“You are nowhere near old, and you know it.”
That didn’t mean James wasn’t feeling old. “His graduation is just a couple of weeks away as well. His birthday too. I need to work on organizing his party. I need to get him his present.”
“What are you getting him?”
“I’m thinking about getting him a watch. I’ve been putting some money to the side. I know he could really use a new computer, but I don’t think I could swing that, and… I don’t know, it’s a little old-fashioned, but a watch feels like something a father should get his son for his eighteenth.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“Thanks.”
“Would you mind if I upgraded his system as a gift? I mean, I think his laptop is running off of whale oil or something.”
James pushed down his kneejerk reaction of saying “No thank you. I can handle it.” Dylan really did need a new laptop, and Gabe was asking if it was okay. “I think he’d appreciate that very much, and I’m sure you’re invited to the party.” Gabe smiled at him, and James felt his chest tighten until it was almost hard to breathe.
“Just tell me when. How are things at work for you?”
James didn’t particularly want to talk about work. The end of the school year always left a twitch in the corner of his left eye. “Not the best time of year. Half my staff is begging for extra time off so they can finish their projects for the year—the ones they’ve had months to work on. And the entire campus flips out if there’s so much as a glitch anywhere in the network because everyone is trying to finish their projects for the year. And half my staff is graduating, and I need to start looking for their replacements preferably before September so I can get them trained up before the big rush.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find some good people.”
There were always people who needed work, and James had been through the cycle enough times to know that. It didn’t make the whole thing less irritating. “On the upside, Dave managed to successfully take a message the other day.”
“That is progress, indeed.”
“How are things going with the Great Endeavor?” James asked, desperate to change the topic.
“Ramping up. Russians are showing up in a couple of weeks for the next phase of negotiations. And the last of the Solar Flare team has been moved into the main campus labs. I don’t know how they got any work done in their old offices. They would have probably been better equipped in someone’s garage.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“I saw one hug their dedicated in-lab server. And I even got to go down and hand them their revised contracts.” Gabe looked incredibly pleased with himself.
“I can’t picture the dean hand delivering the IT contracts.”
“Any time I can give someone a job or let them keep one they have, it’s a good thing. First time I had to fire some people, it was because I’d miscalculated our resource needs in our fourth year and overhired. I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. Like I was putting a gun to someone’s head and saying, ‘Hey, good luck making the rent, hope your kid doesn’t need fillings this month.’ I swore I’d never do that again.”
James had nothing to say except for the three words that still sat on the edge of his lips. If he’d heard something like that from anyone else, he’d have thought it was a half-truth if not a full-out lie. But he’d seen Gabe with his employees, the way he had shook each hand and knew each name, and had listened with honest interest. His employees were TechPrim, and TechPrim was his baby, his grand creation. Out to make the world a better place one solar cell and insurance plan at a time. For a moment James was sure he was going to stop breathing. He settled his hand over Gabe’s and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure you’re still racking up a lot of good Karma.”
Dylan’s tie was a deep blue, the same color as Catherine’s hair tips. It was a pretied clip-on, which saved James and Dylan a second round of trying to figure out how to tie a bow tie. James straightened it a little.
“Well, Dad, how do I look?” He gave a quick turn in front of the mirror in James’ room.
James took a step back and looked his son over. “You look very grown-up.” Dylan rolled his eyes. “I mean it.” It had taken three stops but they had found a tux that wasn’t too tight and didn’t make him look like a linebacker. The dark blue waistcoat brought out his eyes, and the slicked-back hairstyle he’d finally gone with made him look more like a junior executive than a high school senior. He looked like he could have slipped into the TechPrim prom without any questions.
There was a knock on the door, and Dylan nearly jumped out of his skin and began hyperventilating.
“I’ll go get it for you. Take a couple of deep breaths.”
When James opened the front door, his jaw dropped. Catherine was in a sleeveless gown of deep blue, constructed of satin and layers of bias-cut organza that draped down from just below her breasts and brushed the floor. It had to have been either expensive as hell or a pain in the ass to make (and he wished he didn’t know as much about dressmaking as he did, but he’d helped hem one-too-many quinceañera and bridesmaid’s dresses). Her face was done up with far less makeup than usual, and there were small white flowers woven into her short hair.
“Wow.” She rolled her eyes. James stepped aside and let her in. “That is a very nice dress.”
Catherine shifted around. “I never wear dresses. This feels so weird.” She grabbed the top of her dress and yanked up. “And I’m afraid it’s going to slip off.”
“Turn around, and raise your hands over your head.” She squinted at him suspiciously. “Seriously.”
She slowly turned and raised her arms up. James pinched the top edge of the dress and gave it a good shake, then quickly ran his hand down the sides of the zipper. “You’ve got a stack of rigilene sewn into the bodice. It’s not going anywhere.”
Catherine lowered her arms. “And since when do you know anything about dresses?”
“Don’t ask.”
Catherine was still shifting the dress around when Dylan finally emerged from the hall. “Hi.” His voice was barely a whisper. He was swallowing hard and looked about to faint. James felt a moment of true pity for his son. “You look really nice.”
Catherine looked shyly away. “You look nice too.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay.” James clapped his hands together before things could get any more uncomfortable. “You two stand together so I can get pictures.”
They slid shyly together, hip to hip, like they were afraid to touch and hadn’t wrestled in the sand as children. James pulled out his phone. “And smile.” He took a photo. It was perfect. “And one more.” He took picture after picture, fiddling with flash, filters, and settings until they were over the sudden shyness and rolling their eyes in unison.
“Enough, Dad. We don’t want to be late.”
“Okay. Have a good time, you two. Be good. Drive carefully. Call me if you get in any trouble.”
“We’ll be fine.”
James gave Dylan a quick hug and tried to ignore how fast his own heart was beating. He gave Catherine a quick squeeze as well, being careful not to step on her dress. “Have fun.”
Dylan put a hand gently on the small of her back and led Catherine out the door. It closed with a loud click just as the fan in the fridge ground to a halt. Suddenly the only sound in the apartment was the stuttering second hand on the kitchen clock. James took a deep breath and went to find some coffee and rum.
James was into his second coffee and rum and feeling lightly buzzed when a message came in from Gabe.
How are you doing? Did Dylan get away okay?
Dylan looks all grown up now. I’m OK. Coffee and Rum helps.
:-) Wish I was up there with you. You’re cute when you’re tipsy. Homework night for me. I’m glad I’ve got Tam and all those lawyers because this is eating my brain. How hard can it be to buy one bankrupt company? No good deed….
/> Wish you were here too.
James gulped down some more coffee.
Homework first.
11
This nightmare had been coming for months, and Tamyra had been reminding him every day for a week, but he’d buried the threat under thoughts of James in bed and Russian mineral rights.
Gabe was now wishing he’d taken his migraine medication while the studio lights baked down on him and the makeup made his skin itch. Some right-wing talking-head puppet from one of TechPrim’s minor competitors was trying to bait him from another studio in New York. Gabe never understood why he had to do these interviews, if they could even be called that. TechPrim wasn’t publicly traded and never would be, they dominated several different markets and were major players in many others, they could buy and sell US Senators, even though they refrained from doing so, and they were ranked as one of the best companies to work for globally.
But someone, somewhere, thought it would be a good idea to put him on TV and argue business with some asshole. He always managed to block out what a complete nightmare they were to the point where he would agree to do them again. At least it wasn’t FOX this time.
Gabe leaned in toward the cameras. “You lost millions of dollars last winter when your employees and their families got the flu. I spent a few hundred grand to vaccinate all TechPrim employees and their families and saved billions. That’s not socialism. It’s good business sense and being a decent boss. And considering the fact that we posted a 5.8 percent profit jump last quarter and you posted a 7.9 percent drop, I think I might be on to something.”
Some other talking head from DC popped up and started ranting about tax rates and job creation. Gabe drove his nails into his palms and fought down the urge to just say “I’m right, you’re wrong, suck it.” Instead he nodded like he actually cared.
James crawled out from under a desk, banging his shoulder in the process. There was something strange about the economics department. They always managed to mess up their hardware in complicated ways that no other department could manage. This time it was a router that was throwing an absolute tantrum; he would have to replace it. Normally he’d send Martin, but Martin had begged for a half day off to go to his sister’s thesis defense, and just now he was feeling that he was way too soft on his employees.
He shook the router at the elderly professor who’d called him down. “If I crack this open and find soda or coffee or anything sticky inside, I’m making sure it comes out of your department’s budget.”
“I’m sure none of our students—”
“Who said anything about students?” James had moved beyond being deferential to tenure. This one looked like he could be dead before fall semester started. “They’ve been practically surgically attached to a computer since birth; they know better. They’re not the ones who think you can just spill a smoothie on a piece of hardware, mop up the outside, and not worry about it.” The professor tried to give him the “I have tenure and a PhD” glare, but James just wasn’t in the mood. He was still feeling weird about everything else in his life right now. He looked over the professor’s shoulder to where a TV was on, muted. It was some business cable channel with a bunch of talking heads, and then suddenly Gabe was full screen. He didn’t look happy.
“Hey, could you turn that up?” James asked.
“What?”
James just grabbed the remote off the desk and unmuted it.
“…responsibilities, and not to shareholders. I have a duty to my employees, to give them a safe and healthy environment. One where they can be proud of the work they do for an honest wage. To make sure they know their hard work has value. I have a responsibility to our customers to guarantee they always receive the best quality product and service in exchange for money they gained through their own hard work. I have a responsibility to myself and to my partners to work tirelessly to help maintain a company I am damn proud of, and that work takes priority. It certainly takes priority over sitting here arguing with people who are letting their own companies burn.”
“Yes, well.” The moderator quickly jumped in as all the other talking heads began to yell.
The professor shook his head, his lips pinched tight. “If that man would just—”
“Don’t.” James raised one finger. His heart was pounding even as the program cut to their next segment. Gabe’s words were ringing in his ears.
“I was just saying—”
“No. Gabriel Juarez is my boyfriend, so just don’t.”
James wondered just what percentage of his life he spent crawling around on the floor trying to fix or find things. Or in this case, trying to clean out the back of Dylan’s closet. Over the years boxes of papers had been shoved back there, and at least one contained Dylan’s vaccination records. He hoped. They should have been in the folder with Dylan’s report cards and transcripts.
He opened the oldest-looking of the boxes. The crayon drawing of a house that was carefully labeled Room 103 1st Grade was a good sign he was on the right track. He removed each piece of yellowing paper carefully. There were drawings, spelling tests, worksheets of addition and subtraction, a brown and orange handprint turkey.
He unfolded a sheet of yellow legal paper and found his own handwriting.
It is my duty as a parent to always prioritize the well-being of my child and that includes ensuring the quality of his education.
James dropped his face into his hand. Shit. It was his PTA speech. He’d actually run for a place on the PTA board after learning that the school was considering shifting from a phonics-based to a whole-language reading program without consulting the parents. He’d been all of twenty. What was I thinking? It was obvious what he had been thinking. It was right there in the speech. Duty, responsibility, priority, and a desire to be taken seriously. The mantras of his life. He hadn’t been taken seriously. He found out later that he’d gotten all of two votes. One was his own; he never found out who cast the other. And the school changed to a whole-language reading program. He still blamed it for some poor spelling results in middle school.
James’ phone rang with Gabe’s stupid kissy face on the screen. He felt his whole mood lift as he answered. “Hello.”
“Hey there.” Gabe sounded breathless, as if he had been running. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, digging through old boxes. How are you?”
Gabe took a deep breath. “Still running between meetings. Thought I’d take a moment to call, see how you’re doing.”
James’ chest gave that little squeeze that sent an ache through him but also put a smile on his face. He glanced up at Dylan’s alarm clock; it was almost seven.
There was a voice in the background of the call before James could reply. “We’re already an hour and a half late.” Gabe’s voice was muffled but still understandable. “Two more minutes isn’t going to matter at this point.” There was a different voice in the background. “Sorry,” Gabe said into the phone, this time sounding tired. “Can I call you tonight?”
“Of course. But you should probably sleep instead.”
“What’s the old saying? I’ll sleep when I’m dead? I’ll try to shove around some things later in the week. Maybe we can grab lunch or something.”
“Sure.”
There was a voice in the background again. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Bye.”
“Bye.” The line went dead, and James felt his mood slip, which annoyed him more than anything else. His speech was still in his other hand. He read it over again. In retrospect it was maybe a little aggressive, but it got across his feelings on the matter, loud and clear.
A flamenco remix of “Hotel California” filtered into James’ dream before waking him. He fumbled for his phone.
“Gabe?” he mumbled, squinting at his alarm clock, the digital numbers seeming far too bright. It was 3:18 a.m.
“What?” he heard Gabe mumble.
“Gabe?”
“James?” Gabe sounded confused.
“Yes, you
called me.” James wondered if Gabe was drunk again. It didn’t quite sound like it, though.
“Oh. Oh, yeah, I was just going to text you before I went to sleep. I must have hit the wrong button.” Gabe’s words began to fade out toward the end of the sentence.
“You’re just now getting to bed?”
“Had work to do. Wanted to call you earlier but….” Gabe trailed off, but James stayed silent. Over the phone he could hear Gabe’s soft breathing. He wondered if Gabe was already in bed or if he was slumped over his kitchen table where he liked to work. He’d once told James that he didn’t have a home office so he’d be less likely to bring work home with him. Both he and James had laughed.
He heard a soft beeping over the line; it meant another call was coming in. He should wake Gabe up, tell him about the call. Three in the morning, finally heading to bed, and someone was trying to call him.
Wake up. The words were right there on James’ lips. Wake up, you have work. But it was the middle of the night, and Gabe had called him, not whoever was on the other line. Between the beeps he could hear Gabe breathe, slow and deep. He loved that sound. He loved to sleep to the sound of Gabe breathing. Whoever was calling obviously didn’t know what they were interrupting or most likely didn’t care.
The beeping stopped. James felt guilty. It might have been important. It could have been about any one of a hundred things all over the world that Gabe needed to keep a finger on. And James had let Gabe sleep. James hadn’t said a word so he could listen to Gabe sleep.
“Gabe.” The word came out in a choked whisper. He didn’t want to wake Gabe up. He also didn’t want him to spend what was left of the night slumped and twisted over paperwork.
“Gabe.” He raised his voice just a hair. This time he got a slight hum in response.
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