Breakfast at Midnight

by Kim Dias

  Fred handed him the mug with cream and sugar. “There you go, sweetheart.” The pet name came easily, but he felt self-conscious the second it crossed his lips. The only reaction Callum had, however, was a pleased blush as he stared down into his coffee.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You’re wonderful. And not just ’cause of the coffee, believe it or not.”

  “I—” Now Callum wasn’t the only one blushing, so Fred decided not to keep going with that line of conversation. Instead he blurted out, “I called my daughter.”

  Callum looked at him, eyebrows raised and gaze curious. “You did?” He spoke cautiously, as if not entirely sure what to expect from Fred right now.

  “I did.” Fred took a deep breath. “I told her I’d go to her party.”

  Callum almost spilled his coffee with the enthusiasm of his fist pump. “Did you? Fuck, you did, that’s awesome.” He reached forward with his free hand to pull Fred into a hard, quick kiss. “I’m so proud of you,” he said softly, forehead resting against Fred’s. “So, so proud.”

  Fred opened his mouth, wanted to say thank you, felt too awkward to do it. So he shut it again and just nodded in response. Callum’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Fred knew he had understood.

  “You can come,” Fred said; his words fell over themselves. “If you—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Fred jumped. The doorbell hadn’t rung once, not in the entire time he’d lived here—wait, no, there was the one kid who had stopped by to ask if Fred had any windows for him to wash, but that was it. No one else had ever….

  “I should go get that,” he said to Callum, and wished he didn’t, wished he could just stay here and make the morning last forever. “I should….”

  “Go.” Callum pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of Fred’s mouth. Then, almost as if he could read Fred’s mind, “I’ll be waiting right here.”

  “Okay,” Fred said, and finally he could say it. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah.” Callum looked surprised. “No problem… love.” He stumbled over the pet name, but Fred appreciated it, even though it made it that much harder to leave him there for the second time this morning.

  It was only when he reached the door that he realized he still hadn’t pulled a shirt on. Ah well—he didn’t care that much about scandalizing the Jehovah’s Witnesses, or whoever this was.

  He pulled the door open. “James.”

  James looked up at him from where he stood on the doorstep. His blond hair was pushed back, longer on the top than it had been when Fred last saw him. His neatly trimmed beard was new too. But his eyes… those blue eyes hadn’t changed a bit. “Hi.” James scraped his teeth over his lower lip before he continued. “May I come in?”

  “Uh,” Fred said. He thought of Callum, still in his bed. Of his messy living room, the mostly empty whiskey bottle still on the table. Of the fact that this was his space, the first one he found after the divorce that wasn’t colored by memories of him and James.

  He stepped out of his house and shut the door behind him. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but… no.” He swallowed, and he had already been rude, so why not go all the way? “Why are you here, James?”

  James pursed his lips and Fred inwardly groaned. It was his if that’s the way you want to do this face; Fred had seen it countless times during their last few months together. “Okay,” he said, and, oh, here it came. “If that’s the way you want to do this.”

  “Why are you here?” Fred repeated, and, God, he wanted to be back in bed, side by side with the beautiful boy he had left there.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Amira.” James looked beautifully put-together—he always did—in jeans and a button-up shirt. Casual, but nice. It was a look he had perfected, and Fred was once again painfully aware of his bare chest, his belly, and his graying chest hair. “What you’re doing, Fred… it’s immature, it’s selfish and unnecessary, and, yes, I’m going to say it, it’s borderline cruel.”

  Fred blinked at him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had any coffee yet, but maybe it was impossible to be awake enough for this conversation. “What are you talking about?”

  “Her party.” James’s eyes were steely. “Her birthday party, this weekend, Fred. The one she invited you to. And—” He broke off with a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “I know we have our issues right now. But she really wanted you to come, and you know her. She’s trying to pretend it doesn’t matter, but it does, of course it does. You’re her father.”

  Of all the ways Fred had wanted to spend his morning, this was not on the list. This was not even in the vicinity of the list. But James was here, so, well, it looked as though he didn’t have much of a choice. He took a deep breath—

  “Fred?”

  James’s eyes widened, then quickly narrowed at the sound of Callum’s voice from inside the house. “Is that…? Do you—”

  “Fred?” Footsteps padded down the hall and the door opened. Fred shut his eyes briefly, bit back a sigh, and turned to look at Callum, who, thank God, was dressed in his jeans and an inside-out T-shirt. Callum blinked at James, eyes still tired; there was a piece of sleep in the corner of his left eye.

  “Oh,” he said. “Hi. I. Um. Yes. Sorry.” The last word was directed specifically at Fred. “I just thought I’d better check you hadn’t been ax-murdered or something.”

  James’s face was pale, his lips thin, but he swallowed hard. When he spoke, his dignified, neutral tone was only somewhat forced. “I’m sorry.” Despite his efforts, the words were stilted. “I didn’t realize you had a… guest.”

  “He’s—” Fred started, trying to think of something, anything, to say, but Callum was already speaking over him.

  “Yeah, hi,” he said. He gave James a tiny—and somewhat dorky—wave. “Don’t worry about me. I’m no one. And I’m going away. Sorry.” Once again, the apology was directed exclusively to Fred.

  He stepped back inside, but apparently James had given up on that dignity of his because Callum didn’t even have both feet in the hall before James bit out, “Is this why you’re not coming to Amira’s party, Fred? Too busy getting laid?”

  Fred clenched his jaw at James’s words; he hated how familiar this feeling was. All those months of hurting each other, from little passive-aggressive jabs to full-on shouting matches… it seemed the habit was hard to break. Doing the hurting was always satisfying when it was happening, but it left a sick feeling in Fred’s mouth when the satisfaction wore off, a taste he’d never grown used to. The being hurt, though… the way his heartbeat stuttered and his throat tightened… he’d grown used to that much too quickly.

  “Hold on,” Fred said to James. He tried to ignore the roaring in his ears. “I—” His voice died when he looked at Callum, who was staring at him with his head cocked to the side.

  “I thought you were going?” Callum said.

  “I was,” Fred replied. “I am.”

  “You are?” James asked at the same time as Callum threw subtlety to the wind and said, “Look, who are you? I’m Callum, his—” His eyes darted toward Fred, who was just as clueless about what word Callum should put next, and was therefore incredibly relieved when Callum just went with “Whatever, yeah. Your turn.”

  “I’m James.” Quiet, stilted, familiar. Everything about James was—and always would be, Fred was starting to think—familiar.

  “Oh,” Callum said. Fred watched the connection make itself, watched Callum’s green eyes widen with realization. “Ohhhhh.”

  “Yes,” James said. “His ex-husband.”

  “Right.” Callum started backing up, back inside the house. “I’ll just, um, leave you guys to it, then.”

  A second later, the door was shut hard and James turned to Fred with a raised eyebrow. “A bit young for you, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, fuck off.” The words surprised both of them, but Fred couldn’t find it in himself to regret them. “It’s not really your business anymore, James.”


  “I guess you’re right.” James tucked both hands in his pockets and gazed around before he looked back at Fred. “You were really going to go to Amy’s birthday?”

  Fred nodded. “I called her this morning.”

  “Right. Well, then.”

  “Well, then,” Fred echoed. He swallowed. “You didn’t need to come here, you know.”

  “Didn’t I?” James asked, mildly enough.

  “No,” Fred said. “It was between Amira and I. She’s an adult, James. She was handling it.”

  “Yes… but I’m still her father.” James turned to go, took two steps away, and then turned back. “And so are you.” He paused and his eyes raked over Fred. Fred cringed at the judgment he was sure he saw in James’s eyes. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “Yeah,” Fred said. “Saturday.”

  And he fled into his house.

  HE FOUND Callum in the kitchen, stirring sugar into a fresh cup of coffee. “Hey,” he said when Fred walked in. “Um. Sorry about that.”

  Fred shook his head. “Don’t be.” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around Callum and leaned his forehead against the back of Callum’s head. “Hey,” he said. Callum’s hair tickled his nose. “Would you… would you come with me on Saturday?” The second it was out of his mouth, he followed up with “You can say no, you can absolutely say no, I shouldn’t’ve even asked, really—”

  “Babe,” Callum said. He turned and stepped back the tiniest bit, just enough space between them so he could look Fred in the eye. He raised his hands to place one on either side of Fred’s cheeks; the tips of his fingers stroked Fred’s hair. “I would love to come with you. And show that fucking ex of yours what he’s missing.”

  Fred choked on his laugh. “James is a good man,” he said, obliged to because, well, it was true, much as Fred hated it in the moments when he felt bitter and vindictive. “We just… didn’t work.”

  “Yeah.” Callum didn’t sound convinced. “Still. I—I mean, I’d love to rub it in his face—”

  “Callum—”

  “But it’s probably not a good idea, you know? I mean, I’m all for revenge relationships—”

  “You’re not a revenge relationship.” Fred hadn’t even heard the term before, but he blurted out the words anyway, knew he needed to say them, to be sure Callum had heard them.

  A smile flitted over Callum’s lips. “I know,” he said. “That wasn’t what I—all I’m trying to say is that I’d love to, I really would, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He hesitated. “Like, super awkward. Do you… do you… you know, get it?”

  “Yeah,” Fred said, because he didn’t know what else he could say. Callum was probably right—he just didn’t like that he’d have to walk in there alone. He nodded, swallowed. “Um. Want to get back into bed?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” But Callum’s grin looked pasted on, and when Fred smiled and started for the bedroom, one hand on Callum’s wrist, Callum stayed where he was; when Fred turned back to look at him, he was biting his lip. “Um,” he said.

  “What?” Fred stepped closer. “Callum?”

  Callum blurted, “I think I have to go to LA.”

  Fred stopped. He dropped Callum’s wrist and took a step back. “You—what?” A second later, he remembered himself and started to nod. When he spoke, his words came out too fast, but he couldn’t seem to slow them down. “Right, yes, of course, of course, yeah, of course you need to, yes, okay, that’s fine.”

  Callum blinked at him, and God, Fred wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him some more until he decided to stay. Until he decided this was the place for him. By Fred’s side, in Fred’s bed, screw his career, screw the rest of his life—

  James hadn’t been wrong when he called Fred selfish.

  Fred swallowed. He breathed until he could slow down. “I understand,” he said, every syllable carefully measured until it could balance on his tongue. “That—that’s probably what’s best for you, Callum. You’ve got—” Callum was beautiful this morning, and Fred now knew what he felt like in his arms. He had to force himself to keep speaking. “You’ve got your whole life there.”

  “Were you—” Callum cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. He looked away from Fred and then back with incredulity all over his face. “Were you listening to me even a little bit last night?”

  “Um,” Fred said.

  Callum rolled his eyes so hard it must have hurt. “I don’t have a life there,” he said. “I have a—I have a not-life there. It’s miserable and it’s lonely and I’ve been in the closet for so many fucking years, oh my God.”

  “Okay,” Fred said slowly. He went over Callum’s words, the ones from now and from last night. He must have missed something; if he just thought hard enough, he’d get it… but it wasn’t coming, and so, feeling like a fool, he asked, “Why would you go back, then?”

  “It’s contract renewal time.” Callum tapped one of his blunt nails against the rim of his mug, a repetitive ting-ting-ting that set Fred’s teeth on edge. “I need to go back, I need to do something.” He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged at it until Fred was about to step forward and make him stop, scared he’d actually hurt himself. It looked as though he was ready to rip a whole chunk of it out. But he stopped and pushed it back and said, “I need to speak to Leah. My… my manager.” He sounded calmer now. More mature, more sure of himself. “She’ll… she’ll know what to do. And I need to speak to the guys in the band because, I mean, five years. You don’t just disappear on people, you know?”

  Something took hold of Fred’s chest and tugged. He nodded, throat thick. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  “Right.” Callum shifted on his feet and finally met Fred’s eyes again. “I’ll come back,” he said in a whisper, and then again, voice stronger this time, “I’ll come back. I will. I just need to take care of this.”

  “I know,” Fred said. He didn’t. Not that he thought Callum was lying—but he knew Callum would get back to LA and remember that his life was there, not in this small town, not away from everything he’d ever known, not with Fred.

  Callum smiled; it was wobbly around the edges. “After all,” he said, “I have to be back. I have to know how it goes on Saturday.”

  Fred kissed him, hard and fast enough to match the rhythm of Fred’s heartbeat.

  HE KNEW Callum wouldn’t come back. He wasn’t an idiot. Maybe he’d been naïve for that night—no, there wasn’t a maybe about it. He had been naïve and foolish and hopeful, and now it was time to let that go. To accept it as a good thing that had happened and move on.

  Moving on was hard when he didn’t have anywhere to move to.

  He bought Amira an Iron Man hoodie. He poured the whiskey down the sink. He wrapped the hoodie and talked himself out of going to the liquor store. He phoned Amira and had a thinly veiled conversation about superheroes. He unwrapped the present and exchanged the Iron Man hoodie for a Captain America one. He wrapped that hoodie. He took his meds. He didn’t drink, he didn’t drink, he didn’t drink.

  He didn’t wait for his phone to ring; Callum didn’t know his number.

  On the third day, he flipped open a notebook. He clicked his pen, bit his tongue, and started writing.

  Hair everywhere, eyes so green it hurts, a voice that’s low and insistent and made to whisper filthy things. Clever hands. Long fingers—a guitarist. A tired musician. He giggles.

  Days passed. The tired musician didn’t return. Fred didn’t pretend to be surprised.

  He kept his head down. He didn’t go back to Denny’s.

  He kept writing.

  BY SATURDAY, Fred’s right hand ached; he had ten pages of work, which was ten pages more than he’d had in six months.

  Callum… well. The less said about Callum, as far as Fred was concerned, the better.

  He hadn’t thought to get Callum’s phone number before he left, on that sunny Sunday afternoon that felt like it should have been rainy.
He’d been too busy with his attempts to memorize Callum, the lines of his body and face as he stood beside his blue Hyundai.

  “Sooo,” Callum had said, dragging the word out and making it at least two syllables longer than it was supposed to be. He chewed on his lower lip and tried to pretend he wasn’t. His silence let Fred know he was just as lost for things to say as Fred was, which, fuck, meant it was up to Fred.

  Fred cleared his throat. “Drive safely.” That was a good thing to say. It was one of the few things he had to say that weren’t please don’t go.

  Callum nodded furiously, enthusiastic in his desperation to latch on to a topic. “I will.” He laughed self-consciously. “I won’t be fueled by rage and tears and caffeine, or whatever the hell got me here, so. You know. It will be safer than that. And I didn’t die on my way here. So. Yes.”

  Silence.

  This time, Callum spoke first. “You’ll take care of yourself, right?” His gaze was so painfully earnest Fred couldn’t meet it. “Look after yourself. Don’t… I don’t know. Whatever. But look after yourself. Okay? Please?”

  “Okay.” Fred struggled to speak. He decided to talk to his shoes rather than to Callum. “Yeah, I will, sure.”

  “You’re bad at promises,” Callum said, but there wasn’t any malice in his voice, just a heaviness that sounded like it ached. “I’d kiss you,” he said.

  Stay, Fred thought.

  “—but then I’d never leave.”

  Good.

  “So I’m just going to save that for when I get back, okay?” He rocked backward and forward on his heels. “I’m going to come back and I’m going to kiss the hell out of you then. So… make it a good one, okay? Or something, Christ, I’m tacky.”

  “No.” Fred’s voice came out rough, so he cleared his throat and finally looked up at Callum’s face again. “I’ll… see you then.”

  “Yeah.” Callum nodded; his eyes were bright and blinking too much. “I’ll see you.”

  A second of them staring at each other, the silence bursting with unsaid things, and then Callum turned abruptly, got in his car, and drove away, all without looking at Fred once. But Fred waited, watched him back out of the driveway and turn down the road, watched him disappear around the corner, and then watched a little bit longer, just in case, before finally turning away.