FQWL: Time passes

[moonshadows]

Robert and Mary are at a table when I get to Jim and Kim's, him with whiskey and her with wine. Niel hands me a Coke before I can even ask, and grins at my expression. I slip him a $5 just for being awesome like that and head over to sit across from Mary, with Robert on my left.

Mary gives me a dirty look, which isn't much of a surprise. "You actually showed up."

I shoot Robert a confused look, but he's looking at the floor. "Of course I did. Robert invited me."

"Ditched the youth mixer, then?" she asks, skepticism dripping from every word.

"No...I was there for a bit."

Robert downs the rest of his drink. "I gotta powder my nose."

What exactly is going on here?

As soon as he's gone, Mary rakes me with a scathing look. "Step on any pop-tops?"

"No..." I think back to the refreshment table. "All the drinks were in bottles."

She makes a sharp, cutting gesture. "Not there. In Joseph's office."

I'm really confused. Are we having the same conversation? "I...wasn't in Joseph's office. I was in the gym. Chaperoning. Because Joseph asked for help chaperoning."

We sit in awkwardly hostile silence until Robert comes back and sits down.

"He was chaperoning," Mary spits.

Robert looked surprised. "The whole time?"

"Well, there wasn't much that needed to be done, but I stayed in the gym the whole time watching the kids, yes."

I still have no idea what's happening, but Robert looks pleased with my answer. "I'll get the next round," he tells Mary, and leaves again for the bar.

The look Mary's giving me now is...hungrily speculative. More flashbacks to college, and learning to spot predators.

"So, Jack...you were married for what, eighteen years? I bet you know how to make a woman happy..."

I look her firmly in the eye. "I'll say this once. I don't fool around. If there's a problem between you and Joseph, you need to address that with him. I won't be a pawn in either of your games, and I won't be an enabler to your self-destructive habits."

She sits up like I've slapped her, offended more than angry. "You're an enabler to Robert's."

"I am no such thing," I say evenly. " I neither encourage nor assist him with regards to getting drunk."

For some reason, that makes her look even more ticked at me, but then Robert's handing her another glass of wine and sitting down with his whiskey.

"Everything okay?" he asks warily.

Mary sips her wine. "Just peachy."

"I have no idea what's going on tonight," I confess. "Except that apparently Joseph doesn't proof-read Ernest's banners before he hangs them."

Robert's eyes light up. "What'd that little delinquent get away with this time?"

Even Mary looks eager to hear this. I take a bracing sip of Coke.

"It said...Jesus is cuming. C-U-M-I-N-G."

Both of them crack up. It takes a full three minutes before they wind down to chuckles and wipe their eyes because as soon as one of them seems to start calming down, the other gasps, "Cuming!" and sets them both off again. But hey, at least they're laughing, right?

"I couldn't get it down without cutting it, but I used a scrap of leftover banner plastic to change it to Jesus is calming. And then I challenged Joseph to a dance-off because none of the teens wanted to be the first one on the dance floor."

Mary leans back in sharp anticipation. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that."

"Ask my daughter." I grin at her. "She got it on video."

Robert snorts. "Who won?"

"Oh, I did. Easily."

He looks interested. "Really."

"Yup. He thought he was going to get me with his Moonwalking, but I came back MC Hammer style and then the DJ put on Single Ladies."

Robert chokes. Mary's watching me with unholy glee.

"And you danced to that?" she demands.

"I had six back-up dancers before the chorus and half the teens dancing by the end of the song," I tell her proudly.

"Yeah," Robert hays huskily. "You won." He dumps his whiskey into what's left of my Coke and pulls the glass over in front of him. "Get yourself another one and tell Niel it's on me."

I'm not completely sure what just happened, but it's slowing down Robert's drinking and on the surface it's a nice gesture, so I'm not questioning it. Niel nods when I ask for another Coke on Robert's tab, and then hesitantly asks if I want something...fancier. Even if it's just some vanilla syrup in my soda. Vanilla Coke sounds good, so I accept.

A minute later I'm heading back, and I hear Robert say, "...serious, Mary, lay off of him."

Mary gives me a different kind of speculative look as I sit back down. Robert's examining the depths of his whiskey and Coke. Awkward.

"So," I say, like I haven't noticed the tension at all, "Craig had a suggestion the other day. He said I should bake mini cherry pies for the next bake sale. Thoughts?"

"Absolutely," Robert says immediately. "But you need to charge more for them. A full dollar, maybe two, to account for the cost of the pans."

"I use muffin tins. No extra cost."

"Do it," Mary says sharply. "The only pies we see are full sized and they never sell because who's going to pay twelve dollars for a pie? What flavors can you do?"

"Um..." I have to think for a minute. "I've done cherry, apple, blueberry, pumpkin, and strawberry. I'm sure I could adapt just about any pie to a mini pie, though."

Mary plays with the rim of her wine glass while fixing me with a very predatory - but not sexual - look. "Your pie filling..."

"From scratch," I answer, mildly offended. "I do use canned pumpkin, but it's the nothing-but-pumpkin stuff. Everything else, fresh fruit. Or frozen, if I absolutely have to. And I make my own pie crusts."

She looks...disgruntled. "The cookies and brownies you made. Also from scratch?" At my nod, she sighs in disgust. "Geez, where were you when I was single?"

"Either in Nowhere, Indiana, or married," I say apologetically.

"Lucky woman," she mutters before finishing her wine.

Robert clears his throat. "They weren't in love. It was platonic for raising her kid."

Mary pins me with a demanding look. I nod.

"So you never..."

"We had an open marriage, but I never did anything with anyone," say, blushing.

She throws her hands up in disgust. "I'm too sober for this. Rob?"

He shoots her a glare and sips his drink. "Still good."

"Fine. Be right back." She storms off.

"I'm confused."

Robert chuckles. "Mary's regretting that whole 'til death do us part' thing. Again. Don't worry about it."

"But..."

"Jack, you had the best marriage of the three of us, and it wasn't even a romantic relationship."

He sounds tense, and I'm feeling like a fake.

"Doesn't that disqualify me?" I ask quietly. "I wasn't trying to make a romantic relationship work, and Ana was gone most of the time. I don't know that I'd be any good at all at making a relationship work."

Aaand now the silence is painfully awkward. I cast about for a topic, and remember the key.

"Oh! Um..." Carefully, I twist the blue-capped key off my key ring and offer it to him. "Almost forgot. Uh...don't mind the label. I got called Mr. Mom a lot in college so it's...kind of a joke."

Robert looks genuinely touched as he accepts the key and tucks it into his jacket. Then Mary's back with a pair of wine glasses. Thankfully, she's also back on the subject of baked goods and what I would be willing to provide for bake sales, seasonal recipes, that sort of thing. Robert offers to taste-test anything that comes out of my kitchen, and I jokingly inform him that he'll be helping me bake. He doesn't seem opposed to this. We move to a small booth when one opens up, the sort that's meant for two people, but Mary drags a chair over and it's...cozy.

As she gets tipsy and then drunk, I can see a different side of her emerge. Like the squishy adorable drunk Robert, there's a softer Mary under her prickly shell. Granted she's not much softer, but she's less bitter and I get the feeling that being married to Joseph has derailed whatever else she would have done with her life. She does a lot of managing things around the church, but that's like trying to satisfy the desire to cook by playing with an easy-bake oven.

I wonder how she'd do managing some of Craig's business.

Any time Robert goes for drinks, he comes back with what looks like a glass of Coke for himself. Whether he has any whiskey or rum in there, I can't tell, but he's still pretty steady by the time we decide that eleven is late enough. As much as I'd like to be arm in arm with him, we wind up flanking Mary and holding her upright as we make our way back to the cul-de-sac, singing random catchy songs as we go. She shakes us off as we get to her house, although we each get a hug, and then we stand and watch as she weaves her way up the walk and inside the house.

"This was good," Robert says quietly. "Thank you."

"Thanks for inviting me," I reply in the same quiet tone.

He snorts. "Same time next week?"

I smile. "Sounds good. Breakfast at six? I'm thinking French toast and sausage."

He smiles back and fuck, why can't I kiss him? "Sounds good. Night, Jack. Sleep well."

"You too," I tell him. "Night, Robert. Take care."

"I will," he says softly.

I don't exactly stand there and watch him walk to his house, but I do edge backwards down the sidewalk until his door closes behind him and then turn to go inside my own home. Amanda's in bed, according to her whiteboard message. I erase it and brush my teeth, change into PJs, and sigh as I stretch out in bed myself. 

===

The next week feels like the first real week in the neighborhood. Like the first week and a half was for moving in and getting settled, and now it's time to settle into routine. The two or three weeks following feel like...home.

Mornings start with a jog around the park with Craig, and then making breakfast. Robert joins us more than half the time, quietly letting himself in and collecting a hug from Amanda before joining her at the table. Most of the time, he brings me a Chai Antwoord and something ungodly strong for himself. The mornings where he's hung over and still in yesterday's clothes, he also brings banana bread or something else Mat's baked. Sundays are the exception, with Amanda and I going to Craig's and leaving him to fend for himself. When he doesn't come to breakfast, I wait until Amanda's gone to school and then head over to make his usual two eggs over easy and plain toast with a big glass of apple juice.

He slept through it the first time I left him breakfast, then texted me later telling me to wake him up instead of leaving. Luckily, it doesn't take much to wake him. A hand on his shoulder will get a response - usually a grumbled apology, or thanks, or both. I'm not sure what he's apologizing for, and I'm afraid to ask, but I assure him it's okay and let him come to terms with the world while I cook. Then I sit and chat with him for a few minutes while he eats. If he missed coming to breakfast, it's a sure thing that he'll stop by around lunch with takeout, or be there for dinner.

Wednesdays are trivia night, me and Hugo against Brian, Daisy, Mat, and Carmensita while Amanda watches Ernest. I bring her a fancy French dessert on top of the $20 Hugo slips her when we come home. The two teams are pretty evenly matched, surprisingly. Thursdays are pizza night, with Robert joining us. Sundays there's usually something church-related, and then in the evening, hanging out at Jim and Kim's with Robert and Mary. Sometimes one of the other dads will suggest a meet-up - a movie with Damien, lunchtime grilling with Brian, hosting Italian Night for Mat and his daughter, or "If I don't get adult conversation I'm going to murder someone" Saturday outings with Hugo.

Sometimes, usually when I don't have anything else going on, Robert will text me in the afternoon to come hang out with him and we'll spend an hour or two sitting on a bench in the forest, or walking around the cemetery, or watching some random movie in a nearly-empty theater, while he works through a bottle of White Zinfandel. More often, though, he texts me late in the evening to come talk to him either at Jim and Kim's or in his living room. He's always drunk by the time I get there, but he switches to - or puts up with me suggesting - something non-alcoholic, and I always make sure he gets to bed safely. Sometimes he asks me to help him out of his clothes before he crawls under the covers in nothing but his underwear, leaving me biting my lip with how badly I want to touch his skin, tracing the scars with my fingertips. Other nights all he wants is his boots off. He's worryingly thin, but all I can do there is provide food, and I'm doing that already.

A handful of times, he's managed to reach a worrying level of inebriation and "powdering his nose" involves rinsing his mouth in the sink, or our walks home include an unscheduled stop and then using a bottle of water I grabbed on the way out and a handful of napkins I shoved into my pocket. Those nights, I bring him home and sit with him on my couch, getting him to drink some water and making sure he has a big pot nearby just in case. Those nights, I sleep fitfully in the recliner and check on him multiple times during the night. In the morning, he uses my shower before breakfast and changes into clothes that he'd left behind on a previous visit and subsequently went through the laundry with my clothes.

Mary...I have no idea what's going on with her. We're not close, despite the hours we spend around each other in Robert's company or at a church function. It seems like the more recently I've been around Joseph, the more sharp she is with me, but she never actually crosses the line into outright hostility and I don't get the aggressive come-ons she flings at other guys in the bar. Those are weird, too - she seems intent on working guys up as much as she can, but she never goes anywhere with it. Joseph does his best to seem harmless and friendly, the cool youth minister who's engaged but not improperly so, and there's something about him that makes me think of a male bird showing off his plumage in hopes of attracting a female's attention. I only let him talk me into church functions because the kids like me, and I want to be the kind of adult I wished I'd had in my life when I was their age. Mary seems oddly relieved when I confess that, but then she goes back to passive-aggressively needling me.

The more time I spend around Mary, the more wary I am of Joseph. I see too many parallels between her and the things I felt towards my dad. But she's a grown woman, and she's quick to point out that it's not my business whenever I try to delicately bring up how unhappy she seems, so I just let her vent.

All in all, I'm content with the new turn my life has taken and I'm able to help Amanda plan for her transition to college without having an anxiety-induced cleaning/baking fit afterwards.

===

Just as Amanda's going to bed, Robert texts me in a flurry.

JACK

I'M DRUNK

JACK

COME TALK TO ME

J&K

My clever daughter knows what's up without even asking me. "Robert wants company?"

"Yeah. Don't stay up." I text him back, letting him know I'll be there soon.

"I won't. Take care of him, Pops." She leans down to hug me. "Love you."

I hug her back. "Love you too, sweetie."

She goes to her room; I lock the door behind me. It's a quick walk to Jim and Kim's, and I collect a Coke from Neil before sliding into the booth across from Robert. He looks well and truly trashed, and Mary is nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," I say gently when Robert doesn't seem to register my presence. "I'm here, Robert."

Blearily, he focuses on me. "Talk to me, Jack. Tell me 'bout yer dad."

My gaze drops to my hands, wrapped around my glass. "What do you want to know?"

"He drank a lot. More than me?"

Slowly, I nod. "Yeah."

"An' you left home. Did you reach back out, or did he?"

"I'm...not sure what you're asking, Robert."

"You stopped talking to him." Robert gives me a vaguely affronted look. "Did you reach back out to him after that, or did he reach out to you."

I let my eyes drop again. "We never lost contact. It was either love him as he was - drinking and all - or leave him, and I was only a teenager. He's dead," I clarify before Robert can ask. "Killed himself, and my little sister, driving drunk and plowing his pickup into a tree. I was a few months shy of eighteen. Was really rough, having to make funeral arrangements and still study for finals."

"But your mom..."

"Died when I was eight. Cancer."

The silence stretches, but it doesn't get any more comfortable. I keep my eyes down.

"I gotta powder my nose," Robert says unsteadily.

Through my eyelashes, I watch him slide out of the booth and make his precarious way to the men's room, using booths and walls for balance. I sip my Coke and wait, but he doesn't come back and I'm not sure how long it's been. I check the time and wait some more. When it's been ten minutes and he's still not back, I'm off to the men's room like a shot.

There's three urinals and three stalls. Robert's legs spill out from the last stall, and it's a relief to hear quiet sobbing coming from it.

"Robert?"

The sobbing stops. I approach slowly, not trying to be quiet. He's sprawled against the toilet, like he didn't have the strength to do anything else after expelling the contents of his stomach. I kneel and wipe his face with toilet tissue before flushing it all down. Robert's not looking at me. I know he's still conscious because he's moving and his knuckles are white around the toilet seat.

"You okay?" I ask softly.

He shudders. "No."

"Gonna be sick again?"

"Nothing left."

Well, that's...unsettling. I push it aside. "Okay. Want to rinse your mouth before I walk you home?"

Robert hesitates, then nods. I get one arm over my shoulder, one of my arms around his chest, and brace myself against the wall to haul him to his feet. He's barely able to stand with my support, so I walk him to the sink and hold him upright while he washes his hands and then cups them, sipping tap water to swish and spit out. A couple repetitions, and then he turns the faucet off. Neil looks concerned as I walk Robert out, half-carrying him, but says nothing.

All the way back, I let my physical closeness and my silence speak for me, but when we get to his house he still won't look at me. Getting the key into the lock doesn't go so well, and I put my hand around his to help him guide it in. The door swings shut behind us, and slowly I lead Robert into his bedroom, kicking various things out of the way as I go.

"Clothes on or off?" I ask as I sit him on the edge of the bed.

Instead of answering, he grabs my shirt and pulls until I sit next to him, arm around his shoulders, and turns to bury his face in my chest. Then I hear the broken sob and realize he's crying again. I hug him tightly, rocking back and forth, sometimes rubbing his back and sometimes stroking his hair. The soothing babble is the same I've used for Amanda - it's alright, I've got you, it's going to be okay, I'm right here. It feels like it takes forever before he winds down to hiccuping and whining exhalations, and I'd be lying if I said that in my attempts to comfort him, my lips never touched his hair. But finally he releases the deathgrip on my shirt and lets his hands fall.

"Just leave me here," he mutters. "Save your concern for someone who deserves it."

"You deserve it," I protest, but he flings himself away from me onto the mattress and curls up into a ball.

"No I don't," he whispers. "Leave me alone, Jack."

My stomach squirms unhappily. "Only because you asked me to," I tell him.

I still leave him water and aspirin. It's a while before I fall asleep.

===

The knock on the door comes mid-way through making breakfast, and Amanda calls out from the hall that she'll get it. I hear her greeting Robert cheerfully, then exclaiming over something just before the scent of Mat's banana bread hits me.

"Toast and two eggs over easy?" I ask over my shoulder as they come into the kitchen. The eggs I'm scrambling are almost done.

Robert sets the traditional Chai Antwoord on the counter for me. "No," he says quietly. "Nothing for me."

"Rob-"

That's as far as I get before I realize he hasn't brought anything for himself. Furthermore, his hair is still damp from a shower, he's wearing cologne, and he's got on clean clothes. But the look he's giving me...

It's pleading. Desperate pleading. Considering the way last night went, I want to abandon the eggs and just hug him until he tells me what's wrong, but I know that will have to wait until Amanda's left for school. As he realizes that I'm not going to finish his name, a tiny spark of a smile crosses his lips and his forehead relaxes just slightly. I think...I need to test that.

"Okay, Rob," I say just loud enough for him to hear and no, I was right - he likes me calling him that.

But he snaps at anyone who calls him 'Rob' where he can hear. Well, except Mary, but only in the bar and he still glares at her.

The implications set my face on fire and I turn back to the eggs.

Robert sits quietly, picking at a slice of banana bread but not really eating it, while Amanda and I have breakfast. We both get hugs when she finishes, he gets a kiss on the temple, and she and I exchange our 'I love you's. Then she's gone, the echoes of the front door filling the sudden silence of the house. 

Abruptly, Robert stands and walks into the living room. As I follow, I can hear him kicking off his boots. He's sitting on one end of the couch, hugging his knees like he's trying to take up as little space as possible, head turned away from me. I sit down close enough to touch him but not close enough to crowd him. I know his level of cleanliness tends to be inversely proportionate to the extent of his inebriation when I last saw him, but the cologne is new and he's never refused breakfast before. And last night...I can't shake the idea that he made himself vomit and then kept going until there was nothing left. Clearly something hit a nerve.

"Talk to me," I urge gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's me," he says quietly, still facing away. "I'm what's wrong. I've fucked up everything else in my life but..." Robert hugs his knees tighter. It's several tight breaths before he says, "I don't want to fuck things up with you."

I feel like I'm standing on a mountain of snow, and any step could crumble beneath my feet. There's so many implications in what he's just said, but all I can focus on is... "With me?"

Robert turns his head and gives me a fragile smile. "I like you, Jack. I like you a lot. You're...special to me."

"I like you too," I blurt like a dumb teenager with a crush.

He shudders. "But you deserve someone better than me. I...I'm not a nice person, Jack. And I know that it's just a matter of time before you realize that and leave me the way you should have left your dad, but I want..." His voice breaks on the last word and he presses his face against his knees, breathing harshly for a minute. "I want to be better, Jack," he whispers. "I don't want to be your dad. I don't want you to feel like you have to put up with my bad habits because the alternative is leaving. I don't want to be alone, Jack. I don't want to lose you."

I'm not sure who moved first but my arms are around Robert and his are around me and we're kissing, lips brushing and breaking apart and grappling hungrily and then Robert's crying and I've got his head on my shoulder, holding him close and kissing his hair.

"You're not going to lose me," I reassure him. "You're not my dad. I'm not going to leave you. We'll get through this together. I'll help you be better."

It feels like forever before Robert's wound down, and for a handful of minutes we just revel in me holding him, his head on my shoulder, quiet and emotionally intimate.

"We've got a lot of talking to do," I murmur. "How do you want to start?"

"I don't," he murmurs back. "But...Jack, I was serious about not fucking things up with you. I...I want to hold off on...everything...until I'm less of a fuck-up."

"Okay," I say instantly. It's not even a disappointment. "Just friends?"

"Just friends," he agrees reluctantly, moving to sit up.

I don't try to keep him in my arms, but I do say, "Friends hug," and he gives me a borderline-hostile look  that fades into the smile that melts me. I beam back at him and slowly, he shifts on the couch until we're sitting side by side with one arm around the other and his head is resting on my shoulder again. Somehow, our free hands have found each other, and I'm not sure I've ever been this...happy.

"Okay," Robert sighs. "First thing: I don't want to be your dad. Bad habits are hard to break. Lay some ground rules for me."

"No more Jim and Kim's without me, and I order your drinks."

He thinks about it for a minute. "No more any bar without you, and you order my drinks."

My thumb rubs lightly over his knuckles. "Good catch. You could have used that loophole, but you pointed it out instead. You get two brownie points for that."

"How many brownie points do I need to get to cash them in for actual brownies?" he asks, his voice warm and rich.

"Sixteen for a small batch," I tell him, laughing.

"Okay. No going to a bar without you. That won't keep me dry."

"I wasn't trying to," I tell him gently. "Prohibition doesn't work. Nothing will keep you dry unless you want to be dry. But..." I give it some thought. He needs a nudge that won't feel like a noose. "If you get drunk and I'm not there, you need to contribute to breakfast the next morning."

"What if I want to have breakfast with you and Amanda anyway?"

"Then you're a guest," I tell him cheerfully. Belatedly, the dots connect. "Robert...was that what was bothering you last night? Comparing yourself to my father?"

He shudders and buries his face in my shoulder. After a few seconds, he nods.

"Do I need to make a rule about driving drunk?"

"No," he whispers.

I hug him tighter. "Okay. I don't think there's any other way you might compare, though. You're not a distant, emotionally manipulative asshole like he was."

Robert freezes. "Not to you," he says in a strangled voice.

The snow's crumbling beneath my feet. "Talk to me," I urge gently.

He shakes his head.

"Robert," I say patiently, "the night we started out bar hopping and ended up sneaking into a movie, you showed me more affection and respect than I got from my dad in an average month."

"Your dad was a dick," he mumbles into my shoulder.

Reflexively, I want to protest, but the second half of my life has proven to me that my father was, undeniably, a dick. "Have you ever been that bad?" I ask instead.

Robert hesitates before finally saying, "No. But I was still a selfish prick."

"You said was," I point out teasingly. "That means you know you got better."

"No," he says heavily, hand tightening around mine even as he lifts his head and turns away. "I just lost the opportunity."

He hesitates, and I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Promise you won't leave me?" he begs quietly, voice shaking.

"I promise, Rob."

He makes a sound like a sob. "I don't deserve you."

I smile and run my thumb over his knuckles again. "Deal with it. Tell me what happened?"

"Okay." Robert takes a deep breath, fingers brushing against mine. "I spent my whole life only taking, and taking, and taking. And then I lost everything. And now here I am, an old, broken man sitting on top of a pile of everything I've ever taken, alone."

"I don't count?" I ask quietly.

Robert freezes. "You count." The words are tight, like they're choking him. "Some days I think you're the only one who does. Mary tries, but-" The arm around my waist tightens. "I have a daughter. Val. She lives back home in Brooklyn, making buckets of money at some new media online magazine thing. I care about her. I always did. Things just...got in the way and I guess I never told her, or did much to show her. Then before I knew it she was leaving for college, wanting nothing to do with me."

No wonder he envies my relationship with Amanda. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-five. Maybe twenty-six, I'm not sure. It's been three or four years since I last saw her." He sounds...defeated. "Went to her graduation when she got her degree. Had to get the date from the college because she didn't tell me. Didn't invite me. Didn't want me there."

Robert's voice nearly breaks on the last words, and he takes a few minutes to calm his breathing. I snuggle a bit closer, and he presses his cheek to the top of my head for a long moment.

"After Val left for college, Marylin and I moved out here to settle down. We thought it would help...us...to get away from all the distractions, all the money...the drinking. Start fresh. But...temptation gets to you. I tried to be better but I just...couldn't. Things got bad between us. Fighting. More drinking. More fighting. And then..." Robert squeezes my hand painfully tight, as if he could hold himself together with that grip. "The accident...changed everything. She called me for help, but I was drunk off my ass. She wasted time trying to get a hold of me and  by the time the ambulance got there..." He shudders. "I think every day about how she must have died hating me. I never became the better man that she wanted me to be. The one she always saw in me. The one she deserved."

There's nothing I can say to that, but I turn and hug him for a long minute.

"Marylin - my wife - she was the last thread Val and I had connecting us together. I didn't know that when I lost my wife I was gonna lose my daughter, too. I spent so much time chasing after things I thought were gonna make me happy that I ignored them and ruined my only real chance at happiness. Now my wife is dead and my daughter hates me. What am I doing with my life, Jack?" It's half a plea, half an uncertain wail.

I lean back and look him in the eyes. "You're realizing that you made mistakes and trying to get better."

Robert closes his eyes and looks away. "You did everything right. Your daughter loves you. You're a good person. I was a terrible husband and I'm an even worse father. Tell me what to do, Jack, because I don't want to keep fucking up."

I free my hands and cup his face. "You're going to do the same thing I've done every day since my mom got sick: you're going to wake up each morning and tell yourself that yeah, things suck, but even if you don't think you can take it, there's someone who cares about you, and you don't want them to suffer." I give him a sad little smile. "You know I didn't marry Ana because I loved her. I married her because she needed someone to help with her unborn baby, and I needed someone to help or I was going to lie down and never get back up."

That gets me hugged, and I can feel Robert tremble.

"Things aren't going to fix themselves tomorrow," I tell him softly. "Or the next day. But nothing is going to change if you don't change."

"I want to change," he whispers. "But I don't know where to start."

"Start with Val."

He pulls back. "I can't." The protest is automatic, reflexive, weak.

"Do you have her number?"

Robert nods.

"Call her. Tell her you're trying to change. Apologize. If she won't listen, leave a voicemail. Hand the phone to me. Just reach out to her." I give him another sad smile. "I know for a fact you can be furious at someone and still love them and wish for even the slightest hint of an apology. Give her a chance."

Slowly, Robert nods. Then he leans forward and slumps against me, head on my shoulder. I stroke his hair and rub his back.

"You can do it, Rob," I murmur. "I'll be right here with you, unless you don't want me listening."

"I want you here," he says, the words muffled by my shirt. There's a pause. "Can I have breakfast afterwards? I  mean, after my stomach calms down. I've been so nervous..." He laughs against my shoulder, dark and full of pain. "That's a lie. I've been terrified since I woke up, and my stomach's in knots."

"Of course." I press my cheek against his hair, hugging him tightly. "Rob, listen to me. It's gonna be okay."

Robert's arms tighten around me, too. "But..."

"It's gonna be okay. You've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

He shudders, and then his desperate grip relaxes some. "Thank you, Jack. Thanks for not letting me chase you off. Thanks for beating sense into my thick skull. Thanks for...understanding. About us."

"I'm happy to wait until you're comfortable," I tell him softly. "Sometimes I feel like I waited half my life to meet you; I can wait as long as it takes to make sure you're ready." 

Robert laughs shakily. "You're too good to me, Jack. What would I do without you? Don't answer that," he adds hurriedly.

I laugh, too. "I won't, as long as you pick up your phone and call your daughter."

Reluctantly, we separate so Robert can dig out his phone. He looks like he's facing a firing squad as he dials and listens, but then his expression shifts to guilty relief and resignation as Val doesn't pick up.

"Hey, Val, it's your old man." Robert gets up and starts pacing. "Listen, I know you probably never want to hear from me again and I don't blame you. I've been a shitty father. You deserved better, and nothing is gonna change that. I'm sorry about everything I've ever done or failed to do. I'm a dumpster fire, I know that, but..." his eyes lock with mine. "I'm getting help. Trying to be better. Taking it one day at a time and...fuck, kid, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say. I know you'll probably delete this without listening, and that's exactly what I deserve, but if there's any shred of..." He breaks off, biting his lip and looking away. "I love you, Val," he chokes out, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

The instant he hangs up I'm there, hugging him tightly as he cries into my shoulder. "That was good," I murmur reassuringly to him. "You did good."

"What if she doesn't respond?" he whispers, face buried in my neck.

"Then you try again next week. Think of it as your own personal confession. How do you feel?"

He sniffles and takes a deep breath. "Like a dumpster fire that's burning out. I think I've been so worked up that now I'm emotionally exhausted. And hungry."

My lips itch to kiss his forehead, but I smile at him instead. "Three-egg omelet, ham and cheddar, homefries with peppers, onion, and bacon?"

"Only because no one will deliver a Hawaiian pizza this early in the day," he jokes. "Jack...thank you for helping me."

I hug him again. "Thank you for letting me help."

We joke around as I make Robert's breakfast, and then he eats like he hasn't seen food for a week. We watch a movie after that, his commentary a comfortable counterpoint to the rhythm of dialogue and music, our bodies loose and relaxed as we cuddle a bit closer than is strictly platonic.

"I don't want to go back to my place," Robert sighs when the credits end. "It's a complete mess, just like me."

My thumb rubs the back of his hand. "So let's fix that. I'm helping you clean up, right? Let's go clean."

Robert groans, but there's no force behind it.

We attack his kitchen first, washing dishes and scrubbing surfaces. Sorting the contents of the fridge and freezer, going through the cabinets to see what's there and re-organize them. Robert takes the trash out twice before we're done, and then I improvise a lunch from what's left. He keeps looking around the kitchen as he eats, as if he can't believe this is really his house.

"Can we do the bathroom next?" he asks. "It's kind of scary in there and I'd appreciate having someone to watch my six while I show the germs what for."

I grin. "Queensbury-sanctioned throwdown?"

He grins back. "With bleach."

The bathroom is...terrifying. I suspect it hasn't had a good cleaning since Val graduated from college, if not since Marylin died, and that Robert's irregular hygiene has less to do with apathy and more to do with being afraid of touching the bathroom surfaces with his bare skin. I unearth some latex gloves from under the sink, because I don't want to touch that with my bare skin either, and we get to work.

While various cleansers are soaking in the master bath, Robert takes the trash out - an assortment of empty plastic bottles, empty liquor bottles, grungy cardboard, used sponges, nasty paper products, and one particularly horrific hand towel - and I check the half-bath next to the kitchen. It's slightly less horrific. He comes back to me sweeping out the accumulation of dark hair and rummages in the linen closet until he finds me a dust pan and broom. Then he starts a new trash bag. There's a pile of empty toilet paper rolls that had been collecting behind the toilet and plastic wrappers jammed under the sink, along with more empty liquor bottles. The half-bath isn't big enough for both of us, so Robert fetches me cleaning supplies at my request. Windex, paper towels, bleach cleanser, sponge, toilet bowl cleaner, brush. Several times, he tries to apologize for his house being a mess .

"Don't," I tell him firmly. "I'm not actually a neat freak. I've just been using cleaning as a coping mechanism since I was seven."

He sits on the floor, back against the doorframe, watching me scrub the corner behind the toilet. "That doesn't mean you should be cleaning my bathroom for me. I should be cleaning it; I'm the one who messed it up."

"Just wait until Amanda goes to college," I tell him dryly. "I'll be going crazy with nothing to occupy me. I'll be begging to clean your house."

Robert watches me for a minute. "So," he says slowly, "we find healthier things to do together?"

"We could always take up jogging in the afternoons with Craig." I grin at him. "Get a membership to his gym, work on our six-packs?"

"There's the animal shelter," Robert suggests. "We could combine jogging with walking the dogs. Mobile advertising. Get matching tee-shirts made that say 'Like my dog? Ask how you can adopt it!' and wear them while we take the dogs out."

"Sounds like a win-win-win situation to me." I straighten up and hand him the filthy paper towel I'd been using. "I think the half-bath is done. Time for me to lounge around and watch you scrub the master bath," I tell him, grinning.

He grins back. "Do you want me to take my shirt off? I'm joking," he adds as I blush. "Maybe. Do you actually want me to take my shirt off?"

"I wouldn't say no if you decided to, but if we're trying to keep it platonic until you're more emotionally stable, that is not the way to do it."

Robert gives me the gentle smile I adore. "Point taken," he says softly.

The master bath looks worlds cleaner by the time we're done with it, and Robert looks like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. He also looks a little green from the cleaning fumes, and I'm sure I look the same.

"Looks great," I tell him quietly.

"Yeah." He hesitates. "Is it okay if I take a shower at your place, though?"

I laugh. "Of course. Amanda will be home soon, too, and I want to put together something for dinner."

Robert gives me the borderline-hostile look I'm starting to realize means 'I care but I don't want to look like I care'. "I can't let you do that, Jack. Chinese, or pizza?"

"Ooh. I could go for some cashew chicken and egg drop soup." I stretch. "And maybe a nap."

"I'll grab a DVD for us to watch while we eat. We can fall asleep on the couch and wake up at midnight, cursing ourselves."

"I counter with giving Amanda permission to flick peas at our faces until we wake up before she goes to bed."

Robert chuckles and stretches. "She'd love that. Sounds like a plan."

Two showers later, Amanda comes in the front door to find that the coffee table has been transformed into a Chinese buffet, and Robert and I are sitting on couch cushions on the floor. It doesn't even faze her. She dumps her bookbag by the couch and joins us on the third cushion.

"What's the occasion, Pops?" she asks as she helps herself to lo mein and an egg roll.

"Your father sold you to me in exchange for an order of cashew chicken," Robert deadpans while I nearly choke on my soup. "I'm your new father."

"Cool. I'm gonna call you Knife Dad."

Robert gives her a stern look. "Do you even have a pocketknife, young lady?"

Mouth full of noodles, Amanda shakes her head.

"Unacceptable." He rummages around in his pockets and finally produces a small switchblade. "Take it. Blade's small enough to be allowed in schools. I won't have you going around unarmed."

She takes it, face lighting up with glee. "Thanks, Knife Dad!"

"Just remember to wipe it clean after each kill," he tells her solemnly.

"I promise." She gives it a beat. "Now, what's the real reason?"

"Valor in the face of disaster," he answers, grabbing a skewer of teriyaki beef. "Your dad helped me clean out my fridge."

"And your bathrooms," I add. "It's a good thing you didn't see it, sweet pea. You wouldn't be able to sleep for a week. You'd have nightmares about the tiles coming to life and crawling down the hall after you."

Robert opens his mouth, thinks for a second, closes his mouth, and shrugs. "Yeah. He's right. On that note, I'm crashing on your couch tonight."

Amanda grins. "Cool. Welcome to the family, Knife Dad."

The look on Robert's face is what I'd expect from someone who was snatched away from the jaws of death by an angel. He looks at me, sees me beaming, and blushes before smiling shyly back.

I don't care that we're keeping it platonic for the time being. Not having to hide that I care...knowing that he cares...it already feels like I'm floating, like I'm a flower bathing in the sunlight of his affection.

Maybe not. I need to think of a better simile. But everything's gonna be okay.

===

With a month and a half before Amanda graduates high school, it's time to plan her graduation party. She says she doesn't want a big deal made of anything. She's just going to go to the party the school's throwing that night - after a quick dinner, since graduation is on a Thursday - and then spend Friday recovering and reveling in her temporary freedom from school before her online college summer classes start. Joseph's barbecues, I found out, are monthly and on the first Saturday. No scheduling conflict there. Quietly, I go to Brian first and secure his excellent grilling skills, then to Mat for music. It takes a few days of private discussion, but I secure everyone's promise to be there for the party. Even Joseph, Mary, and their kids.

Now that Robert and I are no longer guessing about how the other feels, we're...closer. The distance caused by uncertainty collapses and he really is part of the family. Aside from when we're hosting Mat and Carmensita, he eats with us almost every night. Even when I'm not there, like on trivia nights, Robert and Amanda order pizza or Chinese together. The nights that would have been spent in his living room, him drunk and me keeping him company, turn into nights spent on my couch watching movies while he works his way through part of some bottle or another, never getting quite as drunk but slipping more easily into the adorable squishy stage. Then, when it's time for bed, he camps on the couch. More than once, he opts to come grocery shopping with me, and then insists on paying. "I eat more of your food than I do mine," he protests as he helps me load the groceries into the car, and I can't argue with that.

When I accompany him to Jim and Kim's, it's only on the nights that Mary's with us. If she has any opinions about Robert switching from straight whiskey to whiskey and Coke, she doesn't voice them. The nights he would have been there drinking alone, we hit Pete's Piece O' Pizza for slices of Hawaiian and then see a movie. We still spend quiet hours in the graveyard or the forest, but either without the wine or with a bottle that's only a few ounces. Craig okays Robert joining us for Sunday breakfast, and a few mornings a week he silently joins us on our morning jog - at least part of the way.

I don't expect him to be perfect, not with a years-old habit like this, and he does backslide a few times. A few Wednesday nights, while I'm out with Hugo, Mat, and Brian - that's what led to him joining Amanda for watching Ernest - and a couple Sundays he's clearly hit a bottle or two before he got to Jim and Kim's. But he's making tremendous progress otherwise, and I let him know several times a week how proud I am of him for that. His hygiene normalizes now that he doesn't have to worry about losing a limb to the crud in the bathtub or the dust bunnies mugging him while he brushes his teeth, and the other dads (except Joseph) take note of this.

At all the church functions and youth activities Joseph ropes me into - and I don't mind, I like cooking for a good cause and being a mentor to teens - he never, ever asks me about Robert. If I bring Robert up, Joseph pretends he didn't hear the other man's name or changes the subject. It's all about me, like a moth fluttering at a window, Joseph looking for a way in. A weakness. It makes me weirdly glad that my coping mechanisms involve locking myself down, because even though he says he's glad I'm dealing so well with the loss of my wife (although I still haven't taken the ring off), it comes off as the fox praising the tree's height while being disappointed that the grapes are out of reach.

The first few "let's catch up" minutes of our conversations, any time I'm hanging out with the other dads, tends to involve keeping tabs on how Robert's doing. It warms my heart. They're not pushing him to be more social than he's comfortable with, but they're open and welcoming when he chooses to be. Damien invites us over for tea sometimes, or joins us appreciating the quiet beauty of the old cemetery. A few times a week, I visit the Coffee Spoon and let Mat suggest drinks for me. Robert comes with me, and Mat includes him, suggesting things with cream and flavor rather than his usual black coffees. If he's unhappy with himself, he sticks with the black. But more and more, he lets Mat serve him what I think of as the coffee equivalent to White Zinfandel: something he drinks for the pleasure of it rather than the effect it has on his body.

Robert's still worringly thin, but that just gives me an excuse to feed him and now, at least, I'm not overstepping my bounds if I fuss over him. Brian welcomes him for the occasional lunchtime grilling he hosts, and if it's on a Saturday, Hugo joins us as well. Joseph's neighborhood barbecue in May, shortly after we had our heart-to-heart, was the only time I've seen Robert revert to his clammed-up, antisocial, perpetually-drunk self. It was beyond worrying. Robert hovered around the edges, glaring at us all over the rim of his whiskey glass, and wouldn't even talk to me until the party broke up. Then he not only came back with us, but locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour and wouldn't let me in until he'd stopped retching. Even Amanda was worried about him, and that's when she suggested I text Craig and ask if Robert was welcome for breakfast.

===

Naturally, when the June barbecue approaches, I'm nervous enough that Robert picks up on it and one night, after dinner but before we start a movie, he asks me sharply what's wrong.

"You worried me after the last cookout," I tell him quietly, my fingers threaded desperately through his. "You worried Amanda. You don't have to tell me why Joseph puts you on edge. Just tell me if there's something I can do to help."

Robert looks away for a long minute, his hand grasping mine tightly in silent reassurance. "Knowing that you're worried helps," he says in something barely louder than a whisper. "Keep Joseph away from me. That will help a lot. I don't want to talk to him."

I lift our entangled hands and press them to my cheek. "You got it, Rob."

He pulls me into a hug, his breath in my hair making me shiver. "Thank you."

Naturally, I call upon the other dads for help. At the cookout, Robert is never left alone and if Joseph heads in his direction, someone intercepts him while Robert is transferred to the company of someone else. It's one giant game of keep-away, and everyone seems to be having fun except Joseph, who pretends he's not frustrated. Robert actually seems to be enjoying himself a bit, and he doesn't drink nearly as much. 

"Let's go for a drive," he says when the cookout breaks up for the evening. "Your car," he adds before I can do more than open my mouth. "Even if I hadn't been drinking, I'm too wound up to be behind the wheel right now."

I hug him. Just for a moment, but it's enough that he buries his face in my shoulder before straightening.

"You mind if I smoke in your car?" he asks quietly.

"Clove smoke would only be an improvement, Rob."

He smiles at that. "Thank you."

Amanda hugs us both and tells us to be safe because she loves both of us. Robert looks like he's just been stabbed in the chest with happiness and he's going to cry.

"I love you too," he whispers as I grin.

"Love you too, Panda," I tell her.

We climb into the car and Robert immediately rolls the passenger window down before lighting one of the clove cigarettes he smokes when he needs to calm his nerves. I let him give me directions, and it's not a surprise when he chain-smokes three cloves before finally tossing the last butt with a sigh. He directs me to pull off the highway, then drive down a dirt path to a familiar-looking clearing where I turn around.

"Isn't this where...?"

"I thought we could masturbate together," he answers. Three seconds later we're both laughing. "I just need some serious quiet to help me sort out my thoughts."

"What about the Dover Ghost?" I ask warily.

Robert lights another cigarette. "I checked youtube videos that night. We heard a pissed-off bobcat. Came back in the morning and checked the tracks. Bobcat tangled with a bear who'd been fishing in the stream."

A part of me that had been tense relaxes. "Oh. That's fine, then."

I park the car and we go around to lean against the trunk and watch the distant lights. Robert smokes his clove, fingers tangled in mine, and the silence is velvety and warm.

"Val wants to come to the party," he says softly.

"She's more than welcome."

"I'm scared."

Without saying a word, I stand and pull him into a hug. He trembles, arms slowly coming up to hold me tight, head on my shoulder. For a handful of minutes we stand there, listening to his shaky breaths.

"We don't talk directly," he whispers into the night. "She hangs up on me whether I call or pick up. I have to let it go to voicemail, and leave her voicemail. She said she didn't trust my word. I gave her Amanda's number. I did this, Jack."

He's crying. I rub his back and hug him tighter. It takes him a few minutes to be able to talk again.

"I was a shitty enough father than I drove my daughter away and she won't take my word without outside confirmation. She won't talk to me except in recordings."

"But she still wants to come to the party..."

"For Amanda. She's still on the fence if she wants to actually talk to me. Help, Jack. I don't want to fuck things up. I don't want to lose my daughter again."

"You won't," I promise him. But I know he's too worked up to accept that, and sure enough-

"How can you be so sure?"

"You said you gave her Amanda's number, and she wants to come to the party for Amanda. That means Manda's been talking to her enough that they're friends. If I know my daughter, she's been sending Val updates several times a day. Every time you help her watch Ernest. Every time you come to dinner and don't drink. Every morning you're not hung over. All the times you help me cook, or bake. All of the progress you've been making, filtered through the eyes of a girl who sees you as a surrogate parent."

Robert goes still in my arms, and I smile.

He leans back enough that he can look me in the eyes. "She does?"

"There's a reason she calls you Knife Dad." I smile at him. "She likes you. Yeah, she's still going to be brutally honest, but to be honest? You have made a lot of progress. And Val's got to know that."

"But she said..." He trails off as I shake my head.

"If it were you, trying to reconnect to your estranged father, would you tell him how you really felt until you'd had a chance to see him and judge him for yourself?"

His eyebrows draw together. "No."

"Think of how much better you've gotten in the last few months. Amanda's watched your progress. Val may still be wary and keeping her distance, but unless you do something extreme like get falling-down drunk and barf in the punch bowl, you should be fine."

Robert thinks that over for a minute. "I thought you decided against having a punch bowl."

"I did. That's how badly you'd have to work at screwing up."

I manage to keep it deadpan until Robert cracks a smile, and then we're both laughing.

"I owe you one, Jack," he chuckles, shaking his head and leaning against the rear bumper again.

"Yeah, well, if it ever turns out that Ana's not dead," I say dryly as I join him, "I'm gonna need you to pry me out of myself because I'm going to lock up hard."

He glances at me, concerned. "Lock up how?"

When I hesitate, he sidles closer and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Come on, Jack. Talk to me."

"I...didn't have a whole lot of support after my mom got sick. Her side of the family refused to have anything to do with us while my dad was in the picture, and he only supported us financially. So if I needed anything - a kind word, a hug, reassurance, anything emotional - I was on my own. I had to just suck it up and keep going. That's why I channel nervous energy and anxiety into cleaning and baking. If I can't redirect it into something productive, I bottle it up. Lock it away. If it's too overwhelming, I bottle myself up. Lock myself away. I get lost inside myself until an outside stimulus grabs my attention."

"Jesus fuck, Jack..."

Robert pulls me unto a hug, my face against his chest, the scents of leather and clove filling my nostrils. It's protective. Comforting. Soothing. I can feel the tension drain out of me.

"Just like that," I murmur. "That'll work."

He runs a hand over the back of my head and lets out a breathy little laugh. "Jack, you're a sap."

"I know," I sigh.

He hugs me a little tighter. "But it's sweet. You're still okay with waiting?"

"Of course."

"I don't want you to be unhappy," he says quietly. "You're what gives me the strength to wake up every day and try to be better."

My cheeks are on fire and my heart is in my throat. I wrap my arms around Robert and nuzzle his chest a little. "How could I be happy with something that hurt you? You're not ready to go further, we don't go further. I'm happy just spending time with you and knowing that you care."

"That's not fair," he whispers into my hair. "How am I supposed to punish myself for making you wait when you're happy?"

Quietly, I chuckle. I try to make it an evil chuckle, but I'm not sure how well it worked. "You fell victim to my evil plan. Soon, I will have achieved my goal."

"What goal?" he asks warily.

"You will be so happy, you'll never try to punish yourself again."

Robert releases me and throws his head back, laughing heartily. It's the open, easy, carefree laugh that makes my heart sing, and I'm so glad I don't have to hide that I care because I'm pretty sure I'm looking at him in 100% pure adoration.

"Thanks, Jack," he says warmly when the laughter has died down, and I can almost see his warm, brown eyes glowing with love. "I really needed that. Ready to go back?"

"Happy to help," I tell him, smiling. "Feeling better?"

He yawns. "Yeah. I think I can actually sleep now. Mind if I camp on your couch tonight?"

I struggle not to yawn, too. "Of course not. Wouldn't want you to sleep through breakfast with Craig and his girls tomorrow."

The drive back is comfortably quiet. As we get ready for bed, we give each other soft little looks that I like to think are like kisses performed with the eyes. I fall asleep with the memory of leather and cloves in my nostrils, my heart feeling so full of love and light that it's going to transcend my body.

===

The week leading up to graduation, I'm so focused on prepping secretly for Amanda's party that Robert tells me in no uncertain terms that he's taking me out to lunch on Wednesday and to wear something nice. When lunchtime on Wednesday rolls around, I'm wearing dress pants, nice shoes, and my go-to dark blue button-up shirt. I'm also pacing. The knock on the door is a relief, but the cabbie standing on the other side turns that relief to confusion.

"I'm here to pick up a Mr. Jack Morrison for lunch with Mr. Robert Small," he says crisply.

Robert sent a cab to pick me up? Nervously, I double check that I have wallet, keys, and phone and climb into the cab. Even with the GPS on my phone, I have no idea where we're going but finally, the cab stops in front of a very fancy restaurant and a slender man in a suit hands the cabbie a wad of bills, then opens the door for me.

It's not until I stand up and turn to thank him that I realize it's Robert.

Aside from the suit, he's clean-shaven and the combination makes him look smoking hot. Then he grins at my expression, and I think I'm going to swoon because I feel like I'm being courted by an Italian prince. God damn, he cleans up nice! The only problem, I think as he takes my arm and leads me inside, is that he doesn't look like Robert. He's gorgeous, yes, but...he's not my adorable scruffy cute Robert. He's a handsome stranger, and I find myself searching his face out of the corner of my eye, trying to convince myself that it's really him, that I'm being silly. He's like a different person, confident and smooth, someone accustomed to having the maitre d' bow and scrape to him.

We're led to a small table against a wall, with a half-moon booth scooped out of the wall. It's cozy and intimate, just big enough for two. We slide in and wind up sitting...not exactly side by side, but not facing each other, either. Robert thanks the maitre d', who leaves us alone with the menus.

"Hey," he says quietly, rough and familiar. "Jack. What's wrong?"

I sneak a look and get lost in his eyes. They're worried, his eyebrows beetling in a reassuringly familiar way. The dichotomy circles in my brain for a minute - worried, scruffy Rob, smooth Italian prince - and makes words exceedingly difficult.

"Jack?"

"Stubble," I mutter, breaking eye contact and half-hiding behind my menu.

"I wanted to surprise you," he says apologetically. "Was it...a bad surprise?"

When I'm not looking at him, he sounds the same and my mind smushes his normally-prickly face into the fancy suit and my cheeks feel like they're on fire. "You look good in that suit," I say in a low voice. "Very...yes."

"But not clean-shaven?"

The fire spreads to the tips of my ears. "It looks good. Really good. But...it doesn't look like you."

There's no response to that, and when I glance over, he's staring at me in shock. I quickly avert my eyes.

"You...really like the stubble?"

It's not possible to blush any harder, but I duck my head a little and nod briefly.

"But you also...is it just the way I look? I...think of this as research for when I'm not a complete fuckup," he says a little desperately. "Market research. You're my target audience. I'm trying a new flavor. Give me feedback."

"I like Classic Rob best," I say shyly. "But...Italian Prince Rob is nice, too. I'm just...not used to it."

"Italian Prince?" He sounds astounded, and when I look at him, he's blushing and half-hiding behind his menu. "Let's...actually look at the menus before we get further into that."

We look at the menus. The waiter arrives with ice water, and we order. I have no idea what I ordered. Robert takes my hand as the waiter leaves with the menus.

"I look like an Italian prince?" he asks softly.

I nod, not looking at him. "It's not just the suit and the...cheeks. You act like you're used to going everywhere in a limousine instead of a beat-up pickup. Like you should be living in a penthouse instead of a suburb, and everyone should know who you are and...be impressed but not make a big deal out of it. It's not you," I finish, hearing a note of whining in my voice and hating it.

There's silence for a minute or two, but Robert's hand on mine makes it comfortable.

"So I need to keep it down-to-earth," he says finally. "Keep it real. Just you and me against the Dover Ghost."

He shifts beside me and lets go of my hand to muss his hair. I hadn't even realized that it had been tamed until it was tousled again. He's slouching in the booth, and when he catches me looking, he gives me the gentle smile and I'm done, I'm going to melt and drip onto the floor. Robert snakes an arm around my waist and tugs me in to lean against him.

"It that better?" he asks softly.

I can smell his cologne.

"I still miss the stubble," I murmur. "I...like the feel. I like imagining feeling that scratch while you kiss me."

"You like it a little rough. I can respect that. You keep things clean, you like it a little dirty. How long should I let it get before I trim it?"

"Uh...a few days?" I'm blushing again. "I'll let you know."

"Okay," he says softly. A minute later, he asks, "Where are you imagining me kissing you? I might want to do a bit more market research. Refine things so that when I'm ready, I can be everything you've been dreaming about."

The thought Robert would want to change something about himself just because I like it better makes me squeak a little. The thought of him kissing my neck to find the optimal amount of stubble sets my cheeks on fire again. "Just my neck," I whisper.

We sit in warm silence for a few minutes, arms around each other's backs and hands clasped in front of us.

"We're not keeping this very platonic, are we?" Robert asks dryly.

I laugh. "I couldn't pretend to not have feelings for you even if I wanted to, which I don't, and I hope the same is true for you."

"It is," he murmurs.

"We're keeping it PG. Disney-safe."

Robert chuckles. "I never thought I'd ever be described as Disney-safe," he chokes out. "Not unless I was the villain."

I sit up and grin at him. "Hey, at least you get to be interesting. I'd be relegated to The Handsome Prince and have no fun and no screentime until the very end of the film."

He snorts. "Screw that. Amanda's the princess. It's a new tale for a new generation, the villain is reformed by the Handsome Prince and they live happily ever after while the princess goes to college instead of worrying about boys."

"I'd watch that," I tell him. "Especially if it means we get to sing a duet."

Unexpectedly, Robert blushes. And looks away. And then the food comes and we busy ourselves exploring our dishes.

There may be a little bit of 'hey taste this' as an excuse to feed each other. Not that either of us are going to admit to that.

Almost as soon as we push our plates away, a pair of waiters appear. One of them clears away the dishes and silverware, and the other sets a dessert down in front of me. I hadn't even looked at the dessert menu, but if I had, this is what I would have chosen. There's a tartlet in the middle of the plate, filled with a light, creamy...something whipped. But set into that are slices of strawberry that have been arranged to look like a lotus, and surrounding the tartlet are half a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries, milk and dark alternating. As I'm taking in this glorious sight, the waiter takes out a lighter and lights the silver-colored candle I hadn't noticed sticking up in the middle of the tartlet.

"Bon anniversaire," the waiter murmurs before retreating.

It takes me a second to dig out my high school French and translate that, and then I groan and cover my face with both hands.

"Jack?"

"It's my birthday," I mutter, voice muffled.

Robert laughs softly. "Did you think I got all dolled up for the fun of it?"

"I forgot! Manda's graduation is tomorrow, my birthday is nothing special..." I let my hands drop and find that Robert's giving me a sad look. Shit. Did I hurt him? What did I do?

"It's special to me," he says quietly.

I feel like I've just had a patch of skin and muscle removed, exposing the bone underneath. That Robert has seen past the last 18 years to the hollowness of my childhood, seen what I fraud of a person I am, pretending to be normal and worthwhile and well-adjusted when I discount and forget my own birthday.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, averting my eyes.

Then I lean over and blow the candle out, eyes slipping shut at the critical moment. My wish is fleeting and wordless - long, happy life for Amanda, to banish the sorrow from Robert's eyes - and then Robert's holding a chocolate-covered strawberry to my lips. Blushing, I let him feed it to me and manfully restrain myself from licking his fingers.

Turnabout being fair play, I feed him one and grin as he blushes slightly. His arm slips around my waist again and we go back to cuddling, feeding each other strawberries and then I rest my head on his shoulder and let him feed me bites of the tartlet until the plate holds only pastry flakes, strawberry tops, and the silver candle.

"This was a wonderful birthday present," I say softly. "Thank you, Rob."

"You're welcome," he murmurs. "Ready to go?"

Sighing, I sit up straight. "Yeah. Still got things I want to do before trivia..." The sentence trails off. It's my birthday, and I forgot, but somehow Robert knew. Amanda must have told him. Did she tell anyone else? If no one else knows, do I want them to? "I need to send a text."

Robert watches, Concerned Italian Prince With Tousled Hair, while I send a group text to Mat, Brian, and Hugo.

From Jack: HEY, DID AMANDA MENTION ANYTHING SPECIAL ABOUT TODAY?
Hugo: NOT THAT I RECALL.
Mat: NOT TO ME, WHY?
Brian: IS THERE SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT TODAY?

"I don't know if I want to go to trivia night or not," I tell Robert. "If I do, would you want to come with me? Or do you have something else planned for tonight?"

"I don't have anything planned. I don't know if trivia and cheese is really my thing, though."

He looks uncomfortable, and I don't blame him. If his clean-shaven state isn't going to be the new status quo, then he wouldn't want to be seen sans stubble and it's still...not him, so seeing me not completely comfortable with him isn't something I'm eager for, either. But then what do I want to do with the afternoon-slash-evening? More movies, more quiet walks in the woods?

...woods...

"How do you feel about campfire dinner?" I ask Robert.

The slow smile makes me melt, holy shit, Italian prince with tousled hair, help, I'm dead.

"If it will make you happy," he says softly, "then I'm all for it."

From Jack: BEEN SO FOCUSED ON MANDA'S PARTY THAT I FORGOT IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. OKAY IF I SKIP TRIVIA TO GO FISHING?
Brian: YOU CAN BORROW MY GEAR IF YOU WANT!
Mat: AW MAN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! BRING A THERMOS AND I'LL FILL IT WITH CHAI ANTWOORD.
Hugo: YOU...FORGOT...GO FISH, HAVE FUN. YOU CLEARLY NEED THE BREAK!
From Jack: THANKS GUYS. GOOD LUCK & SEE YOU AT THE PARTY IF NOT BEFORE!

"Now I'm ready to go."

Robert lays a wad of bills on the table, slides out of the booth, and offers me his arm. Blushing, I take it and let him lead me out, the Italian's prince's arm candy, and I don't care in the slightest. He flags down a taxi, we climb in, and the ride back to the cul-de-sac is comfortably silent.

=

We take Robert's truck, him driving while I navigate by Brian's directions, two folding chairs rattling in the truck's bed along with a cooler, my picnic basket, my camping backpack, and some of Brian's fishing gear. Eventually, we come out onto the shore of a little lake. There's enough time to get a fire started and the rest of the camp set up before it's late enough for the fish to start biting. We spend a quiet hour fishing from the dock and actually catch a few, although only one of them is big enough to keep.

It's very comfortable, sitting there side by side, talking about everything and nothing and slowly getting accustomed to seeing my scruffy, squishy Robert without stubble. By the time we're ready to pack it in and cook dinner, he looks like Robert again and he's still unexpectedly attractive, but looking at pictures on my phone ("When did you take that? I was sleeping!") confirms that I like him better not clean-shaven.

Robert watches as I clean the fish and put it on to cook, quietly impressed with how comfortable I am turning a dead fish into an entree, but he's still relieved when I take foil-wrapped packets out of the cooler and set them in the coals to bake.

"Got a cake in one of those?" he asks, half teasing and half serious as I join him on the log we found by the remains of someone else's fire pit.

I shake my head. "Never really did cake for my birthday. Not traditional cake, anyway. But I've got cheesecake and sliced strawberries and chocolate sauce and that's even better, as far as I'm concerned."

"And that's what counts," Robert says warmly, relaxing. "Um...is it Disney-safe if I feed that to you?"

"If it's not, it's too late," I point out. "Remember lunch?"

Robert blushes. "I got...carried away."

"Rob..." I take his hand and run my thumb over his knuckles. "It's not about arbitrary rules and some acts being allowed and others being forbidden. It's about what you're comfortable with, and what you're not comfortable with."

He shudders slightly. "I'm...I don't always think I should be trusted to make those decisions for myself."

"But you're the only one who can," I say gently. "I can't tell you what you're comfortable with. No one can. It's up to you to look at how you feel and say yes, this feels good or no, I don't feel good doing this."

He shifts closer to me and presses his face against my shoulder. "That's the problem, though. Things that feel good at first make me feel bad later."

I hug him. "Do you feel bad about lunch? It's been a couple of hours."

A few minutes pass in silence broken only by the snap-crackle of the fire.

"No," he says finally. "But I'm worried that I'm leading you on, promising things I can't deliver yet."

"Allow six to eight weeks for delivery?" I joke lightly, making him laugh.

"More like six to eight months. I'm backordered," he says, sitting up.

I smile at him. "I'm willing to wait. Good things take time."

He smiles back, scruffy Italian prince, attractive villain being seduced to the good side by the handsome prince. "Does that include dinner?"

"Yes, but we've only got another few minutes to wait there. Unless you want your potatoes to be raw in the middle. I need to flip the fish, though."

Ten minutes later, we're eating steak, potatoes, mixed rough-chopped vegetables, and pan-fried trout off of picnic plates. The cooler has been repurposed into a table while we sit cross-legged on the blanket and toast each other with bottles of Coke. Then we fill picnic bowls with strawberries and chocolate-drizzled cheesecake and sit on the dock, listening to waves lapping while the sun slips towards the horizon. It's close to an hour later before we finally stir to pack everything back up and make sure the fire is good and dead.

The drive back is quiet, the sun setting while we're on the road. I take my phone off  'do not disturb' once we see the lights of Maple Bay, and immediately have to sort through a small flood of texts. The trivia crew opted to go out for pizza with Ernest and Amanda. Craig sent birthday wishes reminding me to do something good for myself and then congratulating me later on actually doing so. Damien sent me more formal birthday wishes and the reassurance that he will not inflict a Victorian cake on me unless I request it, since Craig informed him that I don't make a huge fuss over the day. The pizza crew held a skee-ball competition and Amanda won, she has a goldfish now. Amanda gave the goldfish to Daisy, who's making plans for an elaborate tank where it can grow big and strong.

Robert laughs at that last one. "That is the luckiest fish. It's gonna live for years and wind up with a fishy paradise."

I text Brian thanks for the use of his gear and congratulations on Daisy's fish give him a rough estimate of when we'll be by to return his things. It's another quiet half hour before we pull into the cul-de-sac, and Robert waits in the truck while I hand Brian his poles and tackle box.

"Were they biting?" Brian asks.

"Threw back three or four little ones, but I managed to reel in one big enough to cook." I show him pictures of our dinner, before and after cleaning, and he whistles.

"Nice job! Makes me want to go fishing for my birthday!"

"You can count me and Amanda and Robert in," I tell him. "But I should go get the rest of my stuff out of his truck."

Brian gives me a birthday hug before he lets me go. It's surprisingly comforting.

Robert helps me unload various things, then he gives me a hug, too. "Happy birthday," he mutters.

"It was, thanks to you," I tell him, hugging back. "See you in the morning?"

Scruffy Italian prince smiling at me, help. "You know it. Sleep well, Jack."

"You too, Rob."

Absolutely fucking smitten, I watch him climb back into his truck and back out of the driveway. Amanda's waiting to hug me when I get inside, and I let her tell me all about the pizza adventures while I wash the picnic dishes and utensils. I tell her a little about my day, but not how fancy lunch was or how good Robert looked in that suit. When I go to bed, half of me is thinking about the graduation ceremony tomorrow while the other half is wondering if a goatee would get me the best of both worlds - the Italian prince giving me sensual scratchy kisses.