by M. A. Hinkle
Damon made Felix an omelet with peppers and ham and cheese, and then he joined them at the table.
“Aren’t you going to have one, Dad?” Felix looked up from his already finished omelet. His father didn’t respond, just took Felix’s plate and got up to make another one. Felix looked at his father’s back, perplexed.
“I don’t like to eat when I’m cooking.”
Felix frowned, but he didn’t argue with his father, and, blessedly, they all shut up for the rest of breakfast.
Once Felix left for school, Cathal leaned against the counter. “So instead of starving yourself to death inside your room, you’re doing it in the kitchen?” He kept his voice light.
Damon didn’t look up from scrubbing the inside of a pot, although his jaw tightened. “I haven’t felt like eating.”
Cathal frowned. Damon was not taking the bait, and Cathal could only deal with Damon by making him so angry he lashed out. Yet another reason Cathal never should have made that promise.
Cathal kicked his heel against the cabinet. “You could at least pretend. For Felix’s sake.” It seemed like a reasonable tactic, though Felix was not trouble-prone. The edgiest thing he’d ever done was sneak into a concert without a ticket. And not like a punk concert, where breaking and entering was practically a requirement. Chamber music. Or something.
Damon frowned at the pot. “You know, when you put it that way, it makes more sense why you won’t leave me alone.” He snorted like a bull scraping his hoof in the dirt before he charged. “Well, you can fuck off, because I’m not going to leave my son by himself. It’s just…” He closed his eyes, dropping the pot back into the soapy water.
Cathal looked away. The naked grief on Damon’s face was too much like what he saw in the mirror in the middle of the night, when he tried to fall asleep but made the mistake of remembering who had decorated the guest room he slept in, picked out the watercolor of a unicorn that hung over his bed and the duvet set covered in gamboling kittens.
Then Damon started scrubbing with an intensity the remaining crud did not warrant. “Everything I touch feels empty. I don’t know what my life is without her. And I know that the answer is supposed to be my son, but Felix is fine. The last thing he needs is my help.”
Cathal bit his lip. Desire not to get involved any further warred with love for Felix, who was a good boy and hurting.
Well. Cathal did love telling Damon he was wrong. “He needs you now. You can peck at me for saying it, because what do I know about people, but I know him.” He tried to stop there, because anyone would say that, but his mouth kept moving without his input. “Take it from someone who knows. He wants his family.”
He pushed off from the counter and walked away before Damon could say anything.
Chapter Two: Cathal Discovers Damon Is a Real Person, Only Sixteen Years Late.
TRYING TO OUTLINE another book that night kept Cathal busy, long after the time for dinner had passed. He was hungry, but it was too late to go out for food, and he didn’t dare look in the refrigerator to see what crime against nature lived there now. But when he opened the door to his room, he almost stepped on a covered bowl sitting in a tray of ice. A note in Damon’s broad handwriting was taped to the top: This is vichyssoise. It’s supposed to be eaten cold.
Wrinkling his nose, Cathal lifted the cover off the bowl. It was full of a light green soup, garnished with parsley. He frowned at it—in case it did something weird, and also to make sure he projected the correct demeanor if Damon should be watching around the corner of his door. Then he took it in his room.
Cathal liked it, but he still flipped the note over and wrote on the back: It’s not soup if you eat it cold, you filthy heathen. He taped that to Damon’s door.
WHEN CATHAL WENT downstairs to dispose of the bowl and ice, he found Felix with his hand in the box of Lucky Charms. Felix blinked. Then he shoved the box back in the cabinet.
Cathal shook his head. “I know high school is a zoo, but sometimes you remind me of those night vision videos of raccoons digging in garbage.”
Felix made a face but didn’t reply immediately since he was chewing. At least he had some manners. “It’s not as good when you eat them from a bowl.”
“Why, because you look less like a monkey?”
Felix perched on the table instead of answering. “You actually ate the stuff Dad left for you?”
Cathal glanced at the dishes. “I was hungry. And it wasn’t that bad. But if you tell him I said that, I’ll skin you and feed you to the piranhas in the aquatics department.”
“There are no piranhas at Cherrywood College.”
Cathal raised an eyebrow, daring Felix to challenge his judgment further. Sadly, Felix was too old to squeak and stammer like he had when he was five. And also Cathal suspected Era had shown Felix that Cathal’s school was fish-free. She had no appreciation for good jokes.
Cathal put that thought away, then set his dishes in the machine and reached under the sink for the soap. Judging by the drying rack, Damon had done most of the dishes by hand again, but there was enough in the dishwasher to justify a load.
“Hey, Cathal?” Felix’s voice was quieter and weirdly nervous.
Cathal wanted to turn to study the boy’s expression. The last time Felix had sounded like that, he’d had questions about some explicit Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy fan fiction, and Cathal wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit that discussion. But he didn’t turn, in case Felix spooked. Instead, he focused on making his scoop of dishwasher soap perfectly even. “Yes?”
“If somebody doesn’t answer if you talk to them, are they being mean or do you think they’re shy?” The words came out in a rush.
Cathal didn’t turn right away. High school problems seemed charming and simple with the benefit of age, but to Felix, they were the end of the world and needed to be treated as such. When he was sure he could hold a grave expression, he faced Felix, putting his hands on his hips. “I’d say it depends on the circumstances. When and how did you try to talk to this person?”
Felix blushed brighter. “In study hall. I ended up sitting with those twins I was talking about yesterday. I tried talking to them, but Gareth is, like, really intimidating and swears a lot, and Morgan just…sat there, staring at his papers.”
“Hmm. I know you like to befriend every possible person, but it sounds like those two were giving off pretty strong signals that they didn’t want anything to do with you. You can’t win ’em all, kiddo.”
“I know.” Felix traced a design on the counter, his eyes thoughtful—a rarity. Felix wasn’t foolish, but he let his feet get away from him when he was excited, and he was always excited. “But—” Felix rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I keep thinking about the triplets minus one. You know, they’re minus one because their brother doesn’t talk to them for whatever weird reason. And I don’t blame them for when he’s mean or whatever. They can’t do anything about him, and they’re not like him. So I wonder if Morgan is the same way.” Felix dropped his eyes to his feet.
Cathal frowned. “Felix, not that I mind, but why are you coming to me about this instead of your dad? You and I both know that I have the social skills of an elephant seal during mating season. Not that your father’s much better, but at least he keeps his mouth shut most of the time.”
Felix blushed, still avoiding Cathal’s eyes. “I didn’t really want to bother Dad. Don’t want to jinx it, you know? At least he’s cooking again. He hasn’t done that in a long time.”
Cathal raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay. I wanted to talk to you because—” The next few words came out so quickly they were not so much words as a blur. “I think I might have a crush on Morgan.”
Cathal’s eyebrows went higher, this time from surprise. Felix had never talked about liking anyone before. “Now I understand why you think I have a more relevant opinion.”
Felix nodded, still blushing.
“So is this the first…?”
Felix n
odded again. “I think I like guys and girls. But it’s never been like—whoa, you know what I mean? Where I get why everybody acts so stupid.” He rubbed his palm against his cheeks. “I mean, I could barely even talk to this guy. I looked like an idiot.”
“It’s hard when you’re young, I won’t lie to you about that. But talk to him. You’re probably not making as much of a fool of yourself as you think you are.” Cathal turned his chin down, doing his best imitation of Era’s parenting face. Not that it ever worked, but still. “So am I allowed to tell your father about this, or…”
“I don’t think I want to do anything about it. I just—had to tell somebody, and my friends would just think it was funny.” Felix glanced away, twisting his fingers together. “Anyway, I don’t think I want Dad to know. Not like he’d care or anything, but… I don’t want him to think I’m not thinking about Mom, because I totally am.” A shadow passed over his face.
Cathal put his hand on Felix’s knee. “Don’t make yourself feel guilty for feeling good. That’s the last thing your mother would want. Or anyone who loves you, for that matter. I’m sure Damon’d be very happy to hear you’ve found somebody you like.” He paused. “Actually, I’m not sure of anything after learning that people put whole fish in pie, but your father baffles me.”
Felix looked up at him. “I never got that, you know. Mom would never tell me why you guys don’t like each other.”
“Damon and I are nails and a chalkboard, respectively.” Cathal patted Felix’s knee. “So. Back to the matter at hand. Felix, as happy as I am that you’ve found someone you like, I don’t like the sound of this other boy. He’s rude to you. There’s no reason for you to put up with that. And as for the triplets minus one—Alex and Zach stand up for you when their brother is mean. If this boy was good for you, wouldn’t he do the same?”
Felix bit his lip. “I’ve thought about that too. But—well, people think that you’re a jerk, and you’re not, really. You make it hard to get to know you, but that’s so people don’t waste your time, right?”
Cathal stifled a scowl. Era had used this trick all the time, but he’d never expected it from Felix, who had as much guile as a basset hound puppy, flopping around and stumbling over his ears. “Well, yes, but—”
Felix went on before Cathal could stop him. “And you’re only mean because you’ve been through a lot of bad things, so maybe he’s the same way, and that’s why Morgan isn’t doing anything. Because they’re both hurting, and they need help. That could be it, couldn’t it?”
“Felix—” Cathal sighed. “Yes, I’m mean, but not to people I like, and especially not to people I want to date. I adjust my behavior when I’m ready to let someone in, but I don’t meet very many people I want to let in.”
“But then who would ever get to know you?” Felix asked.
Cathal wanted to snap, but he pushed it down. The question was innocent, and Felix needed reassurance, not a lecture on romantic clichés. “I want you to listen to me.” He turned to look Felix in the eye. “Your job in a relationship is never fixing someone else, do you understand? Maybe knowing you will make them want to be better, but they have to come to that decision on their own.”
Felix stared back, face open and wide and vulnerable. Then he sighed and pressed his forehead into Cathal’s shoulder. Cathal took the cue and hugged him. “This stuff is complicated. I want to go back to not liking people.”
Cathal rubbed his back. “It’s not easy. It’s never easy. But it’s this or be alone.”
Felix glanced up. “But you’re alone.”
“I’m mean, like you said.” And he managed to stay glib even though something inside him twisted at the familiar words. He let go and stepped back. “Now, it’s much too late for this. Go to bed. You’ve got school in the morning.”
Felix fidgeted. Then he said, “I want more Lucky Charms first.”
Cathal threw up his hands in fake exasperation. “This is what I get for trying to pretend I am a responsible person. Eat your horribly unhealthy food. I’ve got work to do.”
“Hey, Cathal?”
Cathal turned, raising his eyebrows.
“Thanks. I mean it.”
Cathal waved that away. Anything he said would have been sappy.
He tried to go back to work but kept imagining how it would have been to have someone to talk to when he was struggling. Not that he’d have listened. But he’d been alone then, and he was alone now. Was that a problem or not?
CATHAL JERKED AWAKE. At least he didn’t scream this time, if only because his mouth was full of sleep fuzz. He peeled the paper off his face and looked at the clock on the table—three in the morning. Hopefully it wasn’t Felix at the door. He’d be contractually obligated to tell Felix to go to bed, even though teenagers had a different sleep cycle than adults and it didn’t hurt them, and he hadn’t liked their previous topic of discussion. Too serious. Too close to home.
But it was Damon.
Cathal stared at him, wondering if maybe he was still asleep.
Damon studied Cathal, as though Cathal were a picture that wouldn’t hang straight no matter how Damon adjusted it. Cathal did not care for this, but saying so would have required him to use words. English words. In a sentence.
Finally, Damon said, “I don’t understand you,” the way a contractor might say, “Your foundation is shot.”
Cathal blinked. “It’s three in the morning.” Anything more complex was beyond him. He was a night person, but that meant he slept hard.
“It is,” Damon agreed.
Cathal stared at Damon’s feet. “Is there a reason you’re talking to me, about me, at three in the morning?” He wanted to be snarky, but he was still having a hard enough time making words, much less making those words cutting. This was why he didn’t talk to people before he’d had his coffee. Especially people like Damon.
“Yes.” He looked like a bouncer. The awful kind that you couldn’t talk out of the entry fee and who would not let you in if you were drunk, even though you were awesome when you were drunk.
Cathal waited what felt like an appropriate amount of time before asking, “Are you going to tell me what that reason is?”
Damon shifted. “I don’t understand why you’re hanging around. And acting like you care what I do. You’re not that way. So what’s the deal?”
Cathal would have liked to respond with a smart remark, but when he tried to think of one, he could only picture the spinning wheel of death he got whenever he tried to use a Mac. Therefore, he had to tell the truth, which was a bad idea, but bad ideas always looked like good ideas at three in the morning.
Also, he never would have talked about it when he was awake, because it made him remember Era, weak and drawn in her bed, and he was doing his best to put those memories away where he could never find them. “Era asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Damon took a step back, as if Cathal had hit him. “She…she what?”
Cathal let out a breath, wondering if he’d made a mistake. Probably. Other things he did at three in the morning were mistakes, although those things were along the line of “write down a brilliant idea for a book that is, in fact, complete sleep gibberish” or “take home the guy who’s been winking at you all night but automatically isn’t up to your standards because he’s winking.”
Well, as usual when he made a mistake, he could only forge ahead. “She asked me to keep an eye on you because she was worried you would fall apart. Like you did. I told her I was a terrible candidate for the job, but she told me I was her BFF and therefore obligated. Not in so many words, but that was the gist.”
Damon pressed one hand to his forehead. Then he tipped his head back. Cathal wondered if he was about to cry and, if so, how terrible of a person he’d be if he shut the door in Damon’s face.
Pretty terrible. So he didn’t shut the door. Damage control, damage control. “I mean, it’s not like she thought you were stupid or anything. She just knew—”
“That I
’d be lost without her.” Damon had closed his eyes, his hand still pressed to his forehead.
“Yes.” Cathal wondered if he should have disagreed. But it was the truth, and he erred on the side of truth-telling. Even if the truth put the cat among the pigeons. Especially if the truth put the cat among the pigeons.
Damon brushed his hand over his eyes and turned away. “You know, the worst part is she was right.”
Was Damon still talking to him? Probably not. Could he shut the door now?
Still no. And, anyway, he was nosy, and he wanted to know what kind of three a.m. revelation Damon was having. Probably better than everything is or isn’t ring-tailed lemurs, discuss.
“I was good at being a husband. I knew what to do with that. Now I’m a widower. I have no idea how to go forward. And the only person I have to talk about this with is you, and you hate me.”
Ah. Damon was still talking to him. Sort of. Cathal leaned against the doorframe, suppressing a yawn. “Yes, well, at the moment, I’m a captive audience, so please feel free to continue unloading. It’s not like either of us have somewhere to be in the morning.” He gave up and yawned. “Also, I won’t remember, so you’re safe there.”
“You will remember. You can never find your keys, but you can rattle off every conversation you’ve ever had, word for word.” That was offhand, not an insult. Damon put his hands over his face again, and his next words came out in a mumble. “God, even my own wife knew I was bad at being a person.”
Cathal was socially obligated to disagree. But that would have been nice, and Cathal was never nice.
However. He was telling the truth. “It wasn’t like that.”
Damon frowned, giving Cathal that crooked picture look again, and Cathal let out a disgusted sigh. He’d tried to make things simpler and instead had made them more complicated, so he would have to do more talking. “It wasn’t like that. Era knew I was going to hang around anyway to get my head on straight. She wanted me to multitask.” He squinted at the floor. “I mean, fuck’s sake, Damon, your wife just died. Nobody expects you to be A-okay and whistling Dixie or whatever it is happy people do. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He wrinkled his nose. “Besides the fish thing. Because what the fuck.”