’m smiling at him like a sap. Get it together, Jack.
Robert looks away, then sits on the curb and takes another drink. I sit next to him, just enjoying the comfortable silence.
His jacket smells like cloves and smoke.
I’m definitely in love.
“Let’s throw rocks at shit,” Robert says lazily.
He picks up a large pebble or piece of broken concrete and hurls it at a stop sign. The ding echoes throughout the empty parking lot.
“That felt good,” he says, still sounding relaxed and content. He picks up another one and passes it to me. “Now you try. With feeling.”
I’m back to only being able to think of sexually suggestive phrases involving the word banging. Time to make something up. I take deep breath.
“I have unresolved resentment toward my father and I’m gonna express it through property damage!”
I hurl the rock. It sails right over the top and strikes the window of a parked car. Neither of has to say anything; with the instinct all young troublemakers possess, we leap up and dart into the nearest alley. We don’t stop until we’re far enough away to claim we were never there and then Robert leans against the side of a building, laughing as he pants. I start laughing, too, and we just stand there giggling as we catch our breath.
“Maybe we strike throwing rocks from the to-do list,” he chuckles.
“Agreed.”
There’s a gurgling growl. I’m not sure whose stomach it came from, but if it was Robert’s, mine thinks that his has the right idea because despite the fact that I had dinner…I’m hungry.
“Let’s get pizza,” Robert announces.
“I can’t argue with that. Where’s good around here? Actually,” I say, practically interrupting myself, “I don’t even care if it’s good, as long as it’s hot and in my mouth.”
Robert laughs and looks away. “I know just the place.”
He leads me through a maze of alleys and side-streets until we reach a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place called Pete’s Piece a’ Pizza.
“Ta-da!”
“Nice alliteration,” I murmur. “Mmm, and it smells great.”
Not only does it smell great, but the employees are pulling fresh pies out of stone ovens.
“They do a lot of business with the late-night drunk crowd,” Robert tells me. “You cool with pineapple on your pizza? They do a killer Hawaiian.”
It’s not a favorite of mine, but I’m starving and in love.
“I trust your judgment, Robert.”
He looks surprised. “I…thank you, Jack. Good Hawaiian pizza is one of the few things in life that I genuinely and thoroughly enjoy. The juiciness of the pineapple paired with the tanginess of the sauce is a flavor combination that I think everyone should experience at least once instead of dismissing it out of hand without giving it a shot.”
Oh my god, he’s so passionate about this. I want to find everything else he genuinely and thoroughly enjoys and listen to him talk about them. Forever.
“Two slices of Hawaiian,” Robert’s telling the cashier at the counter.
It’s a couple of minutes while our slices heat, and then the cashier hands them over on paper plates that do nothing to hold back the grease from the crust. Robert hands one to me, and we wander through the alleyways eating.
It’s absolutely delicious.
“I have seen the light,” I declare as I wad up my empty plate and toss it in a garbage can.
Robert looks…pleasantly surprised. “I’m glad.”
“Thank you for that. I feel much better now.”
He tosses his own plate and washes his slice down with wine. “You and me both.”
There’s someone talking somewhere nearby; we both look around for the source and see a slightly-ajar door. Then the talking stops and music swells. Robert looks at me excitedly.
“Got any more of that wild in ya?”
Any tiredness I might have been feeling evaporates. “You betcha!”
“Good on ya!” He gestures me towards the door and slips carefully through.
It’s dark inside, and I reach out to try to keep physical contact with Robert. He takes my hand, my heart leaps into my throat, and we creep forward towards some flickering light. Then we get into an open area and there’s a movie screen behind us.
We just snuck into a movie. I’m not telling Amanda about this.
The theater’s almost completely empty except for a few teenagers in the front row. They haven’t noticed us yet, and we crouch down to keep it that way. Robert tugs my hand and leads me all the way to the back row, where we settle into the center seats. It’s…some kind of romantic comedy, I think. Frantic guy trying to get through New York to find the woman he’s finally realized he’s in love with.
Robert still hasn’t let go of my hand. He’s got mine in his left hand, and the bottle of wine in his right. If I say anything, he’ll probably let go, but the longer we hold hands the more awkward it’s going to be when something draws his attention to it.
Suddenly, Robert shouts “KISS ALREADY!” and I about jump out of my skin.
“There’s nobody to kiss yet,” I point out, trying very hard to not think about kissing Robert. Fuck. “You…want him to kiss the taxi driver?”
Robert starts, and I realize he’s attained a deeper level of inebriation. “…hell yeah,” he mutters, like that was his intent all along.
The kids down in front turn to stare at us. One kneels in his seat.
“Hey man, keep it down!”
That’s...Hugo’s kid, Ernest. Why is he in a romantic comedy? On a school night?
“Does your dad know you’re here?” I call back to him.
Embarrassed, he turns back around and slides deeper into his seat.
The frantic man makes his way out to a tiny island, finds the woman, there’s some dialogue that I assume makes sense if you watched from the beginning, and they kiss.
“Finally,” Robert mutters. He takes a long pull of wine, finishing the bottle, and lets go of my hand to stuff it into the seat next to him. Then he smirks. “Boooo! Love is dead!”
Ernest pops back up. “Shut up! It’s beautiful!”
Huh. Kid’s got hidden depths.
The credits start to roll and I stand up, but Robert grabs my hand again and immediately pulls me back down.
“Hundreds of people worked very hard to make this film happen, and you’re going to sit here and appreciate them,” he declares loudly that it must have been meant for Ernest and his friends, too. “Look at that. Elizabeth Shelton. She worked really hard. I bet she did lots of good…uh…wardrobe design. Thank you Elizabeth Shelton for this beautiful film-going experience.”
Oh my god, he’s adorable. Robert Small is a precious, sweet cinnamon roll under all that anger and anti-social lashing out. I’d like to say I somehow knew it and that’s why I fell in love with him, but no. This is a glorious surprise and I will protect this man to my dying breath.
“And…Peter Anders,” he says, picking a new name out of the ones scrolling past. “Catering. Fed a bunch of people so that they could have the energy to do their jobs. What a guy.”
We let the credits roll while Robert thanks random members of the crew and I fight my urge to lift the armrest and hug him like there’s no tomorrow. Once it’s over and he’s made sure no animals were harmed in the making of this film, he stands up and we leave the movie theater.
Out in the alley again, however, Ernest’s friends are waiting for us. Blocking our exit.
“Hey, assholes!” one of them shouts before throwing a rock at us.
It’s not a very big rock, and it barely hits my knee, but it’s enough to make me exclaim in startled pain.
“My knee! What the hell?”
“What do you guys want?” Robert demands.
One of the kids tosses another rock from hand to hand. “You ruined my theater-going experience,” he sneers. “Now you have to pay.”
“We ruined it for you?” Robert crosses his arms and curls his lip. “That movie was pretty crappy in the first place.”
Whoah. Where did the cute, squishy drunk Robert go?
Ernest yells, “Hey! You take that back! That was a beautiful love story with really genuine acting!”
“You call that good acting?” Robert sounds furious. “What classicist mainstream, slop have you been served your entire life?”
“What?” Ernest sounds like he genuinely didn’t understand those words.
“Have you ever even seen any Michael Powell? A Matter of Life and Death? 1946? Easily the toughest five minutes of love you’ll ever witness.”
Ernest looks like he regrets picking this fight. “Listen, man-”
“No, you listen!” Robert’s having none of this shit. “That popcorn-ass drivel the mass media is shoving down your throat will only make you dumber and sadder. You of all people should strive for a higher standard in the art you consume. Your name is Ernest Hemingway, for chrissakes.”
“Oh no, now you’ve done it!” shouts the kid with the rock.
Ernest rushes Robert, screaming like a banshee.
I dive between Ernest and Robert, no thought, just sheer parental protective instincts. Ernest lunges forward and kicks me in the knee as hard as he can, making me yell in real pain. Robert gets between me and Ernest, looking absolutely furious.
“Alright buddy,” he snarls. “Talk like a punk, get hit like a punk.” He takes a boxer’s stance. “Queensbury rules. Three-minute rounds with one-minute rests in between. No low blows, fish hooks, J-grabs, or high blows.”
Ernest looks uncertain. “What?”
“And don’t even think about pulling an illegal turnstile. That’s an automatic deduction of three points.”
“I…”
Robert doesn’t give him time to finish. “You’ll have to designate a second if you’re unable to fulfill your role as main duelist. Your friend with the rock looks like he has enough youthful vivacity to handle it.”
The kid with the rock drops the rock. “Hey man, I don’t want to get dragged into this. That movie sucked.”
“It’s too late,” Robert informs him crisply. “You two are blood bound. If he dies, you die.”
I try to remind myself that Robert is still significantly drunk and bullshitting. But god damn he’s a good actor.
“Sorry. I don’t make the rules. Talk to Queensbury,” Robert says.
Ernest edges away. “We’re just…gonna go…”
The whole cluster of them back away and dart out of the alley.
Robert shouts after them, “The Queensbury association will hear about this! And consume better content!” Once they’re out of earshot, he turns to me.
“Nicely done, bullshitting them like that,” I say warmly.
He relaxes. “Thanks. I would never actually hit a child. That would be despicable. You throw the rules at ‘em, though, they always bolt. Nobody wants a Queensbury-sanctioned throwdown. But full disclosure, I made half of that up.”
“I know.” I grin at him, wanting so badly to just step over and kiss him because he looks startled and pleased again, and I can’t be sure but I think he may be flushing a little.
“You don’t even have to know the rules,” he says, and yeah, he’s flustered. “You just…make ‘em up.”
Oh no, he’s sweet and squishy again. And I’m grinning like a loon.
“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Robert says, and I nod agreement.
He leads us back through side-streets and alleys and back to our own neighborhood. I want to take his hand again, but I’m afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t want that.
“I’m so sorry,” he says as we approach the cul-de-sac, breaking our comfortable silence. “I get really into the art of filmmaking when I drink.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I think it’s cool how much you like movies. If you wanted to watch where you can yell and not get yelled at, I’d be glad to have you over for movie night sometime.”
Robert grins at me. “Buddy, I got so much to show you. You ever see any Sam Fuller?”
“I haven’t.”
“Fuller is cash.”
I’m…not sure what that means. “Thanks for defending my honor,” I say instead.
He looks flattered and pleased. “It’s a little strange when you say it that way, but sure. Why not.”
Robert throws an arm around my shoulder, I wrap mine around his waist, and we belt out tunes all the way back. Finally, we get to his doorstep.
“I wasn’t expecting tonight to go this way,” I tell him, “but I’m glad it did.”
“I liked it,” he says simply, still grinning. Then it gentles into the smile that turns me to molten chocolate. “Let’s hang again soon, yeah?”
“Anytime, buddy. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, whatever. You know where I live.”
Robert claps me on the shoulder. “That I do. Night, bud.”
I watch to make sure he gets inside okay, noting the tell-tale click of the door locking before I walk around to my house. It’s not until I’m lying in bed that it sinks in. He locked the door. Luckily, I’m tired enough that I fall asleep despite my best efforts at chewing anxiously on that thought.
===
My internal clock wakes me at my usual 5am. I flip it the bird and roll over.
An indeterminate time later, my phone buzzes, rattling against the bedside table. Growling under my breath, I reach for it and pry my eyelids open a crack. 5:35AM, and a text from Craig.
HEY BRO YOU UP? GONNA GET YOUR JOG ON WITH ME?
Ugh. What time did I even get to bed last night? One-something?
NOT THIS MORNING, I type back slowly. STAYED OUT WAY TOO LATE.
My eyes are sliding back shut when the phone vibrates in my hand.
ON A SUNDAY NIGHT?
Yeah, that wasn't the most mature thing I could have done.
ROBERT ASKED ME TO HANG OUT WITH HIM.
I want to go back to sleep, but Amanda will need breakfast before school and Robert...locked the door. The anxiety surges to life, not so much banishing sleepiness as brandishing a knife at it until it hides under the table. I roll out of bed, simultaneously tired and wound up, and take the phone into the kitchen with me to start breakfast. I've almost forgotten about Craig when the next text comes in.
HAHA, SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD A WILD NIGHT, BRO. I'LL LET YOU SLEEP.
Maybe I should correct him, but I'm just relieved that I have an excuse to not keep the conversation going. THANKS, I text back, and set the phone on the counter.
Amanda wanders in, already dressed but still rubbing her eyes, as I get the cheese on the scrambled eggs melted. She pours herself a glass of apple juice and sits at the table.
"Have fun last night?" she asks as I set her plate down in front of her.
Robert's soft smile leaps to the front of mind. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"What time did you get back?"
She's staring at her eggs as she eats them. I set my plate down and sit as well. "Um...somewhere between one and two."
Now she looks up with a teasing grin. "On a school night? Shame on you, Dad. How dare you have fun doing something that doesn't revolve around me." The grin blooms into a full smile. "I'm glad you had fun. You should do that more often. And Robert needs to have more fun, too. You gonna go make him breakfast after I head out?"
I open my mouth, unsure how I'm going to answer, but a knock on the door saves me. "Be right back," I tell my daughter as I get up from the table.
Looking through the peephole, it's...Robert, looking every bit as rough as I expected him to. He's wearing the same clothes from last night and holding two take-out cups from the Coffee Spoon. I unlock the door and open it.
"Hey," he says, not looking at me.
"Hey," I answer, doing my best to turn that one syllable into the relieved hug I want to give him.
He thrusts a cup at me. CHAI ANTWOORD FOR JACK is scrawled on it in Sharpie.
"Thanks," I tell him as I take the cup and sip. "Mmmmm. I needed this."
Robert glances warily at me, and I can't help but smile. He relaxes a little.
"Come in, join us for breakfast. I just finished cooking, but the pan's still hot. Over easy, right?"
Now Robert looks relieved, too. "Yeah."
He follows me into the kitchen and sits a little awkwardly, not looking at Amanda, while I go back to the stove.
"Have a biscuit," she tells him cheerfully, nudging the plate over to him. "Want something to drink aside from the coffee?"
Robert glances at her, then at me as I open the fridge. "I'll take some of that apple juice," he says quietly.
"Sure thing," I say, pulling out the juice and the eggs. Put them on the counter, grab a glass, pour and hand it over. "Two eggs, or three?"
"Two," he mutters.
Comfortable silence fills the kitchen as I cook the eggs, Amanda eating and Robert sipping apple juice. I plate his eggs, grab a fork, and hand them both over.
"Want anything special on your biscuits while I'm up?"
He stares at them for a long moment. "Actually...can I get some plain toast?"
"Of course." I grab two slices of bread and stick them in the toaster. "How do you want it? Just hard enough to crunch, golden brown, almost burnt?"
Robert chuckles a little. "Just barely golden brown. Thanks."
I flash a smile at him and adjust the toaster.
"I'm heading out," Amanda announces. "Both of you, try to nap or something, okay? You look like the walking dead. Love you, Dad."
"I'll see what I can do," I tell her, grinning. "Love you too, Panda."
She skirts the table to hug me, then goes back to give Robert a quick hug, then she's grabbing her backpack and out the door. Robert's toast pops and I bring it to him on a napkin.
"Good kid," he mutters as he takes a piece of toast and prods the yolk of one egg with it.
I take a long drink of my chai and sigh in contentment. "Thank you for this, Robert," I say quietly. "I hadn't had a chance to make myself any coffee yet."
He chews a mouthful of toast for a minute. "Got up and realized I'd locked the door," he says, not looking at me. "Hadn't meant to do that."
In other words, he hadn't meant to send the message that he didn't want me in his house.
"I'm kind of glad you did. Leaving your door unlocked isn't exactly safe, even in a nice neighborhood like this."
Robert looks up, searching my face. Then he gives me a tiny smile. "If I tell you where I hide the spare key, will you use it to sneak in and murder me in the middle of the night?"
I'm more likely to sneak in and kiss his temple and then sneak back out. I grin. "Hey, didn't I tell you last night? I leave shit like that to my wife. O-or I did," I add, remembering that there's a 99% chance Ana's dead.
"Hey." Robert takes my free hand and squeezes gently. "I don't actually have a spare key hidden anywhere. That's just as unsafe as leaving your door unlocked." His eyes widen as he realizes he's just eliminated any passive way to invite me over in the mornings. "If you're serious about putting up with my hung-over ass," he mutters, looking away, "I'll make you a spare key."
I squeeze his hand. "I'd sleep better knowing I can check and make sure you're okay." I...think Robert's blushing? I give his hand another squeeze and then let go. "Eat before it gets cold," I tell him in a Dad voice.
He laughs and gives me a grateful look, and we both go back to our breakfasts. I notice that Robert isn't actually drinking his coffee, and refill his apple juice when he drains that. It's not a surprise when he finishes his breakfast and yawns.
"You want a blanket," I ask, "or just a sheet?"
Robert gives me a confused look.
"For taking a nap on my couch," I clarify like this is a Perfectly Normal Thing To Do.
Comprehension dawns, and Robert's cheeks get the slightest bit pink. "Uh...just a sheet is fine. Thank you."
"You got it. Sit tight."
I grab a sheet from the linen closet and a pillow from my bed and quickly make the couch into a makeshift bed. Robert squeezes my shoulder in thanks as I finish and lays down, having already kicked his hiking boots off by the door. I draw the blinds, even though he's rolled over to bury his face in the back of the couch.
"Let me know if you need anything," I tell him softly.
He raises one hand just long enough to flash me a thumbs-up, and I slip back into the kitchen to do dishes and set something in the crock pot for dinner. When that's done, I rummage through my clothes and find a generic tee and some sweatpants and leave them on the corner of the sink, then hit the linen closet again for a clean towel and put that on top of the clothes. I'm sure Robert will want to shower once he's more rested, and I'm a lovestruck sap who wants to provide everything for the object of my affection.
I slip into my room and wake the desktop to shoot Hugo a message on Dadbook, letting him know Ernest was out at the movies on a school night. There's a very flowery message from Damien inviting me to afternoon tea tomorrow, which I accept as formally as I can. Hugo messages me back thanking me, and then asking what movie it was. Some romantic comedy,I type back. Robert and I kind of snuck in so I don't really know what we were watching.
Late night, huh?
Yeah. I'm exhausted.
I bet, he answers. Get some rest before the school day ends.
Thanks. I will.
I put the computer back to sleep and grab the other pillow off my bed, then put it back. Robert's still asleep, I should take my shower before he wakes up. Unfortunately, the hot water relaxes me and undoes the effect of the caffeine. I throw on jeans and a tee-shirt and stretch out in the recliner, and I'm out like a light.
=
The beep of the microwave jerks me awake. I look around frantically, trying to remember what's going on, and see the sheet and blanket on the couch. Then I glance into the kitchen and see Robert in the clothes I left for him. He takes his coffee out of the microwave, turns, sees me looking, and gives me a hesitant smile. That's when I realize I'm beaming at him.
"Thanks for..." he gestures at the clothes.
"You're very welcome," I tell him. "Nap okay?"
Robert comes into the living room and leans against the wall, sipping his coffee. "Yeah." He smirks. "I'd ask how yours was, but you slept through my showering and ordering pizza."
"You-"
The doorbell rings.
Robert sets his coffee on the coffee table, grabs a credit card, and opens the door. A few quiet words exchanged, and when he closes the door, he's got two pizza boxes in his arms.
"All or nothing," he announces as he walks past me into the kitchen. "Supreme or cheese."
"No Hawaiian?" I ask, standing to follow him.
He freezes for just a second. "Never ordered from this place before," he says after a pause that's just a hair too long. "Didn't know how good they were."
"Hence the all or nothing. Good call."
"Yeah." Robert looks at me.
I look back, hopefully conveying that yes, he did reveal that inner part of himself last night and no, I'm not going to bring it up unless he does. Slowly, he relaxes again.
"So...which will it be? All, or nothing?"
"Give me one of each," I answer as I grab plates out of the dish drainer and offer them to him.
He grins at me. "Good call."
We spend a comfortable hour and a half on the couch, eating pizza and discussing some movie he found on TV. Robert's comments are scathing in places, effusive in others, and focused on technical aspects I'd never considered. It's very educational, and hearing him talk on a subject he's passionate about without needing alcohol to open up like this...I almost wish the movie would never end. But alas, it does, and we watch the credits in silence. Robert doesn't thank the crew out loud, but his intense expression says he's thanking them in his mind.
"You want any more of that pizza?" he asks as we turn off the TV and stand up.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. Amanda won't care, though. "I'll take some for my daughter. Two of each."
He snorts in amusement. "Sure."
I wrap Amanda's pieces up in plastic wrap, then wrap the leftovers and stack them on the counter. The boxes get folded and stuck by the trash can. "You're welcome to come by for dinner," I tell him as he picks them up. "It should be done about seven."
"Maybe," he says shortly, eyes averted.
"You're welcome to come by after dinner, too."
"We'll see."
He's sounding tense. I drop the subject. "Okay. I'm going to poke around the yard; I haven't had a chance to really check it out yet."
Robert gives me the borderline-hostile look. "You haven't...?"
I shake my head. "Couldn't bear to do the house-hunting myself. Packing was bad enough."
He looks away. "Yeah."
The silence stretches. I put my hand on his and squeeze gently.
"I'm...gonna go," he says quietly. "Catch you later."
"Okay."
I want to hug him as he walks slowly to the front door. I want to pull him into my arms and hold him, tell him everything's going to be okay, but I don't. The front door closes behind him and I step into the back yard.
All things considered, it’s a really nice back yard. The five-foot wooden fence is the perfect mix of keeping kids out, or dogs in, while still letting you talk to your neighbor. The covered patio is going to be great for parties. There’s a few bushes snuggling up to the fence, and a really nice cherry tree in the middle with a stone path leading to a wooden bench in front of it. There’s some sort of crescent-shaped ornamental pond cradling it from behind, with lilies and a stone lantern.
I want to sit on that bench with Robert, watching the sun set.
“Well! Hey there, neighbor!”
My romantic fantasies shatter and fade into Joseph, grinning and waving at me from over the fence. I wave back and wander closer. “Fancy meeting you here,” I joke.
Joseph laughs heartily. “Good one! You know, I wanted to thank you for helping out with the bake sale. We were able to raise enough money to re-paint the pews after Ernest spray-painted his rapper alias onto the backs. In ministerial terms, Ernest is ‘hard to reach’. In father terms,” he confesses, “he’s kind of a turd.”
“He’s certainly a handful,” I say, remembering last night’s run-in.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love working with kids! Although…” he sighs. “Sometimes I wish…”
I make an appropriately-interested noise.
“It’s kinda silly, but…” He takes a deep breath and says, “Do you ever wish you could just drop everything and go lounge around on a beach somewhere in the tropics? Drink fruity blended beverages…fall asleep on a hammock…you know, basically live out a Jimmy Buffet song.”
“I couldn’t leave my daughter,” I protest. “I’m all she has left. I wouldn’t do anything to endanger my ability to support her until she leaves for college.”
Joseph looks taken aback. “Well, obviously not. But…don’t you ever just think about it?”
“I have no idea what living out a Jimmy Buffet song entails.”
“It’s basically lounging on a beach and drinking fruity frozen cocktails,” he says.
I look at him with a neutral expression. “I don’t drink.”
Joseph blinks at me. “You don’t…not at all?”
“Not at all. My father was an alcoholic.”
“They don’t have to be alcoholic drinks,” he backpedals. “Just…fruity frozen drinks. On a hammock. On a tropical island.”
I scratch the back of my head and wince. “I’m not sure I’d like that. I’d rather be doing something than just sitting around doing nothing. Especially if I was there by myself.”
“What if you weren’t by yourself?” Joseph asks slightly desperately. “What if you were there with someone…special?”
The thought of Robert in a speedo suddenly captures all my attention. He’d need someone to rub sunscreen all over his body…and then of course when I was done, he’d return the favor…
I suddenly realize I’m blushing and that Joseph’s calling my name.
“Sorry,” I tell him, reaching for the first excuse that comes to mind. “I need to check on the…crock pot.”
Without waiting for a response, I hurry inside and into my bedroom, hoping Joseph didn’t notice if there was anything suspicious about the front of my pants. I think a cold shower is definitely called for, but first…I’m going to think a little more about Robert and the importance of UV protection for the prevention of skin cancer.
===
The mail’s arrived when I’m done with my shower, and there’s a large yellow envelope in with the other things. A large yellow envelope from Amanda’s dream school. I set it on the coffee table for her when she gets home and go actually check on the crock pot. It’s fine, of course, and I duck into the garage to start putting that to rights. When Amanda comes home, I listen for her reaction but there’s…nothing. Oh god, I hope it wasn’t a rejection letter, it looked too big and thick for that…
I go inside the house. The envelope is still right where I left it. Amanda is nowhere to be seen; I take it and knock lightly on the door to her room.
“Manda?”
“What?” she shouts back.
“You got an envelope…”
“I’m kinda busy right now,” she shouts. “Can you come back later?”
“…it’s from HIA.”
Amanda opens her door with a jerk. “Horne Institute for the Arts??” she demands.
I give her a teasing grin. “But if you’re that busy, I can come back later…”
“Father, please!” She makes grabby hands at the envelope.
I let her have it, and she promptly tears it open with her teeth. Spitting out a piece of envelope, she pulls out the contents and skims the top sheet. The suspense is killing me.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmurs, face blank.
Oh no.
“I GOT IN!”
She got in. My little girl got into her dream school. I don’t think I’ve ever been more ecstatic in my life. I lunge to hug her, but she’s lunging to hug me and we’re both hopping around in circles, hugging each other, laugh-crying and making inarticulate sounds of disbelieving glee. We break apart so she can read the letter again, then hands it to me to read while she babbles excitedly.
“Of course you got in,” I tell her, pulling her in to kiss her hair. “You’re a great student, you nailed that interview, and your photography is incredible.”
“Wait…Dad…” The joy drains out of her. “I know this school’s really expensive…”
“Sweetie, this is your dream school.” I put the letter down to hug her. “Between the scholarships and the survivor’s benefits, we can make it work. But we probably want to see what core classes you can take at the local community college over the summer for cheap, and just transfer those credits.”
Amanda brightens. “Yeah! That way I don’t have to get a summer job! But Horne’s so far away…”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “When I was your age, I sold most of what I owned, packed everything that was left, and went on a road trip with you and your mother. I moved almost a thousand miles away – just about as far as you’re going – with nothing waiting for me at the end and nothing to go back to. You’re going to your dream school and coming back to your dad and your friends.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re gonna be fine, sweet pea.”
She hugs me. “I guess I’ve been waiting for this road trip my whole life, huh?”
“Think of it as going on an adventure.”
“An adventure. I like that,” she declares.
I give her another hug before releasing her. “Now. Do you want celebration dinner tonight, or do you want to plan for it? I’ve got chicken and vegetables in the crock pot.”
Amanda grins. “Is Robert coming over for dinner?”
Don’t blush, Jack.
“He said maybe, but that was before we got the mail. Does your decision rest on whether or not he’s joining us?”
“Tell him he has to come over,” she says impishly. “Celebration dinner is about the people, not the food. I want to be celebrated.”
I laugh. “Alright, I’ll text him.”
“Do it now,” she urges, moving so she can see my phone as I did it out. “I want to see.”
“Okay, okay…”
HEY. AMANDA GOT INTO HER DREAM SCHOOL, JOIN US FOR CELEBRATION DINNER? CHICKEN AND DUMPLINGS, BUT WITH BISCUITS.
Anxiously, we wait for a response.
OK IF I BMOB?
“Bee em oh bee?” Amanda asks.
It takes me a minute to reverse the pronouns. “Bring his own bottle.”
She shrugs. “Fine by me.”
YES.
Robert’s text comes back a few seconds later.
THEN I’LL BE THERE @ 7
Amanda cheers and I let her go back to her homework, but a thought nags at me. She wants to be celebrated, but she didn’t ask for The Emmas to come over.
Robert knocks on the door at seven sharp, as I’m pulling biscuits out of the oven. Amanda lets him in and practically drags him into the kitchen, babbling about her school.
“-and the dorms are right near a bunch of cafes and there are all these galleries nearby and there’s a discount if you bring your student ID and-”
“Sounds great,” Robert says quietly as they sit down. He looks mildly tipsy, and he’s holding a half-empty whiskey bottle in one hand.
“-students get their own studio space once they’re seniors, and we get all the professional photo editing software for free!”
“You scored big,” Robert tells her, toasting her with the bottle.
I split the biscuits and break them into halves, which I then arrange in soup plates and ladle chicken and vegetables and creamy sauce over. Amanda’s on the subject of roommates now.
“A good roommate can be a lifelong friend,” I point out. “Look at me and Craig. But don’t even get me started on bad roommates.”
Robert gets a look in his eye, and I know what’s coming. I set plates down in front of everyone and dig in so my expression won’t give it away as he spins a tall tale about a horrific roommate. Amanda hangs on every word, morbidly fascinated until the end.
“…just kidding,” Robert finishes.
Amanda groans and punches his shoulder.
While we eat, we discuss the fourteen-hour road trip she’ll need to make to come home for the holidays, and what kind of used vehicle she could potentially earn depending on her final high school grades and the classes she takes at the community college over the summer. She looks so vibrant, so excited, and all I can think of is…I did it right. I may not have done much else with my life, but I took in a newborn child and raised her to adulthood and now she’s going to go to her dream school and be amazing. If I do nothing else in my life, I raised a successful daughter, and that’s enough for me.
Robert’s progressed into tipsy bordering on drunk by the time dinner’s over, and he puts on a cheesy monster movie for us to heckle. Amanda sits between us, which is only mildly disappointing because she and Robert get on so well. They tag-team the movie, unleashing witty comments and scathing criticism and I just bask in how much they’re enjoying it. By the time the credits start rolling, Robert’s in the adorable squishy relaxed state of inebriation and Amanda clearly agrees with my assessment because she helps him thank the crewmembers and then hugs us both before excusing herself to get ready for bed.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says quietly once she’s left the room. “This was…a nicer evening than I had planned. Nicer being drunk around friends than strangers.”
My heart aches for him. “If you ever need company, just text me. I’ll come keep you company.”
He gives me a bewildered sort of look. “You’d do that? Even if I bugged you at midnight and I was already trashed?”
“Even if all you need is someone to help you get home safe,” I say, my heart in my throat.
Robert sways on the couch, like half of him wants to lean against me but the other half doesn’t think that’s such a good idea. “Okay,” he says finally. He looks at the bottle; there’s still about a quarter left. Carefully, he twists the cap back on. “I’m not sure I should stand up just yet,” he says slowly.
“I’ll get you some water,” I offer. It only takes a minute.
We sit on the couch for several minutes while Robert sips his water, letting the silence grow soft and comfortable. Half a second glass later, I help him to his feet so he can use the bathroom and he looks…pretty steady.
“Heading out?” I ask when he comes back, and he nods. I hand him his bottle. “Need help getting home?”
“Nah,” he says, but he hesitates. “Might need help locking the door, though.”
He fishes in his back pocket and takes out a brand-new key. It gleams, and when he hands it to me, the edges are still sharply crisp.
It’s a key to his house. He really made me a spare key.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s get you into bed.”
The night is soft and cool. We walk side by side, almost touching but not quite, and Robert fumbles with the key before I gently push his hand aside and use my new key to unlock his door. He doesn’t object as I guide him to the bedroom and help him pull his boots off. I leave him a glass of water and take two aspirin out of the bottle already on his bedside table.
“Sleep well,” I murmur as he stretches out with a groan. “Remember, if you’re not up to facing the world, I’ll come and cook for you.”
He grunts, and I choose to take that as agreement. Using my new key again, I lock the front door and walk back to my house. As I’m falling asleep, it occurs to me that I think I went on a date with Robert…and I may have given a few people the impression that something more exciting happened than just pizza and half a movie.
Oops.
===
I’m dressed and outside waiting when Craig comes out of his house with River strapped to his chest. He reaches for his phone, looks up, sees me, and puts it away while jogging over. We go around the cul-de-sac and over to the park, circle it, and come back.
“I need to do this more often,” I pant as we come back around to his house. “I am way too out of shape.”
“You’re always welcome to join me, bro,” he replies. “Just remember to hydrate and get enough rest. You nap after that crazy night you had the other night?”
He’s carefully not looking at me. I sigh.
“Craig, remember college?”
“Which part, bro?” he jokes.
“The part where I was voted Most Likely To Be A Eunuch?”
Craig’s cheeks flush slightly.
“I went bar-hopping with Robert and Mary, then Robert and I went in search of pizza and snuck into some comedic romance playing at way too late at night. The most exciting thing that happened was when I threw a rock at a stop sign and hit a car instead.”
“…oh,” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, bro.”
I clap his shoulder. “It’s fine. If it were anyone else, I would have assumed the same thing. Same time tomorrow?”
Craig grins. “You got it, bro.”
He goes into his house; I take a quick cold shower and get breakfast ready for Amanda. We eat, she leaves for school, but there’s no sign of Robert. I pack up a pair of biscuits, screw up my courage, and walk over to his place. A quick peek into the bedroom shows him still dead to the world so I put on coffee, fry his eggs, toast some bread, and leave breakfast covered on the stove before leaving.
Now what? Tea with Damien isn’t until two.
Lacking anything better to do, I head over to the Coffee Spoon. Mat greets me enthusiastically.
“Chai Antwoord again?” he asks. “Or are you feeling adventurous?”
“Sell me on something adventurous,” I answer, grinning. “But get me a Chai Antwoord to sip while I listen.”
We talk about menu items, both the components and the music, for about half an hour. He talks me into trying something frothy, but I like the chai better.
“Next time,” he mock-vows as my phone vibrates.
I pull it out to check who texted me, and it’s Robert.
THX
“Something wrong?” Mat asks, seeing me frown.
I show him the text. “I’m not sure what he said.”
“Oh, he said ‘thank you’. He just…left out most of the letters and used an X to represent the sound the C-K-S makes.”
YOU’RE WELCOME, I type back, resisting the urge to add a heart emoji. I do give in to the blushing smile emoji, though.
“You made quite an impression on him,” Mat says casually.
“Hm?” I reply cleverly, ripping my attention away from the memory of Robert’s smile.
“He came in here yesterday morning demanding to know what you’d had when you were in here on…”
“Thursday.”
“…right, Thursday. And I remembered it was the Chai Antwoord because I said ‘spicy’ but you didn’t know what I meant and…anyway…that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him get a drink for someone else, so I’m guessing you really hit it off both before and after the cookout.” Mat grins at me. “None of my business how well it’s going or what you two are up to. I just like seeing him feeling something instead of moping around all depressed, you know?”
“We haven’t even known each other for a week,” I protest, forcibly keeping my hand away from the spare key in my pocket.
Mat shrugs. “Like I said, not my business, but man…whatever you’re doing? Keep doing it, because I wanna see him happy again.”
Great, I’m blushing, aren’t I?
“I’ll, uh, do my best,” I say awkwardly. “Thanks.”
I do a little grocery shopping before putting together a light snack to tide me over until tea. Eggs, more apple juice, butter. A pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Basics. Then I google what to wear to Victorian tea, but most of what comes up is for women, and I don’t have a suit. I settle for dress shoes, black slacks, and a deep blue button-up shirt with long sleeves. Then, at three minutes until two, I march across the cul-de-sac to Danien’s distinctive house. It…looms, there’s no other word for it. There’s gargoyles perched on little pillars in front of the steps and an ornate bat’s-head knocker on the door. I knock.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The door opens slowly with an ominous creak, and Damien beams at me.
“Jack! A pleasure to have you in my home.” There’s a foyer behind him, complete with a majestic staircase and oil paintings of what I assume are dead relatives. “Please, let me show you around!”
I smile at him. “I would be delighted to see more of your lovely home.”
He pinks slightly. “Y-you would?”
“I grew up in a farming town in Indiana. Your house is by far the most interesting one I’ve ever been in, and I would love to see more of it.”
Definitely flushing now, he gestures me inside. “Then by all means, allow me to give you the grand tour!”
Damien leads me around the first floor, showcasing his parlor, sitting room, and auxiliary sitting room while telling me about the renovations he made to take a modern house and turn it into something both historically accurate to the Victorian period and still equipped with modern comforts. Then we go up the majestic staircase and pass what must be Lucien’s room, to judge by the bumper stickers and caution tape. At the end of the hall, he opens the door with a flourish and it’s a two-story library with an actual library ladder for accessing the balcony running around the room. There’s a stunning display of butterflies in glass cases, and in front of them, a piece of furniture I can only describe as a divan without knowing if the word is accurate or not. Ten-foot arched windows look out onto the backyard and I can only stare, gawking, trying to look at everything at once while Damien is clearly tickled by my appreciation.
I do my best to actually express my appreciation, and he tells me tidbits like how much Victorians liked big windows, the occasional controversy regarding reading “tawdry” novels, and that he pinned the butterflies himself. Then I follow him back down to the sitting room, where finger foods have already been set out on a beautiful, tiered silver tray. I take a seat in one of the high-backed chairs and Damien pours the tea.
“This is amazing. I never thought I’d ever get a chance to have real tea – the experience, I mean, not the beverage.”
My enthusiasm makes Damien light up and he talks about the tradition of tea while we eat tiny sandwiches and things. I compliment his cape, learn that it’s actually a cloak, and then he talks excitedly about how he arrived at his current style and how marvelous it is that he can select period-appropriate things to wear: cloaks, waistcoats, top hats, and even binders.
Binders? Oh. I had no idea, and that somehow makes it better.
“You wear top hats?” I ask, in case he hadn’t meant to let that secret slip and was feeling self-conscious about it.
He arches one elegant eyebrow at me. “You don’t?”
“I couldn’t pull it off nearly as well as you,” I tell him. “But your home is really impressive! I can tell you put a lot of work into this place and I must say, I’m a little envious.”
He looks like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Th-thank you,” he stammers. “No one’s ever complimented my home before.”
“Were they blind?” I joke. “Because it’s astounding. You really made it into a reflection of your personal style. I lived in my old house eighteen years but I’m not even sure I have a style for it to have reflected.”
“That’s…very generous of you to say,” Damien says in a tone of moderate awe. “And although I have not known you long, I feel confident in saying that I’m certain your home reflects the aura of warmth and comfort you carry with you.”
It’s my turn to stammer thanks. With both of us flustered, I ask him how he got interested in all of this and he takes the change of subject gratefully, telling me about his childhood love for art, history, fashion, and taxidermied animals. He waxes poetic on the balancing act of adhering to the ideals without slavishly embracing the flaws. What he’s creating in his own life is not how Victorians lived then, but how they would live in our modern world. Then he asks me about my hobbies and passions, and somewhat hesitantly I talk about cooking and what it’s like to take an act necessary for life – eating – and turn it into an expression of comfort and belonging.
Only briefly do I touch on my mother and little Maddie.
“A natural caregiver,” Damien says, nodding in understanding. “That explains the warmth and comfort you project. No wonder you have gotten along so well with Robert – the poor man has been living in emotional darkness devoid of warmth for far too long. You are like the sun, awakening life in what had appeared to be dead, reviving cold branches and cajoling seeds into putting forth tender shoots and braving the world.”
Aaand I’m blushing.
“If you have had your fill,” Damien says, suddenly bright again, “then on the note of growing things I would love to show you my garden!”
“For that,” I tell him, “I would go hungry.”
The garden, it turns out, is the entire expansive backyard which has been landscaped beautifully. Flowers I don’t even know the names for fill the area with bright colors and sweet scents. Like my house, it has a stone path, but his leads to a wooden structure that looks like the shell of a room and is absolutely covered with flowering vines that climb the poles and beams thickly enough that it actually provides shade. Damien tells me this is an arbor, and of course there’s chairs to sit in and enjoy the view. There’s gargoyles on pedestals scattered around, and even a three-tiered birdbath…fountain…thing.
“Victorians took flowers and floral arrangements very seriously,” he says once I’ve stopped gawking and making inarticulate sounds of admiration. “You see, it was considered uncouth to discuss personal and romantic relationships in public, so lovers and friends alike would use bouquets to send secret messages to each other.”
“Oh, the language of flowers!”
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “But even more interesting is that one flower could mean different things depending on the other plants it was paired with. One had to be extremely careful, as even the style in which the ribbon was tied around the bouquet affected the message.”
I let out a low whistle, impressed with the intricacy. “Sounds like you’d need an interpreter to tell you what your bouquet said.”
Damien laughs. He talks me through the various meanings of a few flowers before the strains of a…harpsichord?...waft through the air and he looks embarrassed.
“Ah…my cellular telephone,” he mutters. “I do apologize, but I must excuse myself for a moment.”
“Take your time,” I assure him. “I’m just going to admire your amazing garden.”
He flashes me a grateful look and hurries down the path a bit. Whatever conversation he’s having, he looks incensed, and I wasn’t even sure what that would look like before now. Then he hangs up and hurries back.
“Jack, my sincerest apologies but there is an urgent matter that I must attend to, so I’m afraid I must take my leave.”
“Everything alright?” I ask, concerned. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No one has been harmed,” he says, looking away, “but I have been…summoned to the high school to collect my wayward son for disciplinary action.”
Ah. One of those. “Do you want company?”
Damien looks at me in surprise. “I…if you are willing, I would greatly appreciate having another parent at my side. This is one of Lucien’s more…elaborate stunts.”
“Then by all means,” I tell him, “allow me to offer you the use of my horseless carriage, and myself as a driver.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Jack. You are a treasure, and our neighborhood is made all the richer for your inclusion.”
=
Hugo is waiting in the school office. He and Damien greet each other in a way that suggests this isn’t their first time to the “our kids are in trouble” rodeo. We all go into the dimly-it boiler room and down a rickety flight of stairs to a sub-basement where unhappy voices drift up to us. In a pretty horrific-looking room lit by a single naked bulb, another teacher is glaring at Ernest and Lucien, who has a bloody nose. There’s…a bunch of bricks, most of them stacked into a cylinder, and some masonry tools.
In shouts and mutters, the story comes out. Ernest promised to pay Lucien to read “The Cast of Amontillado” for him, but then reneged on payment so Lucien tricked him into coming down here by promising him wine, and then attempted to brick him up. It took twenty minutes for Ernest to catch on, and then he punched Lucien in the nose. I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Ernest glares at me when he notices. Both of them wind up with suspension for the rest of the week, which I don’t think they actually see as punishment. Mostly because they high-five at the pronouncement.
I drive Damien and his son home. Lucien breaks the silence first, protesting that he’s not going back to therapy and Damien…is a concerned and involved parent who treats his son with respect. Instead of being mad, he’s concerned and tries to encourage Lucien to look for a summer job so he can save up for his own car. I’m glad I’m driving so neither of them can see the tears in my eyes because fuck, Damien is the kind of father I wish I’d had.
Lucien hops out and hurries into the house the instant the car comes to a stop in Damien’s driveway. I hear a sigh from the back seat before Damien climbs out and comes around to the driver’s window, which I roll down.
“Thank you for your patience,” he says. “I didn’t expect to have that conversation in front of you. He and I have a lot we need to work out, and- Jack! Are you alright?”
Well, he saw the tears. “I’m fine," I assure him. “It’s just…you’re the kind of father I wish my father had been.”
Damien looks concerned. “I will not pry, but I hope you will allow me to invite you over again. And, should you need an understanding ear…”
I smile at him. “I will, and thank you. Even with its interruption, this was a lovely afternoon.”
He bows with a flourish to hide that his cheeks are pink again, and goes up the walk as I back out of the driveway.
On an impulse, I go back to the grocery store. It's Tuesday, and the hot, messy crunch of tacos appeals to me. While I'm picking out produce, I text Robert.
TACO TUESDAY! SERVING UP FUN AT 7 IF YOU WANT TO JOIN US. ;)
There's no response by the time I get to checkout. Or when I check out. Or get back home. Or finish making homemade salsa and put it in the fridge. Or when Amanda gets home. I forcibly remind myself that I've known Robert less than a week, one pseudo-date does not mean we're dating, and that it is a little weird how many meals we've shared considering our brief acquaintance. Still, when dinnertime rolls around and there's no knock at the door while Amanda and I are enjoying delicious tacos, I'm more than a little disappointed but I try not to let it show. We feast on crunchy, meaty treats, put the leftovers away, and she does homework while I do dishes. I think lasagna is in order for tomorrow's dinner, and I rummage around to make sure I have everything. I will not text Robert letting him know there's plenty of leftovers to have for lunch. I will not. We are not glued together at the hip, and he has no obligation to spend any time with me.
Doesn't make me any less worried that something happened.
Sleep doesn't come easily and when it does, it's fitful. I keep waiting for my phone to vibrate, for Robert to text, but he doesn't. At quarter to midnight I have to squash the impulse to put on clothes and see if he's at Jim and Kim's. At half-past three I tell myself firmly that it would be an abuse of trust to let myself into his house and make sure he's gotten safely to bed. At five I get up and put on jogging clothes.
"Rough night, bro?" Craig asks as we jog around the cul-de-sac.
"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."
"Take a nap after breakfast," he suggests. "One thing college prepared me for is the importance of naps."
That makes me laugh. We finish our jog and wave as we go into our respective houses. My cold post-run shower makes me feel more awake, but I'm still worried. Making and eating breakfast goes without incident, and once Amanda's off to school I'm off to Robert's with my heart in my throat.
His front door is unlocked, which weirdly reassures me a little. It means he's been out and back, because I locked it behind me yesterday morning. I call his name softly as I enter, but there's no response. Coffee on to brew, oven heating, and I check the bedroom. He's sprawled across the bed - alone - in a different position. I fill his water glass and set out aspirin, trying not to get distracted by the fact that I can see one bare arm and half of his back and I want to kiss that skin, oh my god, Jack no. Get out of there.
Biscuits. Eggs over easy. Bacon. Toast. Cover it, leave it on the stove, mug by the coffee machine, and leave. Lock the door behind me. Walk down to the Coffee Spoon because I didn't make myself any coffee and because maybe Robert stopped in yesterday. Maybe he'll stop in while I'm there. Maybe he'll text. God, I'm a mess.
Mat looks up as I enter, and his smile falls. "I'm gonna suggest a decaf for you this morning, Jack. You look like you're ready to chew the walls." He snaps his fingers. "I've got just the thing! Sit, I'll bring it to you."
Guiltily grateful, I sit on a comfy couch and try to listen to the softly-playing music instead of fidgeting with my phone. Mat brings me a minty sort of latte...mocha...thing and a cinnamon scone. I accept both gratefully and alternate sipping and nibbling.
"It's good," I tell him, making him smile in relief. "They're good. I like them both. Thank you."
Mat perches on an ottoman nearby. "I don't wanna pry, but...everything okay?"
I sigh. "Did you hear what Lucien and Ernest got up to yesterday?" Mat nods, and I say, "watching Damien with his son just sorta hit me a bit hard because he's an amazing father and I..."
"Don't even sell yourself short," Mat warns me.
"...I wish my father had been like that," I finish dryly.
"Oh man, my bad." Mat rubs the back of his head awkwardly. "Definitely don't want to pry. Oh! But that reminds me, there's a concert I've got tickets for tonight, and I...uh...I love going to concerts? But I hate being alone in a crowd of people. Robert was in here after you left yesterday and he suggested I ask you. Said you're...um...calming, and I have to agree so...you interested?"
I think about spending another evening worrying about Robert.
"What time?"
Mat beams. "Starts at eight. I'll pick you up at seven?"
"I'll have to put the lasagna in early, but sure." The way his face lit up at lasagna makes me grin. "If you and your daughter want to have dinner with us, stop by at six."
"That sounds great," Mat says enthusiastically.
"I'll text Amanda, but I'm sure she'd be okay with watching Carmensita for the evening."
Mat clasps my hand in both of his. "Jack, you are a godsend. I'm a friend of the band that's headlining, so I didn't want to miss their show, but..."
I smile at him. "Hey, I know how scary it is to be somewhere and not know anyone. And you're my neighbor, how could I not help you out?"
"Guy that lived there before you didn't much care for music," Mat says dryly.
"His loss," I say loftily. "I'm gonna go home and see if I can catch a few winks. I didn't sleep very well last night." At the last second, I close my mouth on If Robert comes in, tell him there's still tacos at my house.
"Yeah, rest up," Mat jokes. "I'll see you at six."
The walk back is quiet. I stretch out on the couch with my phone on the coffee table, and I'm out like a light.
=
My stomach wakes me around noon, and I text Amanda sharing my plans for the evening. She is completely on board with them, to judge by the exclamation points in her reply. Robert didn't text. Should I text him? Should I go over there? Should-
I peek out my door and see that Robert's pickup truck is gone.
Quietly worrying and telling myself not to, I re-heat beans and taco meat and have Wednesday Nachos with the broken taco shells and a handful of tortilla chips. Making lasagna, at least, keeps me distracted for a good chunk of the afternoon and cleaning for guests (guests!) takes care of the rest. Amanda comes home and throws herself into her homework while the lasagna bakes. At ten to six, I take the it out to cool and slide the garlic bread in while Amanda sets the table and puts the salad in the middle. At six on the dot, there's a knock on the door.
Mat and Carmensita are standing eagerly on the front step and I wave them warmly in. Before I close the door, I glance towards Robert's house. His pickup is back. He hasn't texted.
Despite my gnawing worry, dinner is bright and cheerful. Mat's ecstatic for Amanda when she proudly tells him she got accepted into her dream school, and Carmensita peppers her with excited questions about the campus. They barely notice when Mat and I clear the table, put leftovers in the fridge, and do the dishes.
"Amanda?" I call as I make sure I have phone, keys, and wallet. "We're heading out. No arson or larceny. One eight-ounce plastic cup of ice cream each, no going over the top. Love you!"
"Got it," she calls back. "Blackmail and murder, eight ounces of ice cream. Love you too!"
Mat chuckles as we leave the house and climb into his car.
“So who’s playing?” I ask once we’re on our way.
“PUP,” Mat answers enthusiastically. “Cool little indie pop punk rock band out of Canada. Should be a fun one!”
“I’m not sure what all those words sound like when applied to music,” I confess, “but I’ll take your word for it.”
Mat laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll understand if it’s not your thing.”
It’s about a twenty-minute drive, but Mat plays some of PUP’s music to give me an idea of what we’ll be hearing and it’s…surprisingly good. I’m not sure how to describe the music, but I’m enjoying it and Mat looks thrilled. Parking is still pretty open, which I guess is the reason we’re here early, and there’s a short line to get in. It’s a small venue, with a stage at one end and a bar at the other, and I think I’m one of the oldest people here.
A couple of people greet Mat, high-fiving and hugging him, and he looks pleased to see them but otherwise a bit uncomfortable with all the strangers. He nods at the bar, and I follow him over. A few of the older concert-goers tip their drinks at him and eye me curiously. Mat points to a tap and the bartender fills a plastic cup, then looks at me.
“Designated driver,” I lie easily, my years at college preparing me for this moment.
Mat gives me a funny look, but suggests we check out the merch and leads me away from the bar.
“Designated driver?” he asks when we’re out of earshot of the bar.
“It’s easier than explaining that I don’t drink,” I tell him.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to pry, but the curiosity is killing him.
“My middle name is Daniel. That ought to tell you all you need to know about my dad’s relationship with alcohol.”
“Ouch, man, I’m sorry. Your dad sounds like a real piece of work.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. So, merch?”
We go over to a small both in the corner with a selection of shirts and records and a teenager in questionably ratty clothes who yells at me like a marketplace vendor hawking his wares. He turns out to be a friend of Mat’s. Or Mat’s a friend of his mom, I’m not sure how that goes. His name is Pablo, apparently, and when Mat mentions I’m a friend I get an enthusiastic bro-hug which years of friendship with Craig have prepared me for. He and Mat chat for a bit, teasing each other about a band that doesn’t seem to exist. I pick out a shirt for Amanda, and then when Pablo excitedly tells me I can get a second one for just two dollars more, I grab one for myself as well.
“Hey, the opener’s coming on,” Mat says. “Let’s grab a good spot.”
“Like halfway down the wall, where we don’t risk getting swept into the crowd?” I point at a likely place.
Mat grins. “Yeah, like that.”
We get situated as the opening band introduces themselves as Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir, and Mat groans.
“Here,” he says, pulling foam earplugs out of a pocket and handing them over. “Trust me. They’re not your kind of music.”
A little intimidated, I put the earplugs in just as the band starts playing the most cacophonous noise I’ve ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. It seems to take forever for their set to end, but finally, thankfully, it does and we take our earplugs out. More people are streaming in, filling the small venue uncomfortably, and we exchange a quick high-five for our prime spot. Mat tells me how he loves being at concerts, in a room full of people connecting to the music and each other. It’s just the before and after parts he’s not so fond of.
The crowd rushes to the stage as PUP starts playing, jostling and forming a weird whirlpool of a mosh pit. Boy, I’m glad we’re safe against the wall and not trying to keep our balance in that riot! But the music is good, and I’m tempted to see if Pablo has any CDs left after the show. Once PUP finishes their encore and the crowd lets them retreat, the flow of people starts to drain out the door. I follow Mat as he says goodbye to a couple of people, brohugs Pablo, and we finally escape outside.
“Pablo wanted you to have this,” he says as he hands me a CD. “I would have bought you one, but he insisted. Thanks for helping me stay somewhere near my comfort zone tonight, and especially for dinner.”
I smile at him. “Thanks for introducing me to music I never would have considered otherwise, and I really like cooking for people who appreciate it. I’d love to have you over again sometime.”
“Hey, Mat!”
We turn to look, and it’s PUP. Mat chats with them briefly before they head out, and we head back to Mat’s car. As he drives us home, he tells me a bit about the little band he used to play in, back in the day, and how they toured all over even though they were just barely scraping by.
“Still sounds worth it,” I tell him. “I spent the first half of my life in a little podunk town in Indiana, and the second half of my life in Maple Bay.”
“Music builds a community,” he agrees. “Especially in a town like this. Just a lot of positive energy and good vibes. You’ll see. I’m hijacking you for the next concert I’m going to. If you’re okay with that,” he adds, glancing at me.
I laugh. “The price of my companionship is you let me make you dinner first.”
“Deal,” he says, grinning. “Being a single dad is rough sometimes. It’s a lonely feeling.”
“Tell me about it. Even before we got the news about Ana, she was on deployment for months at a time. I think I’ve been a single dad for most of my life. But the neighborhood is nice and friendly.”
“Yeah, it is that. We’re there for each other. I’m really glad you moved in, Jack.”
“So am I,” I say fervently, thinking of Robert. “So am I.”
When we get back to the cul-de-sac and check on the girls, they’re doing each other’s makeup. Mat collects his daughter and they say their goodbyes, and I present Amanda with the shirt I bought her.
“I guess the show went well,” she says, admiring her new swag.
“Yeah, I really liked it. Mat’s going to take me to the next one he goes to, and we’re going to have them over for dinner in exchange. Plus he got me a CD,” I add. “So there’s gonna be some new tunes in the car, Manda Panda.”
She laughs. “About time you got something new in your music collection, Pops.”
Grinning, I mock-order her to bed.
In the privacy of my room, I take out my phone. No new texts, no missed calls.
CONCERT WAS GREAT, BUT I MISSED YOU.
My finger hovers over ‘send’ but when it comes down, it’s on ‘backspace’ instead. I put my phone down and crawl into bed, wondering why Robert seems to be avoiding me.
Dressed in an old t-shirt and some sweats, I pour myself a mug of coffee and add milk until I can take more than hesitant sips. As I’m drinking, I get a text from Craig saying he didn’t want to knock and wake me up, but if I’m already up he’s ready to start his jog. I let him know I’ll be right out and scrawl a note for Amanda on the whiteboard in the event that she wakes up.
It’s a cool morning. Craig and I jog around the cul-de-sac and out to the park, circle that and come back. He looks invigorated, but I’m ready to take another shower and see if I can nap.
“Good run, bro,” he tells me, clapping me on the back. “Way to go, keeping up! You should join me again. We’ll get you into shape in no time.”
“Thanks,” I pant. “Yeah. Good. Let’s.”
“Remember to hydrate, bro. And if you’re still up for helping with breakfast, come by in an hour.”
I give him a thumbs up and he jogs off. The first thing I do when I get inside is down a glass of cold water, and then I take a quick shower and put on jeans and a different t-shirt. Still no sign of life from Amanda’s room. I erase the whiteboard and scrawl a new note, then I slip back out and over to Robert’s. The door is open, which makes me wary, particularly with the state of disarray his house is in. Carefully, I make my way to his bedroom and peek around the doorframe. The bed, thankfully, is occupied only by one body and that body is Robert. I leave him water and painkillers, pick up the half-empty bottle of whiskey and cap it before it gets knocked over, and retreat to the kitchen. While his coffee is brewing, I check his fridge to see what I’ll need to bring over and discover that he must have done some shopping because there’s eggs, bacon, butter, cheese, milk, and a can of ready-made biscuits. The leftover biscuits are gone. The freezer has frozen pancakes, cheap sausage, and a bag of Reese’s cups. There’s still flour in the cabinet, though, so I get to work making real biscuits while the bacon sizzles in the frying pan.
As I’m putting the biscuits in the oven and the bacon onto paper towels to drain, Robert shuffles out of his room and heads for the coffee maker. He glares at me, then turns away to pour his coffee. “Make the eggs over easy,” he growls before sitting slowly at the table.
“You got it,” I tell him, cracking eggs into the bacon grease.
“Why are you here?”
It’s a demand, but not really an angry one.
“I’ll be doing breakfast at Craig’s this morning. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you if you came over and I wasn’t there.”
Robert grunts, but doesn’t say anything else. When breakfast is done, I plate it and set it in front of him. He picks up the fork, looks at me, and puts the fork back down.
“You look like I feel. What happened?”
I sit down and sigh. “Amanda went out last night and came home an hour and a half past her curfew. She ignored my texts. I know she’s safe, but that didn’t stop me from having nightmares.”
Robert reaches out and takes my hand. I squeeze his gently, and he squeezes back.
“That sucks. I drink on nights like that, but that doesn’t help you any. I guess that’s why you’re up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
“I’m always up this early,” I tell him. “I’m going to start jogging with Craig, I think. Give me something to do with my mornings when Amanda goes to college. Uh…sorry if you didn’t want me over here,” I add as it occurs to me that I did just kind of enter his house uninvited.
He takes his hand back and snorts in amusement. “If I didn’t want you over here, I would have locked the door.”
We both freeze as it sinks in that he just said by omission that he did want me here.
“You know what I mean,” he growls. “If I don’t give a shit, the door will be unlocked.”
“R-right. Of course.” I check my watch to try to hide that I’m probably blushing. “I should…go see if Amanda’s up and head over to Craig’s.”
“Yeah.”
Awkwardly, I leave Robert to his breakfast.
Amanda enters the kitchen as I’m wiping the whiteboard off again.
“Hey…” she starts hesitantly. “I thought about what you said last night. I should have texted you. I was having fun, and I didn’t want to stop, so I ignored them. But if anything had happened…” She looks down at her feet. “I’m really sorry, Pops. I won’t do it again.”
“I’m sorry for freaking out on you,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “You’re an adult. I trust you to make good choices. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
“Dad, no. I was making a bad choice. You were right to call me on that.” She hugs me back.
“I forgive you, Manda Panda.”
She giggles. “If I’m an adult, how come you still call me that?”
“Because I’m also your father,” I answer cheerfully, “and it is the right of every parent to embarrass their child no matter how old they are. Now,” I say as I release her, “I’m going over to Craig’s to make breakfast for him and his girls. You coming with?”
Amanda grins at me. “You know it.”
=
Breakfast with Craig is hectic and noisy, but from the look on his face, still less so than usual. Briar and Hazel are thrilled to have a full country breakfast, and offer to help clean up if I promise to come back next Sunday and do this again. Amanda and I promise before heading back home. She sits down to work on an overdue paper for Hugo’s class, and I brace myself and create a profile on Dadbook. There’s a selection of getting-to-know-you questions, and I guess I should fill them out, but some of them are…dumb.
On a Friday night, I am most likely to:
…sink into blissful oblivion and sleep.
If I could take one thing with me onto a desert island, what would it be?
…uh, a boat, obviously.
What are my turn-ons?? Whoah there, getting kind of personal, Dadbook!
Robert’s stubble leaps to mind, making me blush. I’m not going to admit to that. I type in ‘street smarts’.
What did I want to be when I grew up?
Like I had the time or energy to think about that? I was more focused on raising my baby sister. I put down ‘a good father’.
What’s my favorite movie genre?
Why, is someone going to ask me out? What if I don’t want anyone to ask me out? Sarcastically, I type ‘old comedies that haven’t aged well’.
What’s my ideal date?? Is this a support network, or a dating site??
The fact that I’ve never dated nor wanted to date just makes this more irritating. Arson, I type angrily.
What do I never leave home without?
Considering I left my home twice this morning with nothing but the clothes on my back, I pull up a Buffy, the Vampire Slayer quote: “My keen fashion sense.”
I spend a lot of time thinking about?
I suppose this one’s not so bad. I answer ‘how proud I am of my daughter’.
Profile complete, I wait while the system checks my address and then, unsurprisingly, all seven of my neighbors pop up as suggested contacts. I accept them all and go browsing through their profiles. Some of their answers make me laugh. Some of them make my eyebrows go up, like Hugo’s. Miniatures and muscles? There’s some hidden depths there, for sure. Joseph’s sounds like he’s trying to sound as noble and upstanding as possible. I save Robert’s for last, sure he won’t have answered honestly, and I’m not disappointed. I dash off a few notes to some of them – asking Hugo when trivia night is, telling Damien I’d love to have tea sometime, reminding Brian that we should arrange a camping trip – and a couple of messages come in while I’m doing that. Craig thanking me for doing the breakfast thing and asking if I’d be interested in hanging without the kids sometime. Mat welcoming me to the platform and expressing how much he’s looking forward to seeing what I can do at trivia night. Joseph praising my cookies and asking if I’d be willing and able on such short notice to join him for baking brownies for the church bake sale this afternoon.
What time does it start? I message back.
Three, although I try to be there for two to make sure everything’s set up.>
Grinning, I crack my knuckles. Save me half a table, I’ll bring cookies, brownies, and my caramel-apple crumb cake.
There’s a delay before Joseph’s message comes in. Thank you, I will.
Time to use my powers for evil. I head into the kitchen.
Three hours and a roast beef sandwich later, Amanda's celebrating her completed paper by going out for ice cream with The Emmas and I’m sliding cookies two at a time into sandwich baggies when an unknown number messages me.
WYD?
I’m about to fuck with the random person when I remember I gave Robert my number.
PACKING FRESH-BAKED COOKIES FOR A BAKE SALE.
The phone gets set on the counter while I keep packing.
HOW MUCH?
I can’t resist.
FOUR DOZEN. PLUS BROWNIES AND APPLE CRUMB CAKE.
The last tray is being packed when the reply comes in.
JOSEPH ALREADY PUTTING YOU TO WORK?
I’m laughing as I type.
IT’S NOT WORK. IT’S ART.
The last of the cookies are piled into the shopping bag next to the bag of brownies and the one of apple cake. I grab my keys, wallet, phone, and the bags and head out to my car.
Robert’s leaning against it, smirking.
My heart jumps into my throat and I do my best to not give him a goofy grin. “Hey,” I say as I get closer.
“Hey.” He holds up a five-dollar bill. “Three cookies, a brownie, and a piece of cake.”
I duck my head to hide my blush. “Sure, let me just…unlock the car…”
I set the bags on the driver’s seat and fish out three baggies of cookies and one each of brownie and cake, and hand them over. Robert hands me the money, which I drop in the cookie bag.
“Thanks,” he says, stepping away from the car. “Tell Joseph I said hi.”
“Uh…sure, and you’re welcome. Or maybe I should be thanking you for your patronage?”
He snorts in amusement and walks away. It takes me a minute to shake myself off of just watching him go and move the baked goods to the passenger’s seat before climbing in. As I’m backing out of my driveway, I watch him disappear into his house. Moments later, Joseph comes out of his own house and waves for me to stop. I put the car into park and roll down the window.
“Mind if I ride with you?” he asks, giving me a sheepish grin and hefting a bag of his own. “Mary took the minivan and the kids to get them settled, and this way, she won’t have to come back for me.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I tell him. “Just put the bags in the back.”
“Hey,” he says as he moves the bags, “why is there a five in with the cookies?”
Keep it together, Jack. Don’t blush. “Oh, uh…Robert bought some. He said to tell you he says hi.”
The look on Joseph’s face is priceless. It’s like he’s not sure what he’s feeling so he’s trying all the emotions out at once and none of them fit. Without another word he sits in the passenger’s seat, buckles in, and nods for me to drive.
=
I forgot to leave a note for Amanda, so I text her as soon as we’re set up and let her know where I am and why. She texts me back and tells me to save her a brownie. I hide one in the empty bags. The church bake sale gets underway pretty quickly, and I’m a new face, so there’s a lot of people buying my baked goods for the novelty factor. I see a few of the neighbors. Brian goes for the brownies, while Mat tries the caramel apple crumb cake. In what feels like no time at all, I’ve sold out and Mary’s coming around with a cash box to collect our earnings. Joseph still has some brownies left, and he gets into a rather uncomfortable conversation with Mary about using boxed mix. She tries to drag me into it, insulting the congregation, but I tell them both I’m only involved for the opportunity to cook. Joseph thanks me for my contribution, I collect my “empty” bags, and then I’m on my way home.
Amanda squeals over her brownie and thinks it’s cute that Robert bought cookies from me. I try not to think of the saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She gets started on homework, I get started on dinner, and the evening passes in domestic serenity. Just as I’m about to tell her to pack it in and go to bed because she has school in the morning, I get a text from Robert.
YOU UP?
YEAH, I type back.
WYD?
“Who’s that, Dad?” Amanda asks.
“Robert,” I answer her. JUST CHILLIN, I answer him.
CHILL AT J&K WITH ME
Amanda’s reading over my shoulder. “Do it, Pops,” she says. “Go, have the social life I can’t.”
“Ugh, fine,” I huff with insincere irritation, and we both laugh. I text Robert back. OK. OMW. “I’m trusting you to go to bed,” I tell Amanda. “Remember, good grades for good colleges.”
She kisses me on the cheek. “I remember, Dad. I’m going. You go, too.”
“I’m going. Sleep well. Love you, Manda Panda.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I stand for a good-night hug, then collect keys and wallet and head out to Jim and Kim’s. It’s a beautiful night, though, so I decide to just walk. Robert’s in a booth, and I can’t help but smile as I approach.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
He looks up at me. “Hey, buddy.”
And then Mary’s next to me. “Ahoy there, skipper.”
“I brought Mary along,” Robert says in a sort of unapologetic declaration that still comes off as an apology. “I needed a drinking buddy.”
There’s something going on that I’m missing, but I nod like this makes perfect sense. I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea of having an unhappily-married woman making passes at me, but I’m more of a designated driver than a drinking buddy.
As if she could hear my thoughts, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so scared, kiddo. We’re just having a drink.”
Robert nods slightly. “Yeah. Speaking of which, I think it’s time for the first round. Coke for you, Jack?”
“Oh. Yes, please.” Cautiously, I sit down across from Robert while Mary goes to the bar and comes back with wine, whiskey, and my Coke.
“You sure you don’t want anything in that Coke?” Mary asks as she sets the drinks down. It’s obvious from her tone that she’s judging me.
Robert takes his whiskey. “Leave it alone, Mary.”
She gives him a funny look before shrugging and sliding into the booth next to him. “Here’s to bad decisions and relaxed moral values,” she says. She and Robert both look like they’re the butt of a joke Mary just told. I say nothing and sip my Coke.
What have I gotten myself into?
When our drinks are gone, Robert grabs his jacket. First round or not, he looks like he’s got a few shots in him already.
“Let’s get marching,” he says tersely.
“What?” I wasn’t expecting that.
“The night’s still young,” he says as Mary slides out of the booth. “Come on, we’re bar hopping.”
“Oh.” I really don’t understand anything that’s going on. “…alright.”
We leave the bar and walk down the street to another one, an Irish pub.
“Next round,” Robert declares, leading us to the bar.
Moments later, we’re in a garish green booth sipping our drinks again, with Mary on Robert’s side, watching me with a disapproving look.
“Jack,” she says in a poisoned purr, “get the next round, won’t you?”
I order more wine and whiskey and bring the drinks back. Mary says something I can’t hear, and Robert laughs uproariously. I take my seat and slide the glasses over while Mary tells a story about pot brownies at the last bake sale. Robert seems to find it funny, but it’s the whiskey that makes it seem so amusing. At the conclusion of the story, Mary pins me with a piercing look.
“Do you smoke weed?” Before I can do more than open my mouth, she says, “I have two big fat blunts in my purse right now. Wanna blaze?”
Robert’s Dadbook profile answers suddenly leap to mind, and I grin. “You with the feds?” I demand in an overdone way. “This is entrapment. I worked hard for what I have, and no two-bit corner boy is gonna drop the dime on me. So you take what you’re pushing somewhere else, and I’ll keep running my business the way I want it run.”
Mary blinks. “What?”
“Remember,” I tell her sternly. “You come at the king, you best not miss.”
“Jesus, kid, dial it back,” she says as Robert giggles helplessly. “I’m just kidding around, cowboy.”
“Lay off him,” Robert gasps between giggles. “He’s alright.”
“Fine, fine,” she sighs.
We sit around, cracking jokes and sipping our drinks. Slowly, Mary and I warm up to each other, although in her case it may be the alcohol and in mine, it’s basking in Robert being relaxed and happy.
After a bit, I look at her and say, “Isn’t the next round on you?”
“You trying to ditch me, pal?” she asks pointedly.
Robert frowns. “Mary, slow down.”
“No, no, it’s fine. You want me to scram, I’ll scram. Jack wants alone time with his new best buddy. Read you loud and clear. The wingman breaks formation to pursue their prey. Now if you fellas will excuse me,” she says, sliding out of the booth, “Mary needs to sink her teeth into a helpless boy.”
I am baffled by this reaction, but Robert just grins.
“Go with god,” he says, and off she goes to sidle up to a younger-looking guy at the bar. “She grows on you,” Robert says, as if that explains everything.
I have no idea what’s going on. “I feel like she…kinda delights in making men suffer,” I say hesitantly.
Robert shrugs. “Well, she does.”
“What about…” I hesitate. “…her and Joseph?”
Instantly, Robert’s tense again. “What about ‘em?”
Okay, how can I phrase this diplomatically. “She doesn’t…act the way I would have expected her to. As a married woman.”
Thankfully, Robert relaxes. “Oh, that’s just a thing she does. She’s harmless.”
“Tell that to the poor thing she’s hanging off of,” I joke. “Guy looks like he’s seen war.”
Robert lets out a bark of laughter. “Good to see you’re not one of those straight-laced types.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I got pretty wild back in my day.” Especially running around with Keg-Stand Craig.
“Still got a little wild in you?” Robert asks me slyly.
Too much, considering how my heart just leaped. “You know it,” I tell him.
He grins and orders a couple more shots and a Coke. Oh god, what is he planning? I don’t say anything, and as we sit sipping, the silence gets more comfortable.
“You know,” Robert says suddenly, “too many people think that they have to fill the dead air with noise. Personally I think they’re afraid of the silence. Or they’re afraid of what the other person is gonna think of the silence. If you want some unsolicited advice, just learn to be comfortable with silence. Nothing wrong with two people sitting in silence and drinking.”
I don’t say anything, but I do smile and toast Robert with my glass. After a surprised moment, he smiles and toasts me back. It’s a very nice smile, one that warms me from the inside out.
Fuck, I think I’m in love.
“So,” Robert says into the comfortable silence, “you ever kill a man?”
I almost choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“You know, watch the life drain from someone’s eyes. It’s not just their life, you know,” he continues solemnly. “It’s their hopes and dreams draining away. Every memory and experience they’ve ever had…gone.”
He’s fucking with me. I grin.
“Nah, left that to the wife.”
Robert bursts into laughter. “You got me,” he wheezes before downing another shot. “I was just messing with you, but you got me.”
I grin. “Oh, I was serious. My wife was a sniper.”
That gets him laughing again. “To your wife,” he chuckles, toasting with the last shot. “They never knew what hit them.”
It’s my turn to chuckle at that. We touch our glasses together and down the contents. Robert gets out of the booth, shrugging his jacket on and I want to press myself against it, smell the leather and whatever other scents cling to it.
“Let’s roll,” he announced in a too-loud voice before apologizing. “Inside voices,” he chides himself. “Let’s roll,” he repeats in something less of a declaration and more of a warm invitation.
We leave the bar.
“Where to?” I ask, gauging Robert’s level of inebriation. He’s a bit wobbly, but not too bad.
“You’ll see.” He grins at me, something between shy and predatory anticipation.
Robert leads me to a run-down strip mall that’s basically abandoned this late at night, and tells me to wait before vanishing into the liquor store. A few minutes later he comes out with a wine bottle in a brown paper bag.
“I didn’t think you’d want one of your own,” he says as he opens it. “But if I was wrong, you’re welcome to share.”
Thankfully, the darkness hides my blush. “What is it?”
“White Zinfandel.” He takes a drink from the bottle. “It is delicious, fruity, and refreshing. Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just glad to see you enjoying something.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize it’s true. Robert genuinely looks like he’s enjoying himself, and I’m smiling at him like a sap. Get it together, Jack.
Robert looks away, then sits on the curb and takes another drink. I sit next to him, just enjoying the comfortable silence.
His jacket smells like cloves and smoke.
I’m definitely in love.
“Let’s throw rocks at shit,” Robert says lazily.
He picks up a large pebble or piece of broken concrete and hurls it at a stop sign. The ding echoes throughout the empty parking lot.
“That felt good,” he says, still sounding relaxed and content. He picks up another one and passes it to me. “Now you try. With feeling.”
I’m back to only being able to think of sexually suggestive phrases involving the word banging. Time to make something up. I take deep breath.
“I have unresolved resentment toward my father and I’m gonna express it through property damage!”
I hurl the rock. It sails right over the top and strikes the window of a parked car. Neither of has to say anything; with the instinct all young troublemakers possess, we leap up and dart into the nearest alley. We don’t stop until we’re far enough away to claim we were never there and then Robert leans against the side of a building, laughing as he pants. I start laughing, too, and we just stand there giggling as we catch our breath.
“Maybe we strike throwing rocks from the to-do list,” he chuckles.
“Agreed.”
There’s a gurgling growl. I’m not sure whose stomach it came from, but if it was Robert’s, mine thinks that his has the right idea because despite the fact that I had dinner…I’m hungry.
“Let’s get pizza,” Robert announces.
“I can’t argue with that. Where’s good around here? Actually,” I say, practically interrupting myself, “I don’t even care if it’s good, as long as it’s hot and in my mouth.”
Robert laughs and looks away. “I know just the place.”
He leads me through a maze of alleys and side-streets until we reach a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place called Pete’s Piece a’ Pizza.
“Ta-da!”
“Nice alliteration,” I murmur. “Mmm, and it smells great.”
Not only does it smell great, but the employees are pulling fresh pies out of stone ovens.
“They do a lot of business with the late-night drunk crowd,” Robert tells me. “You cool with pineapple on your pizza? They do a killer Hawaiian.”
It’s not a favorite of mine, but I’m starving and in love.
“I trust your judgment, Robert.”
He looks surprised. “I…thank you, Jack. Good Hawaiian pizza is one of the few things in life that I genuinely and thoroughly enjoy. The juiciness of the pineapple paired with the tanginess of the sauce is a flavor combination that I think everyone should experience at least once instead of dismissing it out of hand without giving it a shot.”
Oh my god, he’s so passionate about this. I want to find everything else he genuinely and thoroughly enjoys and listen to him talk about them. Forever.
“Two slices of Hawaiian,” Robert’s telling the cashier at the counter.
It’s a couple of minutes while our slices heat, and then the cashier hands them over on paper plates that do nothing to hold back the grease from the crust. Robert hands one to me, and we wander through the alleyways eating.
It’s absolutely delicious.
“I have seen the light,” I declare as I wad up my empty plate and toss it in a garbage can.
Robert looks…pleasantly surprised. “I’m glad.”
“Thank you for that. I feel much better now.”
He tosses his own plate and washes his slice down with wine. “You and me both.”
There’s someone talking somewhere nearby; we both look around for the source and see a slightly-ajar door. Then the talking stops and music swells. Robert looks at me excitedly.
“Got any more of that wild in ya?”
Any tiredness I might have been feeling evaporates. “You betcha!”
“Good on ya!” He gestures me towards the door and slips carefully through.
It’s dark inside, and I reach out to try to keep physical contact with Robert. He takes my hand, my heart leaps into my throat, and we creep forward towards some flickering light. Then we get into an open area and there’s a movie screen behind us.
We just snuck into a movie. I’m not telling Amanda about this.
The theater’s almost completely empty except for a few teenagers in the front row. They haven’t noticed us yet, and we crouch down to keep it that way. Robert tugs my hand and leads me all the way to the back row, where we settle into the center seats. It’s…some kind of romantic comedy, I think. Frantic guy trying to get through New York to find the woman he’s finally realized he’s in love with.
Robert still hasn’t let go of my hand. He’s got mine in his left hand, and the bottle of wine in his right. If I say anything, he’ll probably let go, but the longer we hold hands the more awkward it’s going to be when something draws his attention to it.
Suddenly, Robert shouts “KISS ALREADY!” and I about jump out of my skin.
“There’s nobody to kiss yet,” I point out, trying very hard to not think about kissing Robert. Fuck. “You…want him to kiss the taxi driver?”
Robert starts, and I realize he’s attained a deeper level of inebriation. “…hell yeah,” he mutters, like that was his intent all along.
The kids down in front turn to stare at us. One kneels in his seat.
“Hey man, keep it down!”
That’s...Hugo’s kid, Ernest. Why is he in a romantic comedy? On a school night?
“Does your dad know you’re here?” I call back to him.
Embarrassed, he turns back around and slides deeper into his seat.
The frantic man makes his way out to a tiny island, finds the woman, there’s some dialogue that I assume makes sense if you watched from the beginning, and they kiss.
“Finally,” Robert mutters. He takes a long pull of wine, finishing the bottle, and lets go of my hand to stuff it into the seat next to him. Then he smirks. “Boooo! Love is dead!”
Ernest pops back up. “Shut up! It’s beautiful!”
Huh. Kid’s got hidden depths.
The credits start to roll and I stand up, but Robert grabs my hand again and immediately pulls me back down.
“Hundreds of people worked very hard to make this film happen, and you’re going to sit here and appreciate them,” he declares loudly that it must have been meant for Ernest and his friends, too. “Look at that. Elizabeth Shelton. She worked really hard. I bet she did lots of good…uh…wardrobe design. Thank you Elizabeth Shelton for this beautiful film-going experience.”
Oh my god, he’s adorable. Robert Small is a precious, sweet cinnamon roll under all that anger and anti-social lashing out. I’d like to say I somehow knew it and that’s why I fell in love with him, but no. This is a glorious surprise and I will protect this man to my dying breath.
“And…Peter Anders,” he says, picking a new name out of the ones scrolling past. “Catering. Fed a bunch of people so that they could have the energy to do their jobs. What a guy.”
We let the credits roll while Robert thanks random members of the crew and I fight my urge to lift the armrest and hug him like there’s no tomorrow. Once it’s over and he’s made sure no animals were harmed in the making of this film, he stands up and we leave the movie theater.
Out in the alley again, however, Ernest’s friends are waiting for us. Blocking our exit.
“Hey, assholes!” one of them shouts before throwing a rock at us.
It’s not a very big rock, and it barely hits my knee, but it’s enough to make me exclaim in startled pain.
“My knee! What the hell?”
“What do you guys want?” Robert demands.
One of the kids tosses another rock from hand to hand. “You ruined my theater-going experience,” he sneers. “Now you have to pay.”
“We ruined it for you?” Robert crosses his arms and curls his lip. “That movie was pretty crappy in the first place.”
Whoah. Where did the cute, squishy drunk Robert go?
Ernest yells, “Hey! You take that back! That was a beautiful love story with really genuine acting!”
“You call that good acting?” Robert sounds furious. “What classicist mainstream, slop have you been served your entire life?”
“What?” Ernest sounds like he genuinely didn’t understand those words.
“Have you ever even seen any Michael Powell? A Matter of Life and Death? 1946? Easily the toughest five minutes of love you’ll ever witness.”
Ernest looks like he regrets picking this fight. “Listen, man-”
“No, you listen!” Robert’s having none of this shit. “That popcorn-ass drivel the mass media is shoving down your throat will only make you dumber and sadder. You of all people should strive for a higher standard in the art you consume. Your name is Ernest Hemingway, for chrissakes.”
“Oh no, now you’ve done it!” shouts the kid with the rock.
Ernest rushes Robert, screaming like a banshee.
I dive between Ernest and Robert, no thought, just sheer parental protective instincts. Ernest lunges forward and kicks me in the knee as hard as he can, making me yell in real pain. Robert gets between me and Ernest, looking absolutely furious.
“Alright buddy,” he snarls. “Talk like a punk, get hit like a punk.” He takes a boxer’s stance. “Queensbury rules. Three-minute rounds with one-minute rests in between. No low blows, fish hooks, J-grabs, or high blows.”
Ernest looks uncertain. “What?”
“And don’t even think about pulling an illegal turnstile. That’s an automatic deduction of three points.”
“I…”
Robert doesn’t give him time to finish. “You’ll have to designate a second if you’re unable to fulfill your role as main duelist. Your friend with the rock looks like he has enough youthful vivacity to handle it.”
The kid with the rock drops the rock. “Hey man, I don’t want to get dragged into this. That movie sucked.”
“It’s too late,” Robert informs him crisply. “You two are blood bound. If he dies, you die.”
I try to remind myself that Robert is still significantly drunk and bullshitting. But god damn he’s a good actor.
“Sorry. I don’t make the rules. Talk to Queensbury,” Robert says.
Ernest edges away. “We’re just…gonna go…”
The whole cluster of them back away and dart out of the alley.
Robert shouts after them, “The Queensbury association will hear about this! And consume better content!” Once they’re out of earshot, he turns to me.
“Nicely done, bullshitting them like that,” I say warmly.
He relaxes. “Thanks. I would never actually hit a child. That would be despicable. You throw the rules at ‘em, though, they always bolt. Nobody wants a Queensbury-sanctioned throwdown. But full disclosure, I made half of that up.”
“I know.” I grin at him, wanting so badly to just step over and kiss him because he looks startled and pleased again, and I can’t be sure but I think he may be flushing a little.
“You don’t even have to know the rules,” he says, and yeah, he’s flustered. “You just…make ‘em up.”
Oh no, he’s sweet and squishy again. And I’m grinning like a loon.
“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Robert says, and I nod agreement.
He leads us back through side-streets and alleys and back to our own neighborhood. I want to take his hand again, but I’m afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t want that.
“I’m so sorry,” he says as we approach the cul-de-sac, breaking our comfortable silence. “I get really into the art of filmmaking when I drink.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I think it’s cool how much you like movies. If you wanted to watch where you can yell and not get yelled at, I’d be glad to have you over for movie night sometime.”
Robert grins at me. “Buddy, I got so much to show you. You ever see any Sam Fuller?”
“I haven’t.”
“Fuller is cash.”
I’m…not sure what that means. “Thanks for defending my honor,” I say instead.
He looks flattered and pleased. “It’s a little strange when you say it that way, but sure. Why not.”
Robert throws an arm around my shoulder, I wrap mine around his waist, and we belt out tunes all the way back. Finally, we get to his doorstep.
“I wasn’t expecting tonight to go this way,” I tell him, “but I’m glad it did.”
“I liked it,” he says simply, still grinning. Then it gentles into the smile that turns me to molten chocolate. “Let’s hang again soon, yeah?”
“Anytime, buddy. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, whatever. You know where I live.”
Robert claps me on the shoulder. “That I do. Night, bud.”
I watch to make sure he gets inside okay, noting the tell-tale click of the door locking before I walk around to my house. It’s not until I’m lying in bed that it sinks in. He locked the door. Luckily, I’m tired enough that I fall asleep despite my best efforts at chewing anxiously on that thought.
===
My internal clock wakes me at my usual 5am. I flip it the bird and roll over.
An indeterminate time later, my phone buzzes, rattling against the bedside table. Growling under my breath, I reach for it and pry my eyelids open a crack. 5:35AM, and a text from Craig.
HEY BRO YOU UP? GONNA GET YOUR JOG ON WITH ME?
Ugh. What time did I even get to bed last night? One-something?
NOT THIS MORNING, I type back slowly. STAYED OUT WAY TOO LATE.
My eyes are sliding back shut when the phone vibrates in my hand.
ON A SUNDAY NIGHT?
Yeah, that wasn't the most mature thing I could have done.
ROBERT ASKED ME TO HANG OUT WITH HIM.
I want to go back to sleep, but Amanda will need breakfast before school and Robert...locked the door. The anxiety surges to life, not so much banishing sleepiness as brandishing a knife at it until it hides under the table. I roll out of bed, simultaneously tired and wound up, and take the phone into the kitchen with me to start breakfast. I've almost forgotten about Craig when the next text comes in.
HAHA, SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD A WILD NIGHT, BRO. I'LL LET YOU SLEEP.
Maybe I should correct him, but I'm just relieved that I have an excuse to not keep the conversation going. THANKS, I text back, and set the phone on the counter.
Amanda wanders in, already dressed but still rubbing her eyes, as I get the cheese on the scrambled eggs melted. She pours herself a glass of apple juice and sits at the table.
"Have fun last night?" she asks as I set her plate down in front of her.
Robert's soft smile leaps to the front of mind. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"What time did you get back?"
She's staring at her eggs as she eats them. I set my plate down and sit as well. "Um...somewhere between one and two."
Now she looks up with a teasing grin. "On a school night? Shame on you, Dad. How dare you have fun doing something that doesn't revolve around me." The grin blooms into a full smile. "I'm glad you had fun. You should do that more often. And Robert needs to have more fun, too. You gonna go make him breakfast after I head out?"
I open my mouth, unsure how I'm going to answer, but a knock on the door saves me. "Be right back," I tell my daughter as I get up from the table.
Looking through the peephole, it's...Robert, looking every bit as rough as I expected him to. He's wearing the same clothes from last night and holding two take-out cups from the Coffee Spoon. I unlock the door and open it.
"Hey," he says, not looking at me.
"Hey," I answer, doing my best to turn that one syllable into the relieved hug I want to give him.
He thrusts a cup at me. CHAI ANTWOORD FOR JACK is scrawled on it in Sharpie.
"Thanks," I tell him as I take the cup and sip. "Mmmmm. I needed this."
Robert glances warily at me, and I can't help but smile. He relaxes a little.
"Come in, join us for breakfast. I just finished cooking, but the pan's still hot. Over easy, right?"
Now Robert looks relieved, too. "Yeah."
He follows me into the kitchen and sits a little awkwardly, not looking at Amanda, while I go back to the stove.
"Have a biscuit," she tells him cheerfully, nudging the plate over to him. "Want something to drink aside from the coffee?"
Robert glances at her, then at me as I open the fridge. "I'll take some of that apple juice," he says quietly.
"Sure thing," I say, pulling out the juice and the eggs. Put them on the counter, grab a glass, pour and hand it over. "Two eggs, or three?"
"Two," he mutters.
Comfortable silence fills the kitchen as I cook the eggs, Amanda eating and Robert sipping apple juice. I plate his eggs, grab a fork, and hand them both over.
"Want anything special on your biscuits while I'm up?"
He stares at them for a long moment. "Actually...can I get some plain toast?"
"Of course." I grab two slices of bread and stick them in the toaster. "How do you want it? Just hard enough to crunch, golden brown, almost burnt?"
Robert chuckles a little. "Just barely golden brown. Thanks."
I flash a smile at him and adjust the toaster.
"I'm heading out," Amanda announces. "Both of you, try to nap or something, okay? You look like the walking dead. Love you, Dad."
"I'll see what I can do," I tell her, grinning. "Love you too, Panda."
She skirts the table to hug me, then goes back to give Robert a quick hug, then she's grabbing her backpack and out the door. Robert's toast pops and I bring it to him on a napkin.
"Good kid," he mutters as he takes a piece of toast and prods the yolk of one egg with it.
I take a long drink of my chai and sigh in contentment. "Thank you for this, Robert," I say quietly. "I hadn't had a chance to make myself any coffee yet."
He chews a mouthful of toast for a minute. "Got up and realized I'd locked the door," he says, not looking at me. "Hadn't meant to do that."
In other words, he hadn't meant to send the message that he didn't want me in his house.
"I'm kind of glad you did. Leaving your door unlocked isn't exactly safe, even in a nice neighborhood like this."
Robert looks up, searching my face. Then he gives me a tiny smile. "If I tell you where I hide the spare key, will you use it to sneak in and murder me in the middle of the night?"
I'm more likely to sneak in and kiss his temple and then sneak back out. I grin. "Hey, didn't I tell you last night? I leave shit like that to my wife. O-or I did," I add, remembering that there's a 99% chance Ana's dead.
"Hey." Robert takes my free hand and squeezes gently. "I don't actually have a spare key hidden anywhere. That's just as unsafe as leaving your door unlocked." His eyes widen as he realizes he's just eliminated any passive way to invite me over in the mornings. "If you're serious about putting up with my hung-over ass," he mutters, looking away, "I'll make you a spare key."
I squeeze his hand. "I'd sleep better knowing I can check and make sure you're okay." I...think Robert's blushing? I give his hand another squeeze and then let go. "Eat before it gets cold," I tell him in a Dad voice.
He laughs and gives me a grateful look, and we both go back to our breakfasts. I notice that Robert isn't actually drinking his coffee, and refill his apple juice when he drains that. It's not a surprise when he finishes his breakfast and yawns.
"You want a blanket," I ask, "or just a sheet?"
Robert gives me a confused look.
"For taking a nap on my couch," I clarify like this is a Perfectly Normal Thing To Do.
Comprehension dawns, and Robert's cheeks get the slightest bit pink. "Uh...just a sheet is fine. Thank you."
"You got it. Sit tight."
I grab a sheet from the linen closet and a pillow from my bed and quickly make the couch into a makeshift bed. Robert squeezes my shoulder in thanks as I finish and lays down, having already kicked his hiking boots off by the door. I draw the blinds, even though he's rolled over to bury his face in the back of the couch.
"Let me know if you need anything," I tell him softly.
He raises one hand just long enough to flash me a thumbs-up, and I slip back into the kitchen to do dishes and set something in the crock pot for dinner. When that's done, I rummage through my clothes and find a generic tee and some sweatpants and leave them on the corner of the sink, then hit the linen closet again for a clean towel and put that on top of the clothes. I'm sure Robert will want to shower once he's more rested, and I'm a lovestruck sap who wants to provide everything for the object of my affection.
I slip into my room and wake the desktop to shoot Hugo a message on Dadbook, letting him know Ernest was out at the movies on a school night. There's a very flowery message from Damien inviting me to afternoon tea tomorrow, which I accept as formally as I can. Hugo messages me back thanking me, and then asking what movie it was. Some romantic comedy,I type back. Robert and I kind of snuck in so I don't really know what we were watching.
Late night, huh?
Yeah. I'm exhausted.
I bet, he answers. Get some rest before the school day ends.
Thanks. I will.
I put the computer back to sleep and grab the other pillow off my bed, then put it back. Robert's still asleep, I should take my shower before he wakes up. Unfortunately, the hot water relaxes me and undoes the effect of the caffeine. I throw on jeans and a tee-shirt and stretch out in the recliner, and I'm out like a light.
=
The beep of the microwave jerks me awake. I look around frantically, trying to remember what's going on, and see the sheet and blanket on the couch. Then I glance into the kitchen and see Robert in the clothes I left for him. He takes his coffee out of the microwave, turns, sees me looking, and gives me a hesitant smile. That's when I realize I'm beaming at him.
"Thanks for..." he gestures at the clothes.
"You're very welcome," I tell him. "Nap okay?"
Robert comes into the living room and leans against the wall, sipping his coffee. "Yeah." He smirks. "I'd ask how yours was, but you slept through my showering and ordering pizza."
"You-"
The doorbell rings.
Robert sets his coffee on the coffee table, grabs a credit card, and opens the door. A few quiet words exchanged, and when he closes the door, he's got two pizza boxes in his arms.
"All or nothing," he announces as he walks past me into the kitchen. "Supreme or cheese."
"No Hawaiian?" I ask, standing to follow him.
He freezes for just a second. "Never ordered from this place before," he says after a pause that's just a hair too long. "Didn't know how good they were."
"Hence the all or nothing. Good call."
"Yeah." Robert looks at me.
I look back, hopefully conveying that yes, he did reveal that inner part of himself last night and no, I'm not going to bring it up unless he does. Slowly, he relaxes again.
"So...which will it be? All, or nothing?"
"Give me one of each," I answer as I grab plates out of the dish drainer and offer them to him.
He grins at me. "Good call."
We spend a comfortable hour and a half on the couch, eating pizza and discussing some movie he found on TV. Robert's comments are scathing in places, effusive in others, and focused on technical aspects I'd never considered. It's very educational, and hearing him talk on a subject he's passionate about without needing alcohol to open up like this...I almost wish the movie would never end. But alas, it does, and we watch the credits in silence. Robert doesn't thank the crew out loud, but his intense expression says he's thanking them in his mind.
"You want any more of that pizza?" he asks as we turn off the TV and stand up.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. Amanda won't care, though. "I'll take some for my daughter. Two of each."
He snorts in amusement. "Sure."
I wrap Amanda's pieces up in plastic wrap, then wrap the leftovers and stack them on the counter. The boxes get folded and stuck by the trash can. "You're welcome to come by for dinner," I tell him as he picks them up. "It should be done about seven."
"Maybe," he says shortly, eyes averted.
"You're welcome to come by after dinner, too."
"We'll see."
He's sounding tense. I drop the subject. "Okay. I'm going to poke around the yard; I haven't had a chance to really check it out yet."
Robert gives me the borderline-hostile look. "You haven't...?"
I shake my head. "Couldn't bear to do the house-hunting myself. Packing was bad enough."
He looks away. "Yeah."
The silence stretches. I put my hand on his and squeeze gently.
"I'm...gonna go," he says quietly. "Catch you later."
"Okay."
I want to hug him as he walks slowly to the front door. I want to pull him into my arms and hold him, tell him everything's going to be okay, but I don't. The front door closes behind him and I step into the back yard.
All things considered, it’s a really nice back yard. The five-foot wooden fence is the perfect mix of keeping kids out, or dogs in, while still letting you talk to your neighbor. The covered patio is going to be great for parties. There’s a few bushes snuggling up to the fence, and a really nice cherry tree in the middle with a stone path leading to a wooden bench in front of it. There’s some sort of crescent-shaped ornamental pond cradling it from behind, with lilies and a stone lantern.
I want to sit on that bench with Robert, watching the sun set.
“Well! Hey there, neighbor!”
My romantic fantasies shatter and fade into Joseph, grinning and waving at me from over the fence. I wave back and wander closer. “Fancy meeting you here,” I joke.
Joseph laughs heartily. “Good one! You know, I wanted to thank you for helping out with the bake sale. We were able to raise enough money to re-paint the pews after Ernest spray-painted his rapper alias onto the backs. In ministerial terms, Ernest is ‘hard to reach’. In father terms,” he confesses, “he’s kind of a turd.”
“He’s certainly a handful,” I say, remembering last night’s run-in.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love working with kids! Although…” he sighs. “Sometimes I wish…”
I make an appropriately-interested noise.
“It’s kinda silly, but…” He takes a deep breath and says, “Do you ever wish you could just drop everything and go lounge around on a beach somewhere in the tropics? Drink fruity blended beverages…fall asleep on a hammock…you know, basically live out a Jimmy Buffet song.”
“I couldn’t leave my daughter,” I protest. “I’m all she has left. I wouldn’t do anything to endanger my ability to support her until she leaves for college.”
Joseph looks taken aback. “Well, obviously not. But…don’t you ever just think about it?”
“I have no idea what living out a Jimmy Buffet song entails.”
“It’s basically lounging on a beach and drinking fruity frozen cocktails,” he says.
I look at him with a neutral expression. “I don’t drink.”
Joseph blinks at me. “You don’t…not at all?”
“Not at all. My father was an alcoholic.”
“They don’t have to be alcoholic drinks,” he backpedals. “Just…fruity frozen drinks. On a hammock. On a tropical island.”
I scratch the back of my head and wince. “I’m not sure I’d like that. I’d rather be doing something than just sitting around doing nothing. Especially if I was there by myself.”
“What if you weren’t by yourself?” Joseph asks slightly desperately. “What if you were there with someone…special?”
The thought of Robert in a speedo suddenly captures all my attention. He’d need someone to rub sunscreen all over his body…and then of course when I was done, he’d return the favor…
I suddenly realize I’m blushing and that Joseph’s calling my name.
“Sorry,” I tell him, reaching for the first excuse that comes to mind. “I need to check on the…crock pot.”
Without waiting for a response, I hurry inside and into my bedroom, hoping Joseph didn’t notice if there was anything suspicious about the front of my pants. I think a cold shower is definitely called for, but first…I’m going to think a little more about Robert and the importance of UV protection for the prevention of skin cancer.
===
The mail’s arrived when I’m done with my shower, and there’s a large yellow envelope in with the other things. A large yellow envelope from Amanda’s dream school. I set it on the coffee table for her when she gets home and go actually check on the crock pot. It’s fine, of course, and I duck into the garage to start putting that to rights. When Amanda comes home, I listen for her reaction but there’s…nothing. Oh god, I hope it wasn’t a rejection letter, it looked too big and thick for that…
I go inside the house. The envelope is still right where I left it. Amanda is nowhere to be seen; I take it and knock lightly on the door to her room.
“Manda?”
“What?” she shouts back.
“You got an envelope…”
“I’m kinda busy right now,” she shouts. “Can you come back later?”
“…it’s from HIA.”
Amanda opens her door with a jerk. “Horne Institute for the Arts??” she demands.
I give her a teasing grin. “But if you’re that busy, I can come back later…”
“Father, please!” She makes grabby hands at the envelope.
I let her have it, and she promptly tears it open with her teeth. Spitting out a piece of envelope, she pulls out the contents and skims the top sheet. The suspense is killing me.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmurs, face blank.
Oh no.
“I GOT IN!”
She got in. My little girl got into her dream school. I don’t think I’ve ever been more ecstatic in my life. I lunge to hug her, but she’s lunging to hug me and we’re both hopping around in circles, hugging each other, laugh-crying and making inarticulate sounds of disbelieving glee. We break apart so she can read the letter again, then hands it to me to read while she babbles excitedly.
“Of course you got in,” I tell her, pulling her in to kiss her hair. “You’re a great student, you nailed that interview, and your photography is incredible.”
“Wait…Dad…” The joy drains out of her. “I know this school’s really expensive…”
“Sweetie, this is your dream school.” I put the letter down to hug her. “Between the scholarships and the survivor’s benefits, we can make it work. But we probably want to see what core classes you can take at the local community college over the summer for cheap, and just transfer those credits.”
Amanda brightens. “Yeah! That way I don’t have to get a summer job! But Horne’s so far away…”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “When I was your age, I sold most of what I owned, packed everything that was left, and went on a road trip with you and your mother. I moved almost a thousand miles away – just about as far as you’re going – with nothing waiting for me at the end and nothing to go back to. You’re going to your dream school and coming back to your dad and your friends.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re gonna be fine, sweet pea.”
She hugs me. “I guess I’ve been waiting for this road trip my whole life, huh?”
“Think of it as going on an adventure.”
“An adventure. I like that,” she declares.
I give her another hug before releasing her. “Now. Do you want celebration dinner tonight, or do you want to plan for it? I’ve got chicken and vegetables in the crock pot.”
Amanda grins. “Is Robert coming over for dinner?”
Don’t blush, Jack.
“He said maybe, but that was before we got the mail. Does your decision rest on whether or not he’s joining us?”
“Tell him he has to come over,” she says impishly. “Celebration dinner is about the people, not the food. I want to be celebrated.”
I laugh. “Alright, I’ll text him.”
“Do it now,” she urges, moving so she can see my phone as I did it out. “I want to see.”
“Okay, okay…”
HEY. AMANDA GOT INTO HER DREAM SCHOOL, JOIN US FOR CELEBRATION DINNER? CHICKEN AND DUMPLINGS, BUT WITH BISCUITS.
Anxiously, we wait for a response.
OK IF I BMOB?
“Bee em oh bee?” Amanda asks.
It takes me a minute to reverse the pronouns. “Bring his own bottle.”
She shrugs. “Fine by me.”
YES.
Robert’s text comes back a few seconds later.
THEN I’LL BE THERE @ 7
Amanda cheers and I let her go back to her homework, but a thought nags at me. She wants to be celebrated, but she didn’t ask for The Emmas to come over.
Robert knocks on the door at seven sharp, as I’m pulling biscuits out of the oven. Amanda lets him in and practically drags him into the kitchen, babbling about her school.
“-and the dorms are right near a bunch of cafes and there are all these galleries nearby and there’s a discount if you bring your student ID and-”
“Sounds great,” Robert says quietly as they sit down. He looks mildly tipsy, and he’s holding a half-empty whiskey bottle in one hand.
“-students get their own studio space once they’re seniors, and we get all the professional photo editing software for free!”
“You scored big,” Robert tells her, toasting her with the bottle.
I split the biscuits and break them into halves, which I then arrange in soup plates and ladle chicken and vegetables and creamy sauce over. Amanda’s on the subject of roommates now.
“A good roommate can be a lifelong friend,” I point out. “Look at me and Craig. But don’t even get me started on bad roommates.”
Robert gets a look in his eye, and I know what’s coming. I set plates down in front of everyone and dig in so my expression won’t give it away as he spins a tall tale about a horrific roommate. Amanda hangs on every word, morbidly fascinated until the end.
“…just kidding,” Robert finishes.
Amanda groans and punches his shoulder.
While we eat, we discuss the fourteen-hour road trip she’ll need to make to come home for the holidays, and what kind of used vehicle she could potentially earn depending on her final high school grades and the classes she takes at the community college over the summer. She looks so vibrant, so excited, and all I can think of is…I did it right. I may not have done much else with my life, but I took in a newborn child and raised her to adulthood and now she’s going to go to her dream school and be amazing. If I do nothing else in my life, I raised a successful daughter, and that’s enough for me.
Robert’s progressed into tipsy bordering on drunk by the time dinner’s over, and he puts on a cheesy monster movie for us to heckle. Amanda sits between us, which is only mildly disappointing because she and Robert get on so well. They tag-team the movie, unleashing witty comments and scathing criticism and I just bask in how much they’re enjoying it. By the time the credits start rolling, Robert’s in the adorable squishy relaxed state of inebriation and Amanda clearly agrees with my assessment because she helps him thank the crewmembers and then hugs us both before excusing herself to get ready for bed.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says quietly once she’s left the room. “This was…a nicer evening than I had planned. Nicer being drunk around friends than strangers.”
My heart aches for him. “If you ever need company, just text me. I’ll come keep you company.”
He gives me a bewildered sort of look. “You’d do that? Even if I bugged you at midnight and I was already trashed?”
“Even if all you need is someone to help you get home safe,” I say, my heart in my throat.
Robert sways on the couch, like half of him wants to lean against me but the other half doesn’t think that’s such a good idea. “Okay,” he says finally. He looks at the bottle; there’s still about a quarter left. Carefully, he twists the cap back on. “I’m not sure I should stand up just yet,” he says slowly.
“I’ll get you some water,” I offer. It only takes a minute.
We sit on the couch for several minutes while Robert sips his water, letting the silence grow soft and comfortable. Half a second glass later, I help him to his feet so he can use the bathroom and he looks…pretty steady.
“Heading out?” I ask when he comes back, and he nods. I hand him his bottle. “Need help getting home?”
“Nah,” he says, but he hesitates. “Might need help locking the door, though.”
He fishes in his back pocket and takes out a brand-new key. It gleams, and when he hands it to me, the edges are still sharply crisp.
It’s a key to his house. He really made me a spare key.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s get you into bed.”
The night is soft and cool. We walk side by side, almost touching but not quite, and Robert fumbles with the key before I gently push his hand aside and use my new key to unlock his door. He doesn’t object as I guide him to the bedroom and help him pull his boots off. I leave him a glass of water and take two aspirin out of the bottle already on his bedside table.
“Sleep well,” I murmur as he stretches out with a groan. “Remember, if you’re not up to facing the world, I’ll come and cook for you.”
He grunts, and I choose to take that as agreement. Using my new key again, I lock the front door and walk back to my house. As I’m falling asleep, it occurs to me that I think I went on a date with Robert…and I may have given a few people the impression that something more exciting happened than just pizza and half a movie.
Oops.
===
I’m dressed and outside waiting when Craig comes out of his house with River strapped to his chest. He reaches for his phone, looks up, sees me, and puts it away while jogging over. We go around the cul-de-sac and over to the park, circle it, and come back.
“I need to do this more often,” I pant as we come back around to his house. “I am way too out of shape.”
“You’re always welcome to join me, bro,” he replies. “Just remember to hydrate and get enough rest. You nap after that crazy night you had the other night?”
He’s carefully not looking at me. I sigh.
“Craig, remember college?”
“Which part, bro?” he jokes.
“The part where I was voted Most Likely To Be A Eunuch?”
Craig’s cheeks flush slightly.
“I went bar-hopping with Robert and Mary, then Robert and I went in search of pizza and snuck into some comedic romance playing at way too late at night. The most exciting thing that happened was when I threw a rock at a stop sign and hit a car instead.”
“…oh,” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, bro.”
I clap his shoulder. “It’s fine. If it were anyone else, I would have assumed the same thing. Same time tomorrow?”
Craig grins. “You got it, bro.”
He goes into his house; I take a quick cold shower and get breakfast ready for Amanda. We eat, she leaves for school, but there’s no sign of Robert. I pack up a pair of biscuits, screw up my courage, and walk over to his place. A quick peek into the bedroom shows him still dead to the world so I put on coffee, fry his eggs, toast some bread, and leave breakfast covered on the stove before leaving.
Now what? Tea with Damien isn’t until two.
Lacking anything better to do, I head over to the Coffee Spoon. Mat greets me enthusiastically.
“Chai Antwoord again?” he asks. “Or are you feeling adventurous?”
“Sell me on something adventurous,” I answer, grinning. “But get me a Chai Antwoord to sip while I listen.”
We talk about menu items, both the components and the music, for about half an hour. He talks me into trying something frothy, but I like the chai better.
“Next time,” he mock-vows as my phone vibrates.
I pull it out to check who texted me, and it’s Robert.
THX
“Something wrong?” Mat asks, seeing me frown.
I show him the text. “I’m not sure what he said.”
“Oh, he said ‘thank you’. He just…left out most of the letters and used an X to represent the sound the C-K-S makes.”
YOU’RE WELCOME, I type back, resisting the urge to add a heart emoji. I do give in to the blushing smile emoji, though.
“You made quite an impression on him,” Mat says casually.
“Hm?” I reply cleverly, ripping my attention away from the memory of Robert’s smile.
“He came in here yesterday morning demanding to know what you’d had when you were in here on…”
“Thursday.”
“…right, Thursday. And I remembered it was the Chai Antwoord because I said ‘spicy’ but you didn’t know what I meant and…anyway…that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him get a drink for someone else, so I’m guessing you really hit it off both before and after the cookout.” Mat grins at me. “None of my business how well it’s going or what you two are up to. I just like seeing him feeling something instead of moping around all depressed, you know?”
“We haven’t even known each other for a week,” I protest, forcibly keeping my hand away from the spare key in my pocket.
Mat shrugs. “Like I said, not my business, but man…whatever you’re doing? Keep doing it, because I wanna see him happy again.”
Great, I’m blushing, aren’t I?
“I’ll, uh, do my best,” I say awkwardly. “Thanks.”
I do a little grocery shopping before putting together a light snack to tide me over until tea. Eggs, more apple juice, butter. A pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Basics. Then I google what to wear to Victorian tea, but most of what comes up is for women, and I don’t have a suit. I settle for dress shoes, black slacks, and a deep blue button-up shirt with long sleeves. Then, at three minutes until two, I march across the cul-de-sac to Danien’s distinctive house. It…looms, there’s no other word for it. There’s gargoyles perched on little pillars in front of the steps and an ornate bat’s-head knocker on the door. I knock.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The door opens slowly with an ominous creak, and Damien beams at me.
“Jack! A pleasure to have you in my home.” There’s a foyer behind him, complete with a majestic staircase and oil paintings of what I assume are dead relatives. “Please, let me show you around!”
I smile at him. “I would be delighted to see more of your lovely home.”
He pinks slightly. “Y-you would?”
“I grew up in a farming town in Indiana. Your house is by far the most interesting one I’ve ever been in, and I would love to see more of it.”
Definitely flushing now, he gestures me inside. “Then by all means, allow me to give you the grand tour!”
Damien leads me around the first floor, showcasing his parlor, sitting room, and auxiliary sitting room while telling me about the renovations he made to take a modern house and turn it into something both historically accurate to the Victorian period and still equipped with modern comforts. Then we go up the majestic staircase and pass what must be Lucien’s room, to judge by the bumper stickers and caution tape. At the end of the hall, he opens the door with a flourish and it’s a two-story library with an actual library ladder for accessing the balcony running around the room. There’s a stunning display of butterflies in glass cases, and in front of them, a piece of furniture I can only describe as a divan without knowing if the word is accurate or not. Ten-foot arched windows look out onto the backyard and I can only stare, gawking, trying to look at everything at once while Damien is clearly tickled by my appreciation.
I do my best to actually express my appreciation, and he tells me tidbits like how much Victorians liked big windows, the occasional controversy regarding reading “tawdry” novels, and that he pinned the butterflies himself. Then I follow him back down to the sitting room, where finger foods have already been set out on a beautiful, tiered silver tray. I take a seat in one of the high-backed chairs and Damien pours the tea.
“This is amazing. I never thought I’d ever get a chance to have real tea – the experience, I mean, not the beverage.”
My enthusiasm makes Damien light up and he talks about the tradition of tea while we eat tiny sandwiches and things. I compliment his cape, learn that it’s actually a cloak, and then he talks excitedly about how he arrived at his current style and how marvelous it is that he can select period-appropriate things to wear: cloaks, waistcoats, top hats, and even binders.
Binders? Oh. I had no idea, and that somehow makes it better.
“You wear top hats?” I ask, in case he hadn’t meant to let that secret slip and was feeling self-conscious about it.
He arches one elegant eyebrow at me. “You don’t?”
“I couldn’t pull it off nearly as well as you,” I tell him. “But your home is really impressive! I can tell you put a lot of work into this place and I must say, I’m a little envious.”
He looks like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Th-thank you,” he stammers. “No one’s ever complimented my home before.”
“Were they blind?” I joke. “Because it’s astounding. You really made it into a reflection of your personal style. I lived in my old house eighteen years but I’m not even sure I have a style for it to have reflected.”
“That’s…very generous of you to say,” Damien says in a tone of moderate awe. “And although I have not known you long, I feel confident in saying that I’m certain your home reflects the aura of warmth and comfort you carry with you.”
It’s my turn to stammer thanks. With both of us flustered, I ask him how he got interested in all of this and he takes the change of subject gratefully, telling me about his childhood love for art, history, fashion, and taxidermied animals. He waxes poetic on the balancing act of adhering to the ideals without slavishly embracing the flaws. What he’s creating in his own life is not how Victorians lived then, but how they would live in our modern world. Then he asks me about my hobbies and passions, and somewhat hesitantly I talk about cooking and what it’s like to take an act necessary for life – eating – and turn it into an expression of comfort and belonging.
Only briefly do I touch on my mother and little Maddie.
“A natural caregiver,” Damien says, nodding in understanding. “That explains the warmth and comfort you project. No wonder you have gotten along so well with Robert – the poor man has been living in emotional darkness devoid of warmth for far too long. You are like the sun, awakening life in what had appeared to be dead, reviving cold branches and cajoling seeds into putting forth tender shoots and braving the world.”
Aaand I’m blushing.
“If you have had your fill,” Damien says, suddenly bright again, “then on the note of growing things I would love to show you my garden!”
“For that,” I tell him, “I would go hungry.”
The garden, it turns out, is the entire expansive backyard which has been landscaped beautifully. Flowers I don’t even know the names for fill the area with bright colors and sweet scents. Like my house, it has a stone path, but his leads to a wooden structure that looks like the shell of a room and is absolutely covered with flowering vines that climb the poles and beams thickly enough that it actually provides shade. Damien tells me this is an arbor, and of course there’s chairs to sit in and enjoy the view. There’s gargoyles on pedestals scattered around, and even a three-tiered birdbath…fountain…thing.
“Victorians took flowers and floral arrangements very seriously,” he says once I’ve stopped gawking and making inarticulate sounds of admiration. “You see, it was considered uncouth to discuss personal and romantic relationships in public, so lovers and friends alike would use bouquets to send secret messages to each other.”
“Oh, the language of flowers!”
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “But even more interesting is that one flower could mean different things depending on the other plants it was paired with. One had to be extremely careful, as even the style in which the ribbon was tied around the bouquet affected the message.”
I let out a low whistle, impressed with the intricacy. “Sounds like you’d need an interpreter to tell you what your bouquet said.”
Damien laughs. He talks me through the various meanings of a few flowers before the strains of a…harpsichord?...waft through the air and he looks embarrassed.
“Ah…my cellular telephone,” he mutters. “I do apologize, but I must excuse myself for a moment.”
“Take your time,” I assure him. “I’m just going to admire your amazing garden.”
He flashes me a grateful look and hurries down the path a bit. Whatever conversation he’s having, he looks incensed, and I wasn’t even sure what that would look like before now. Then he hangs up and hurries back.
“Jack, my sincerest apologies but there is an urgent matter that I must attend to, so I’m afraid I must take my leave.”
“Everything alright?” I ask, concerned. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No one has been harmed,” he says, looking away, “but I have been…summoned to the high school to collect my wayward son for disciplinary action.”
Ah. One of those. “Do you want company?”
Damien looks at me in surprise. “I…if you are willing, I would greatly appreciate having another parent at my side. This is one of Lucien’s more…elaborate stunts.”
“Then by all means,” I tell him, “allow me to offer you the use of my horseless carriage, and myself as a driver.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Jack. You are a treasure, and our neighborhood is made all the richer for your inclusion.”
=
Hugo is waiting in the school office. He and Damien greet each other in a way that suggests this isn’t their first time to the “our kids are in trouble” rodeo. We all go into the dimly-it boiler room and down a rickety flight of stairs to a sub-basement where unhappy voices drift up to us. In a pretty horrific-looking room lit by a single naked bulb, another teacher is glaring at Ernest and Lucien, who has a bloody nose. There’s…a bunch of bricks, most of them stacked into a cylinder, and some masonry tools.
In shouts and mutters, the story comes out. Ernest promised to pay Lucien to read “The Cast of Amontillado” for him, but then reneged on payment so Lucien tricked him into coming down here by promising him wine, and then attempted to brick him up. It took twenty minutes for Ernest to catch on, and then he punched Lucien in the nose. I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Ernest glares at me when he notices. Both of them wind up with suspension for the rest of the week, which I don’t think they actually see as punishment. Mostly because they high-five at the pronouncement.
I drive Damien and his son home. Lucien breaks the silence first, protesting that he’s not going back to therapy and Damien…is a concerned and involved parent who treats his son with respect. Instead of being mad, he’s concerned and tries to encourage Lucien to look for a summer job so he can save up for his own car. I’m glad I’m driving so neither of them can see the tears in my eyes because fuck, Damien is the kind of father I wish I’d had.
Lucien hops out and hurries into the house the instant the car comes to a stop in Damien’s driveway. I hear a sigh from the back seat before Damien climbs out and comes around to the driver’s window, which I roll down.
“Thank you for your patience,” he says. “I didn’t expect to have that conversation in front of you. He and I have a lot we need to work out, and- Jack! Are you alright?”
Well, he saw the tears. “I’m fine," I assure him. “It’s just…you’re the kind of father I wish my father had been.”
Damien looks concerned. “I will not pry, but I hope you will allow me to invite you over again. And, should you need an understanding ear…”
I smile at him. “I will, and thank you. Even with its interruption, this was a lovely afternoon.”
He bows with a flourish to hide that his cheeks are pink again, and goes up the walk as I back out of the driveway.
On an impulse, I go back to the grocery store. It's Tuesday, and the hot, messy crunch of tacos appeals to me. While I'm picking out produce, I text Robert.
TACO TUESDAY! SERVING UP FUN AT 7 IF YOU WANT TO JOIN US. ;)
There's no response by the time I get to checkout. Or when I check out. Or get back home. Or finish making homemade salsa and put it in the fridge. Or when Amanda gets home. I forcibly remind myself that I've known Robert less than a week, one pseudo-date does not mean we're dating, and that it is a little weird how many meals we've shared considering our brief acquaintance. Still, when dinnertime rolls around and there's no knock at the door while Amanda and I are enjoying delicious tacos, I'm more than a little disappointed but I try not to let it show. We feast on crunchy, meaty treats, put the leftovers away, and she does homework while I do dishes. I think lasagna is in order for tomorrow's dinner, and I rummage around to make sure I have everything. I will not text Robert letting him know there's plenty of leftovers to have for lunch. I will not. We are not glued together at the hip, and he has no obligation to spend any time with me.
Doesn't make me any less worried that something happened.
Sleep doesn't come easily and when it does, it's fitful. I keep waiting for my phone to vibrate, for Robert to text, but he doesn't. At quarter to midnight I have to squash the impulse to put on clothes and see if he's at Jim and Kim's. At half-past three I tell myself firmly that it would be an abuse of trust to let myself into his house and make sure he's gotten safely to bed. At five I get up and put on jogging clothes.
"Rough night, bro?" Craig asks as we jog around the cul-de-sac.
"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."
"Take a nap after breakfast," he suggests. "One thing college prepared me for is the importance of naps."
That makes me laugh. We finish our jog and wave as we go into our respective houses. My cold post-run shower makes me feel more awake, but I'm still worried. Making and eating breakfast goes without incident, and once Amanda's off to school I'm off to Robert's with my heart in my throat.
His front door is unlocked, which weirdly reassures me a little. It means he's been out and back, because I locked it behind me yesterday morning. I call his name softly as I enter, but there's no response. Coffee on to brew, oven heating, and I check the bedroom. He's sprawled across the bed - alone - in a different position. I fill his water glass and set out aspirin, trying not to get distracted by the fact that I can see one bare arm and half of his back and I want to kiss that skin, oh my god, Jack no. Get out of there.
Biscuits. Eggs over easy. Bacon. Toast. Cover it, leave it on the stove, mug by the coffee machine, and leave. Lock the door behind me. Walk down to the Coffee Spoon because I didn't make myself any coffee and because maybe Robert stopped in yesterday. Maybe he'll stop in while I'm there. Maybe he'll text. God, I'm a mess.
Mat looks up as I enter, and his smile falls. "I'm gonna suggest a decaf for you this morning, Jack. You look like you're ready to chew the walls." He snaps his fingers. "I've got just the thing! Sit, I'll bring it to you."
Guiltily grateful, I sit on a comfy couch and try to listen to the softly-playing music instead of fidgeting with my phone. Mat brings me a minty sort of latte...mocha...thing and a cinnamon scone. I accept both gratefully and alternate sipping and nibbling.
"It's good," I tell him, making him smile in relief. "They're good. I like them both. Thank you."
Mat perches on an ottoman nearby. "I don't wanna pry, but...everything okay?"
I sigh. "Did you hear what Lucien and Ernest got up to yesterday?" Mat nods, and I say, "watching Damien with his son just sorta hit me a bit hard because he's an amazing father and I..."
"Don't even sell yourself short," Mat warns me.
"...I wish my father had been like that," I finish dryly.
"Oh man, my bad." Mat rubs the back of his head awkwardly. "Definitely don't want to pry. Oh! But that reminds me, there's a concert I've got tickets for tonight, and I...uh...I love going to concerts? But I hate being alone in a crowd of people. Robert was in here after you left yesterday and he suggested I ask you. Said you're...um...calming, and I have to agree so...you interested?"
I think about spending another evening worrying about Robert.
"What time?"
Mat beams. "Starts at eight. I'll pick you up at seven?"
"I'll have to put the lasagna in early, but sure." The way his face lit up at lasagna makes me grin. "If you and your daughter want to have dinner with us, stop by at six."
"That sounds great," Mat says enthusiastically.
"I'll text Amanda, but I'm sure she'd be okay with watching Carmensita for the evening."
Mat clasps my hand in both of his. "Jack, you are a godsend. I'm a friend of the band that's headlining, so I didn't want to miss their show, but..."
I smile at him. "Hey, I know how scary it is to be somewhere and not know anyone. And you're my neighbor, how could I not help you out?"
"Guy that lived there before you didn't much care for music," Mat says dryly.
"His loss," I say loftily. "I'm gonna go home and see if I can catch a few winks. I didn't sleep very well last night." At the last second, I close my mouth on If Robert comes in, tell him there's still tacos at my house.
"Yeah, rest up," Mat jokes. "I'll see you at six."
The walk back is quiet. I stretch out on the couch with my phone on the coffee table, and I'm out like a light.
=
My stomach wakes me around noon, and I text Amanda sharing my plans for the evening. She is completely on board with them, to judge by the exclamation points in her reply. Robert didn't text. Should I text him? Should I go over there? Should-
I peek out my door and see that Robert's pickup truck is gone.
Quietly worrying and telling myself not to, I re-heat beans and taco meat and have Wednesday Nachos with the broken taco shells and a handful of tortilla chips. Making lasagna, at least, keeps me distracted for a good chunk of the afternoon and cleaning for guests (guests!) takes care of the rest. Amanda comes home and throws herself into her homework while the lasagna bakes. At ten to six, I take the it out to cool and slide the garlic bread in while Amanda sets the table and puts the salad in the middle. At six on the dot, there's a knock on the door.
Mat and Carmensita are standing eagerly on the front step and I wave them warmly in. Before I close the door, I glance towards Robert's house. His pickup is back. He hasn't texted.
Despite my gnawing worry, dinner is bright and cheerful. Mat's ecstatic for Amanda when she proudly tells him she got accepted into her dream school, and Carmensita peppers her with excited questions about the campus. They barely notice when Mat and I clear the table, put leftovers in the fridge, and do the dishes.
"Amanda?" I call as I make sure I have phone, keys, and wallet. "We're heading out. No arson or larceny. One eight-ounce plastic cup of ice cream each, no going over the top. Love you!"
"Got it," she calls back. "Blackmail and murder, eight ounces of ice cream. Love you too!"
Mat chuckles as we leave the house and climb into his car.
“So who’s playing?” I ask once we’re on our way.
“PUP,” Mat answers enthusiastically. “Cool little indie pop punk rock band out of Canada. Should be a fun one!”
“I’m not sure what all those words sound like when applied to music,” I confess, “but I’ll take your word for it.”
Mat laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll understand if it’s not your thing.”
It’s about a twenty-minute drive, but Mat plays some of PUP’s music to give me an idea of what we’ll be hearing and it’s…surprisingly good. I’m not sure how to describe the music, but I’m enjoying it and Mat looks thrilled. Parking is still pretty open, which I guess is the reason we’re here early, and there’s a short line to get in. It’s a small venue, with a stage at one end and a bar at the other, and I think I’m one of the oldest people here.
A couple of people greet Mat, high-fiving and hugging him, and he looks pleased to see them but otherwise a bit uncomfortable with all the strangers. He nods at the bar, and I follow him over. A few of the older concert-goers tip their drinks at him and eye me curiously. Mat points to a tap and the bartender fills a plastic cup, then looks at me.
“Designated driver,” I lie easily, my years at college preparing me for this moment.
Mat gives me a funny look, but suggests we check out the merch and leads me away from the bar.
“Designated driver?” he asks when we’re out of earshot of the bar.
“It’s easier than explaining that I don’t drink,” I tell him.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to pry, but the curiosity is killing him.
“My middle name is Daniel. That ought to tell you all you need to know about my dad’s relationship with alcohol.”
“Ouch, man, I’m sorry. Your dad sounds like a real piece of work.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. So, merch?”
We go over to a small both in the corner with a selection of shirts and records and a teenager in questionably ratty clothes who yells at me like a marketplace vendor hawking his wares. He turns out to be a friend of Mat’s. Or Mat’s a friend of his mom, I’m not sure how that goes. His name is Pablo, apparently, and when Mat mentions I’m a friend I get an enthusiastic bro-hug which years of friendship with Craig have prepared me for. He and Mat chat for a bit, teasing each other about a band that doesn’t seem to exist. I pick out a shirt for Amanda, and then when Pablo excitedly tells me I can get a second one for just two dollars more, I grab one for myself as well.
“Hey, the opener’s coming on,” Mat says. “Let’s grab a good spot.”
“Like halfway down the wall, where we don’t risk getting swept into the crowd?” I point at a likely place.
Mat grins. “Yeah, like that.”
We get situated as the opening band introduces themselves as Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir, and Mat groans.
“Here,” he says, pulling foam earplugs out of a pocket and handing them over. “Trust me. They’re not your kind of music.”
A little intimidated, I put the earplugs in just as the band starts playing the most cacophonous noise I’ve ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. It seems to take forever for their set to end, but finally, thankfully, it does and we take our earplugs out. More people are streaming in, filling the small venue uncomfortably, and we exchange a quick high-five for our prime spot. Mat tells me how he loves being at concerts, in a room full of people connecting to the music and each other. It’s just the before and after parts he’s not so fond of.
The crowd rushes to the stage as PUP starts playing, jostling and forming a weird whirlpool of a mosh pit. Boy, I’m glad we’re safe against the wall and not trying to keep our balance in that riot! But the music is good, and I’m tempted to see if Pablo has any CDs left after the show. Once PUP finishes their encore and the crowd lets them retreat, the flow of people starts to drain out the door. I follow Mat as he says goodbye to a couple of people, brohugs Pablo, and we finally escape outside.
“Pablo wanted you to have this,” he says as he hands me a CD. “I would have bought you one, but he insisted. Thanks for helping me stay somewhere near my comfort zone tonight, and especially for dinner.”
I smile at him. “Thanks for introducing me to music I never would have considered otherwise, and I really like cooking for people who appreciate it. I’d love to have you over again sometime.”
“Hey, Mat!”
We turn to look, and it’s PUP. Mat chats with them briefly before they head out, and we head back to Mat’s car. As he drives us home, he tells me a bit about the little band he used to play in, back in the day, and how they toured all over even though they were just barely scraping by.
“Still sounds worth it,” I tell him. “I spent the first half of my life in a little podunk town in Indiana, and the second half of my life in Maple Bay.”
“Music builds a community,” he agrees. “Especially in a town like this. Just a lot of positive energy and good vibes. You’ll see. I’m hijacking you for the next concert I’m going to. If you’re okay with that,” he adds, glancing at me.
I laugh. “The price of my companionship is you let me make you dinner first.”
“Deal,” he says, grinning. “Being a single dad is rough sometimes. It’s a lonely feeling.”
“Tell me about it. Even before we got the news about Ana, she was on deployment for months at a time. I think I’ve been a single dad for most of my life. But the neighborhood is nice and friendly.”
“Yeah, it is that. We’re there for each other. I’m really glad you moved in, Jack.”
“So am I,” I say fervently, thinking of Robert. “So am I.”
When we get back to the cul-de-sac and check on the girls, they’re doing each other’s makeup. Mat collects his daughter and they say their goodbyes, and I present Amanda with the shirt I bought her.
“I guess the show went well,” she says, admiring her new swag.
“Yeah, I really liked it. Mat’s going to take me to the next one he goes to, and we’re going to have them over for dinner in exchange. Plus he got me a CD,” I add. “So there’s gonna be some new tunes in the car, Manda Panda.”
She laughs. “About time you got something new in your music collection, Pops.”
Grinning, I mock-order her to bed.
In the privacy of my room, I take out my phone. No new texts, no missed calls.
CONCERT WAS GREAT, BUT I MISSED YOU.
My finger hovers over ‘send’ but when it comes down, it’s on ‘backspace’ instead. I put my phone down and crawl into bed, wondering why Robert seems to be avoiding me.