by M. A. Hinkle
Not that it mattered. By the time Damon put on the last feather, the host announced they had half an hour left, and then it was hurrying to put figure after figure on the baseboard of the cake, adding as much detail as possible. Heather flitted around, double-checking the placement of feathers and ensuring none of the cracks showed.
And then the host was counting down from ten, and Damon was stepping away from his workstation, putting his hands in the air as the last second disappeared from the timer.
THEY SPENT THE next hour in the waiting room. Damon wished they could clean up, but all they got was free pizza, which he took a pass on. The sight made him want to throw up again.
“You’re being ridiculous,” said Heather, loading up a paper plate. “Not often in the food business where someone else is dishing out the eats.”
She was right, but Damon slumped on one of the couches, letting his head fall against the wall. He wanted to go home.
His phone beeped. Damon took it out of his pocket and only then realized he wasn’t sure who would be texting him. Cathal or Felix wouldn’t bother, as they’d be seeing each other soon.
But it was from George’s phone. Damon jerked up straight, looking for Heather, only to then see her number included on the group text.
Dad’s OK. Just concussion. Sez he’ll b home b4 you guys. Evie
Damon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and slumped again.
“I was hoping that hard head of his would come in handy,” said Heather, sitting beside him. Despite her words, her face was still pale. She offered Damon a slice of cheese pizza. Damon took it.
ONCE EVERYONE WAS done, the host stepped forward. Cathal barely noticed; he was watching Damon. “First, let me assure you all that Mr. Jennings is fine. He has a mild concussion, but he’ll certainly be back for our next competition.” The crowd applauded. “Now. I’ll ask the teams to please go back to the rest area so the judges can inspect their work.”
Cathal watched Damon closely as he filed out, but his face was unreadable. Cathal wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, since Damon’s default expression was inscrutable. He turned his attention to the cakes instead.
The first team’s effort was a pterodactyl in flight, supported by two tall palm trees. The second team had made a perfect replica of the famous Archaeopteryx fossil in a giant slab of cake. Cathal didn’t think much of that one, since it was a straight copy, and he detested plagiarizers. The third cake featured an ankylosaur with its club tail curled around a clutch of eggs.
And then there was Damon’s cake. It was an eight-foot-tall T-rex, mouth gaping in a roar, with tiny animals fleeing from the sound. Every inch was covered in black-and-white feathers. It was magnificent.
The judges walked around the tables, discussing the cakes in quiet voices and marking things down on clipboards. Cathal tried to eavesdrop, but the tables were far enough away to prevent it.
Finally, the host stepped up front again. “The judges have made their decision, and now it’s time to find out!”
The teams came streaming out of the back room to stand next to their creations. Damon was pale as a wax figure. Cathal realized he was digging his fingernails into his knees and made himself stop, though he couldn’t take his eyes away from Damon. After all, he didn’t know when he’d next get to look.
The judges came forward carrying colored ribbons. The judge with the white fourth-place ribbon went to the ankylosaur; the team shook hands with all the judges and the host and then filed off stage, shoulders slumped.
The third-place judge, bearing a bronze ribbon, brought it to the pterodactyl. “Really?” Felix whispered. “But that one is so cool.”
“Not as scientifically accurate as the other two,” Cathal whispered back. “The feet and wings are structured incorrectly.”
When the third-place team left, the host turned to the head judge. “Well, would you like to talk about your choice before you announce the winner? I’m sure it was a difficult decision. Everyone put up an excellent show today.”
Cathal bit back a groan of frustration. Felix bit his fingernails; Cathal slapped his wrist to make him stop.
The judge cleared his throat. “Well, all the cakes displayed a high level of technical excellence, so in the end, it had to come down to scientific accuracy. This party’s going to be full of professors, after all, and we’d never hear the end of it if we didn’t pick a cake that wasn’t correct. So, with that in mind…” He stepped forward, along with the second-place judge.
They hesitated theatrically before splitting up. The head judge, bearing a blue first-place ribbon, went to the Archaeopteryx. The second-place judge went to Damon’s cake.
The first-place team screamed and threw their arms around each other. Damon and Heather exchanged a glance. Heather seemed thrilled; Damon put on a sickly smile and hugged her.
The host said a few more things about the contestants and the competition, but Cathal wasn’t listening. He was watching Damon’s stricken face with the words repeating in the back of his head like a drumbeat: Just talk to him.
On his office computer monitor, he had a long, alphabetized list of sticky notes with synonyms for stupid, since he didn’t like to repeat himself. Every single one uttered in sequence wasn’t enough to explain how dumb Cathal had been to push Damon away. But how was he supposed to say that to Damon? If he explained about the sticky notes, Damon would get frustrated and leave.
DAMON FOCUSED HARD on keeping the smile on his face, even though he was feeling sick again. Couldn’t even do this right. But why was he surprised? He couldn’t change who he was. He’d tried everything he could think of, and none of it had worked.
At least he’d tried.
Felix came running up, and that helped Damon maintain his smile. He caught his son and hugged him harder than usual.
Felix let him go, bouncing from foot to foot the second he touched the ground. “That was so cool, Dad!”
Damon nodded because he didn’t trust his voice. Felix could put a positive spin on anything. Damon tried not to tamp it down, even though he could never match it and wasn’t sure where it came from since Era hadn’t been much of an optimist either.
Felix put his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong, Dad? You did a really good job, especially since George got hurt.”
Damon couldn’t keep himself from scoffing. “It’s good you think so.”
“What are you talking about?” Cathal stomped his foot.
Damon hadn’t dared look at him, but arguing with Cathal would help. Only Cathal could hit back like Damon needed.
When their eyes met, Cathal’s face morphed into the scowl Damon knew so well, the same expression from all those years ago at the bar.
“What am I talking about?” Damon said, dropping his hand from Felix’s shoulder. “You’re the one always telling me how useless I am. How much of a mess. And here’s your proof.” His voice cracked on the final word, and he dropped his eyes, his stomach twisting with shame.
“Have you listened to anything I’ve said to you since Era died?” Cathal hissed, stepping forward into Damon’s space. “You—”
Damon turned his face away. “None of it mattered. You felt sorry for me, so you said what you thought I needed to hear. I’m not stupid, Cathal, whatever you might think.” The words came out dull. He’d known it forever; it didn’t hurt anymore.
“I don’t think you’re stupid!” Cathal shouted.
Damon’s eyes snapped to his face, despite himself. He expected anger, that flat, dead scowl he was so familiar with.
But—Cathal seemed desperate. His eyes were moving over Damon’s face as if he’d never seen it before. Or as if he was afraid he’d never see it again. His voice dropped to a normal volume. “I think you’re the best damn thing since the Turing machine.”
Damon had no idea what a Turing machine was. Luckily, unlike Cathal, he could leave aside things that weren’t important. And nothing was more important than the emotion in Cathal�
��s eyes.
“Then why did you leave?” He almost didn’t want to say it, because he was afraid of the answer. What if Cathal confirmed what Damon had thought?
Cathal looked at his feet and didn’t answer.
Damon shook his head, turning away again.
“Because I was scared, goddammit!” Cathal grabbed his arm, pulling Damon toward him. “I’m tired of people leaving me.”
Damon looked at him again. Cathal was shaking, and he’d bitten his lower lip so hard it was bleeding. And the look in his eyes was only for Damon. Damon took a step toward him, so there was hardly a breath between them. “I’m here now.”
Cathal closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You won’t always be. You’ll leave me, just like my parents. Just like Era. And then where will I be?” He swallowed hard and let go of Damon’s arm. “It’s better to skip to the part where I’m by myself. Saves us the trouble.”
“I’m here now,” Damon repeated. He took Cathal’s hands before he could move away. “Do you want me or not?” His voice was hoarse again, and he still felt like he was going to throw up, because he was terrified of the answer.
Cathal didn’t open his eyes. But then he nodded. Damon leaned down and kissed him before Cathal could start talking again, since that only got them in trouble. Cathal’s mouth opened under Damon’s, and he was pushing up against him, his hands digging into Damon’s chef jacket. Damon held him just as tightly. He needed that solidity in his arms.
Then someone squealed. They broke apart, startled; Damon looked over Cathal’s shoulder. Felix was jumping up and down, and a few people were clapping.
Cathal turned his head, looking past Damon at something. “Were the cameras still on?”
Damon started to reply and realized he didn’t care. He leaned down and kissed Cathal again.
Sixteen: Cathal Actually Doesn’t Shut Up When You Kiss Him. He Just Stockpiles Insults.
FELIX DID NOT stop bouncing the entire way to the car.
“It’s creepy how excited you are.” Cathal was holding Damon’s hand and trying to act like it wasn’t making him grin like he was Felix’s age. Even though it was.
Felix put his hands on his hips, waiting for Damon to unlock the car. “I can’t help it! You guys were being so weird. You could’ve told me it was UST.”
“What is UST?” Damon asked, pressing the button on his key fob. He opened the door for Cathal before Cathal could say anything.
Cathal pointed at Felix as he got in the car. “What have I said about telling your father about things you learned from the internet?”
“Mom always told me to use the best word in the best situation. And now life makes a lot more sense knowing you guys were acting out unresolved sexual tension. Anyway, you guys have spent the last couple of months sticking your nose in my love life, so now it’s my turn.” Felix somehow grinned even wider. “And this means Cathal will come back. And it’s almost summer vacation.” He finally buckled his seatbelt. “Everything’s coming up roses.”
Ordinarily Cathal would have teased him, but Damon reached over and took his hand as they pulled out of the parking lot, and Cathal didn’t feel like it.
DAMON HAD FORGOTTEN what day it was in all the chaos, so he was surprised when Felix said, “You missed your turn, Dad.”
Damon glanced at him in the mirror. “No, this is the way to Cathal’s place.”
Felix rolled his eyes. “Dad. I’ve got band practice, remember? I know this day was a big deal for you, but that doesn’t mean I can leave the LGBT Whatevers hanging. Gareth and Morgan are finally un-grounded, so I have to go grab them.”
“Right,” said Damon, flipping on his blinker so he could turn back.
“It’s nice when you remind me that you are in fact completely self-absorbed like every other teenager.” Despite Cathal’s words, his smile was content and calm, not sarcastic. “Otherwise, I’d worry you were some kind of weird spirit sent here in human form to teach us about preternatural patience or something.”
“Nothing that comes out of your mouth ever makes any sense, you know that, right?” Damon squeezed Cathal’s hand in case there was any sting behind his words.
“Yeah, but you like it that way.”
Damon didn’t argue.
WHEN THEY GOT to Gareth’s house, Felix was out of the car like a shot.
“I’m not sure if he was eager to see Gareth or trying to get away before I could make a joke,” said Cathal. “Also, I’m disappointed to see this place is real.”
Damon glanced over at him, his brow furrowed. “Why? What did you think?”
Cathal shrugged. He turned his attention to Damon’s face, because now he could look at Damon’s face as much as he wanted, and that idea was as terrifying and gleeful as the first drop on a roller coaster. “Trevor is so weird that I imagined he was renting this place to look fancy or something. Would’ve been funny, anyway.”
“You are so out there.” He paused, staring straight ahead. “Did you want to go home, or…?”
Cathal blinked, his throat dry. The first thing that came to mind was glib, stupid—but then Damon looked at him, his eyes steady and certain.
Cathal leaned over to catch Damon’s mouth with his own. “Please do not make me go back to my empty apartment,” he whispered against Damon’s lips. He cleared his throat and settled back in his seat. “Because at this point, I’ve had so much instant ramen that I might have sodium poisoning, and if I die, no one will find my body until it turns into the cold open of a procedural crime show.”
Damon rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You could just say you want to spend the night.”
Cathal’s mouth went dry again, but this time, it was because of what spending the night meant in this context, not from fear.
“Let’s stop by your place anyway. That way you can grab some clothes and stuff.” Damon was blushing, but his eyes were dancing at some hidden joke. “After all, Felix is spending the night with the triplets minus one.”
Cathal snorted. “You are such a dad, you know that?”
“I take that as a compliment.”
WHEN THEY GOT back to Damon’s place, Cathal was shocked he didn’t trip over his own feet. And here he prided himself on how suave he was.
Luckily, Damon was equally off-balance. His blush had darkened until it looked like he was suffering from apoplexy, and Cathal wanted to make a joke about that, only Damon didn’t know what apoplexy was, and that would get them off on a tangent, and Cathal didn’t want to spend much of the remaining evening talking.
Some. But not much.
They didn’t look at each other until they got inside. Then Damon turned to him, fidgeting with his key ring, and at that moment, he looked so much like Felix that Cathal had to swallow a laugh. Which was good, because it meant Cathal could relax against him, luxuriating in the way Damon’s arm immediately came up around his shoulders.
“I want to go in the living room,” said Damon. “We should—”
“Yes.” But first, Cathal stood on tiptoe, pulling Damon’s face down to his, and then Damon was pushing him against the wall, and Cathal couldn’t breathe, but it was the best thing that had ever happened.
He wasn’t sure who broke the kiss, but he recovered first. “Now I know that’s not a spatula in your pocket,” he said, loving the scandalized look that appeared on Damon’s face, “but you’re right, we should take a moment.”
“Do you know what I like about kissing you?” Damon stepped back so Cathal could dust himself off. “I can shut you up for a few minutes.”
“I’ve always said talking isn’t the best thing I can do with my mouth.” He couldn’t help the smirk that touched his lips, and Damon’s embarrassed look was the greatest.
Damon took his hand and pulled him into the living room. He sat on his usual corner of the couch and extended one arm along the back, raising his eyebrows when Cathal didn’t press against his side, even though he wanted to.
“Aren’t you supposed to yaw
n first?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “Give me a little credit, would you?”
Cathal snorted, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread even broader across his face as Damon pulled him close. “Come now. I can’t let you get too comfortable. That’s not my way.”
“Believe me, I know better than to expect that.” Damon rubbed Cathal’s shoulder, staring off into the middle distance.
Cathal considered bugging him, but he settled for tracing nonsense patterns on Damon’s thigh instead. He didn’t have to be anxious around Damon anymore. He could have what he wanted. Hopefully.
“You dumped a lot on me, you know,” said Damon after a long enough pause that Cathal could have worked out several differential equations.
Cathal raised his eyebrows, tilting his head so he could look up into Damon’s face. “You know, part of the reason I talk so much is so that I’ll never be as confusing as you are.”
“You know what I’m talking about, Cathal.”
Cathal squirmed, unable to look away from Damon’s steady gaze. “Yes. Well. I’m repressed. The emotions I’m comfortable expressing range from irritated to amused, with a possible side trip for ‘I’m going to fuck you in the bathroom as long as it’s not too seedy.’ We’ve established this many times.” He bit his lip. “You aren’t all that effusive either, you know.”
“Couldn’t you say expressive again?”
Cathal looked at him without expression.
“I’m just saying. We’ve done a lot of talking, but I don’t think we’ve done much communicating.”
“Why, Damon, you demonstrated why I believe in using the precise word for the precise situation,” said Cathal, pressing his free hand to his chest.