by Cara Dee
“Can’t she work?” Adam asked, confused.
“You’d think.” I’d given her the house. All of it. Her car. I’d walked away—or offered to. If she wanted to play dirty, my lawyers were ready. “She used to be very driven,” I said. “We had a house in San Leandro and were thinking of moving to San Francisco because she was offered a great job there, but then her grandmother got sick. All of a sudden, we were packing up and coming back here so Melinda could be there for her, and she just quit. She didn’t want to work anymore.”
She’d gone from working full time and achieving her goals to not working at all, while spending a couple hours a week with her grandmother, who died four years after we’d come home to Illinois.
“I’d flip my shit,” Adam said. “I get bored after an hour of watching TV.”
I chuckled. “I used to be that way…when I was young and dumb.”
“Now you’re old and dumb?” He smirked.
I inclined my head. “I sure as hell don’t feel very bright. Don’t turn forty-five.”
“Heh.” He broke eye contact and finished his pop. “If it makes you feel better, you don’t look forty-five.”
As a matter of fact, that felt wonderful to hear.
He cocked his head and studied me. “I wouldn’t guess you’re a day over forty-four.”
Oh, that asshole. In a burst of petulant defeat, I chucked a fry at him.
Adam cracked up and fell back in his seat. “The look on your face,” he laughed. “I slay myself.”
I rolled my eyes and threw away my food container in the trash can under my desk.
I signed up for a gym membership the day after, and I decided I was going to spend one hour at the gym after work every day.
After my first workout, I wanted to roll over and die.
The only upside to going to a gym downtown was that the worst of rush hour was over when I jumped on the L to Logan Square. I even got a seat, which my legs sorely needed. They were like jelly, and I didn’t have the energy to buy pizza on my way home. I had some leftovers in the fridge that would have to do.
I fell asleep in front of the news and blamed my new couch. It was simply too comfortable, and when I woke up around three in the morning, the only light came from the TV.
I groaned and stretched my arms above my head. Jesus Christ, everything popped. My arms, my neck, my goddamn knees… Releasing a heavy breath, I stood up and turned off the TV. The faint light from the street guided me down the hallway until I reached my bedroom. As I brushed my teeth, I tidied up the clothes I’d dropped next to my bed last night.
My bedroom faced an empty alleyway without any artificial lights, so when a barely there blue glow painted a silhouette on the wall above my bed, I looked out the window. Oh, someone was—wait. I did a double take, realizing it was Adam. He’d told me he’d noticed our bedrooms were across from each other, but his windows had been dark the times I’d cast a glance that way.
He must’ve worked another late night.
I watched him hold something, a remote, and the faint, blue flashes had to be from when he flipped channels.
How many hours at the gym would I have to put in to look like that? He wore sweatpants that rode low on his hips and nothing else. Or maybe a pool was the better option, because that was a perfect swimmer’s body if I ever saw one.
Adam climbed into bed briefly, only to leave it with Bella in his arms. She was dead to the world.
He carried her out of the room, effectively snapping me out of my state. I blinked rapidly, my eyes dry, and I hurriedly returned to my bathroom. What was wrong with me? I spent enough time with my nephew. I didn’t need to intrude on his late-night routine with his daughter. Or whatever it was.
I killed the light in the bathroom and got undressed, then snuck under the covers without giving Adam’s bedroom another glance.
Okay, I peeked once. He had big windows too, I noted—though not arched ones. Movement caught my eye, and I couldn’t help it. Adam was entering his bedroom again. He tilted his head and stayed in front of his TV for a moment, and right there, in the light from the screen, I saw him so vividly. The hard planes of his chest, his defined abs. I traced the lines with my eyes and felt my fingers twitch, and it was the strongest urge. Holy hell, I hadn’t felt that in years. The urge to draw.
Yeah, draw your nephew. Nothing weird about that.
I flinched and scrubbed my hands over my face. In my very weak defense, there was nothing nefarious about my thoughts. It was appreciation. I could admire something, could I not?
I peered across the alleyway again and was trapped by the vision of him shedding his sweatpants.
My jaw ticked, and I was reeling; warning bells went off, and a voice in the back of my mind shouted at me. But I couldn’t look away. Adam was fucking unreal. He draped his sweats over the back of a chair, completely naked in the comfort of his own bedroom. He had no idea I was watching him. Staring at him. Why was I staring? The voice started sounding panicked, yet I refused to decipher the words. Instead, I catalogued his appearance. His thighs and legs, his lean torso, his broad shoulders, how his biceps grew thicker when he drew a hand through his hair.
He was art. He would’ve fit in with the million other things I used to fill my sketchbooks with when straight lines and CAD work weren’t fulfilling enough. I’d drawn people, expressions, and stolen moments, innocuous things like parks and wildlife, and everyday objects. A book left on the subway, the shadow work of the sun filtering through tree branches, a man losing his scarf in the February wind of Chicago, my daughter… I’d drawn Grace many times, always when she wasn’t looking. When she wasn’t posing.
At some point, I’d finished a sketchbook without buying a new one.
Adam climbed into bed and leaned back against the propped pillows, one arm behind his head, the covers pooling at his waist.
The light that gave his bedroom a bluish glow flashed again as he surfed the channels.
After a while, he kicked off his covers, and I nearly choked on the saliva in my mouth.
Stop fucking looking.
He adjusted himself with an absent downward stroke and pulled up one of his knees.
Too private, too private, there are goddamn limits.
I felt myself flush, and I finally tore my gaze away.
“That’ll be $119, sir.”
I swiped my card in the reader as the woman packed up my supplies.
New sketchbooks, new pencils, new erasers, new tortillons.
On my way back to the office, I texted Grace.
When you were little, you would point at something and say, “Draw that, Daddy.” Do you by any chance remember?
Pocketing my phone, I jogged across the street before the light turned red, and I stopped at a hot dog vendor to get lunch. I’d bought one the other day, which had been my first one in several years, and I had no idea why I didn’t eat them more often. They were fucking amazing.
“All toppings?” the man asked.
“Uh, let’s see.” I gave the condiments a quick glance. “Extra mustard and tomato, thanks. No pickle.”
I was almost back at the office when Grace texted back.
I remember. Why?
I took another bite of my hot dog and typed out a response.
I need a challenge, darling. Tell me what to draw.
I hoped she didn’t answer until I was in my office again, because I was juggling a bit too much here. I had a meeting in twenty minutes, and I didn’t need relish on my tie. After dropping my phone back into my pocket, I fished out a napkin and wiped some mustard off my lip, and then I crossed another street in a hurry.
I finished my lunch in the elevator up to our floor, and I found myself smiling at Margaret as I passed her desk.
I was tired and still reeling from whatever it was that had happened to me last night, but other than that, it was a good day. I was going to start drawing again—definitely not Adam—I’d had a great lunch, and my body wasn’t as sore from m
y gym session as I’d feared it would be.
My phone rang, and hope leaped up into my throat. Was she calling me? Grace hadn’t called in… I didn’t even know. Closing the door to my office quickly, I retrieved my phone and—well, okay. Damn. But okay. It was Adam. I responded as I left my shopping bag of art supplies in the chair in front of my desk.
“Hello, Adam.”
“Yeah, hey, have you had chicken pox?” He sounded out of breath, and the noise of heavy traffic dominated the background.
“I—yes.” I squinted, thinking back. “Yes, I believe so. Why? Is it Bella?”
“Yeah, they’re sending all the kids home from preschool,” he replied. “A few of them have a rash, and Bella’s one of them—ay, watch it, ya fuckin’ jagoff!” he yelled, and I held the phone away from my ear. “Some motherfuckers shouldn’t be allowed to drive,” he said irritably. “Shit. Sorry. I forgot what I was saying.”
“Bella might have the chicken pox,” I said. “How can I help?”
He sighed heavily. “Can you watch her a couple hours tonight? I have a dinner meeting at seven, and Kell never had the pox when he was little. It won’t be too long—”
“Consider it done,” I told him. “I’ll be home around six. Will that work?” I could skip the gym if he needed me to.
“Yeah, that’s perfect.” The relief was evident in his voice. “Thanks, unc. I’ll drop her off with dinner.”
“No, you leave that to me,” I said firmly. “I’ll look up what we used to treat Grace’s symptoms when she had it.”
“Fuck, I haven’t thought that far. Yeah, thanks, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.”
A frazzled Adam and a cranky Bella showed up at ten minutes past six, and I was prepared as if I were going to war. I’d spent my hour at the gym on an exercise bike and a leg machine so I could google while I worked out.
“How are you feeling, princess?” I asked, wincing in sympathy. I could see how frustrated she was, how badly she wanted to itch.
“I’m a trooper,” she said with a sniffle. Then she closed her eyes and quietly started counting. “One…two…three…six…ten…”
Oh, that sweet girl.
Adam helped her off with her coat and shoes. “I read online that oatmeal baths could help with the itching. I don’t know if you have—”
“I do.” I was slightly proud of that fact. I’d read the same thing on the internet, and I’d made sure to pick up oatmeal, among other items, on my way home. “I’ll take care of that, don’t worry.”
He shot me a quick look of relief and hung up her jacket. “Just leave the door open and stay somewhat close. Otherwise, she’s pretty good at taking baths on her own now—well, right up until it’s time to put shampoo in her hair, but she doesn’t need that now.” He held up a purple backpack. “Extra clothes, PJs, a couple DVDs, and my iPad. Sometimes she wants to watch a movie on the couch, and sometimes she’ll just use my tablet. Either way—”
“Relax, Adam.” I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ve done this before. You can trust me, and I’m not expecting a quiet evening. Grace spent the better part of a week screaming at the top of her lungs when she had the chicken pox.”
He mustered an uneasy smile and a chuckle. “All right. I appreciate you doin’ this. I thought for sure the lady wanted to cancel, but she sorta laughed and explained she’s got four kids. I guess she’s been exposed to most viruses by now.”
“Probably.” I sent him a reassuring smile before I squatted down in front of Bella. “Are you ready to be the best ingredient in oatmeal?”
She whimpered and pressed her hands to her stomach. “You can’t fathom.”
I stifled my grin.
“Right. So, she’s learned a new word today,” Adam admitted. “You’ll know because she’ll use it in every sentence.”
“Like any smart girl would.” I gave Bella a firm nod. “That’s how you learn.”
Adam got down on her level too, and he squeezed her hands. “Remember what I said, double trouble?”
“No scratching,” she groaned. “I won’t. But this is a pain—more than you can fathom.”
And the rash had just recently appeared and started itching? Poor girl was in for a rough few days. It was going to get worse before it got better.
“I know, it’s more than any of us can fathom,” Adam agreed gravely. “Be nice to Uncle Ev, okay? I’ll bring some of those cheese snacks with me later.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What kind?”
“From that place you like, you know. Over by there, near Kedzie. The crunchy ones that are almost like chips?”
She stiffened, on full alert. “Can I have twenty thousand pieces?”
He let out a soft laugh. “How about four? You’ve never eaten more than that anyway.”
“I’ve grown,” she stated.
“Uh-huh.” Adam patted her head carefully, and I realized he was avoiding her sensitive spots. “Just be good. I love you.” He kissed her cheek and stood up. “I’ll hurry home.”
Still no response from Grace.
Bella was next to me on the couch, and she had a movie running on the flat screen. She’d refused to put on clothes after her bath, so she was sitting on one big, fluffy towel and had another around her. According to her, my shower head was much better than the one she had at home, and the water had scratched her itchy spots just a little when it poured down her back earlier. As far as I could see, she had a handful of dots on her stomach, only two on her face, and several on her back. The back was the worst, she said.
I remembered Grace’s rash had been the worst on her scalp.
“Are you hungry, Bella?”
“Yes, but I can’t move,” she whispered, gaze fixed on the TV. “If I sit still like this, it doesn’t itch.”
I scooted forward and checked her over, and I carefully touched her forehead. “No fever. That’s good. How about I heat up some mac and cheese?”
Without moving her head an inch, she looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Can we pretend I’m a baby and you feed me?”
“Sure.” I smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
It took me less than ten minutes to prepare the mac and cheese I’d picked up at a deli, along with some bread and cold cuts, and I was incredibly relieved to see Bella in higher spirits as I helped her eat. She was a chatty little sassafras, with the vocabulary of someone much older, and I adored the fire in her.
She proudly announced that she was a foodie and Daddy would take her to the best food places in town when money wasn’t “tight.”
“I’mma be a chef when I grow up,” she claimed, chewing around a mouthful of bread. “I tolded Daddy I want a restaurant in Boystown, but he says rent is insane there. So, we’ll see. He’s saving monies for me.”
I chucked and held up another spoonful of mac and cheese. “Why Boystown?”
“So Daddy can visit me lots and I can make him date.” She opened wide and chewed the food. “He wants to make kissy faces with boys, and there’s a gazillion gays in Boystown. It’s the best. And they like good food. You can’t fathom.”
I nearly dropped the spoon. That tidbit was—well. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t considered Adam’s sexuality. Perhaps I should have, especially when I thought of his unconventional path to becoming a parent. Jesus Christ, of course, it made more sense now.
“Has, uh, has he told you he wants to make kissy faces with boys?”
Bella offered a “duh” look, one I’d received many times from Grace. Funnily enough, it wasn’t age-specific. I still received them.
“That’s what you want when you’re a boy and you like other boys, Uncle Ev,” she stated frankly.
I grinned. I enjoyed her calling me uncle much more than when Adam did. That was interesting. Perhaps because it was okay to feel significantly older than a four-year-old. When Adam hurled out an unc, it was mostly a reminder that I was well past my prime.
“Does your dad not date?�
�� I wondered.
“I dunno. Not around me.”
That wasn’t a surprise; although now I was still wondering. Given Adam’s charming personality and his perfect physique, I knew without a doubt he could have virtually anyone. And there was something special about him. He’d grown up, once adopted by my brother, with the finer things in life. He’d received a nice education, and he was well-read. But at some point, he’d walked away from it all, and he’d been on his own since then.
More questions piled up. Exactly when had he left? And what had been the final nail in the coffin? As toxic as our family was, it couldn’t have been sexual orientation. While homosexuality wasn’t the most…convenient way of life, they accepted it.
It was the aforementioned toxicity that’d made me pull away. There hadn’t been a grand blowout in my case. I’d simply grown up in a family that got off on turning against one another; everyone was passive-aggressive, narcissistic, and holier-than-thou. Dinners had been spent trying to one-up one another, and if one cousin’s wedding had been attended by three hundred guests, the next family member to get married invited four hundred.
It’d been exhausting.
Melinda and I had started out small, which had been made easier because we’d lived on the West Coast. One canceled holiday turned into two and three and four. The next visit home, we’d kept it brief. I’d ceased trying to make peace after fights, and then phone calls became few and far between.
I couldn’t remember how old I was, only that it was my birthday, when my mother had called and berated me. She beat me up for not caring enough about them. I was a bad son. I was ungrateful. It was a speech I’d heard before, but that time was the last time. I’d told her I was done. She probably hadn’t believed me, but we hadn’t spoken since.
I caved after three days of being home with Bella. My eardrums had taken a severe fucking beating today, and she’d been in agony. When she was finally out for the night, I planted my ass on the foot of my bed, lights off, TV off, and I watched Everett across the alleyway.