“Hmm.”
For some reason, Nathan just didn’t think Toby would go back to the same crowd as before. He’d had such a close call before that surely the life he’d been leading up until now had lost some of its shine for him.
Wherever the boy was, Nathan hoped it was a good place. He hoped the kid got himself sorted out and patched things up with his old man someday.
Superintendent Michael stood briskly. His voice was firm, though there was no disguising the wet gleam in his eyes. “I believe I’ll be going now.”
Maybe, just maybe, if the subject made him that upset, there was hope for him and his son in the future after all.
Saturday came quickly for Nathan after that, and he arrived at Simon’s house right at the time they had agreed upon. The other man was waiting for him, standing in the window. He came out quickly and lowered himself into the passenger seat with a grimace. “Your car is so low to the ground.”
“I don’t think I can fix that,” Nathan said, smiling a little. He pulled away from the curb and started to drive. “You’re going to have to give me directions.”
“Okay, well, we head east for about eight hours and then once we’re in Africa, we assume new identities, and live our new lives without ever once having to talk to my mother about the fact that I’m pregnant.”
“East. Got it,” Nathan said, while turning in a west-ward direction after stopping at a stop sign. “How have you been? You haven’t been answering my texts or anything. Are you still sick?”
“I’m a little nauseous all the time. Not really sick.” Simon shrugged while looking out his window, conveniently keeping his face hidden. “I haven’t been having the greatest time.”
“You should have told me to come over.”
“And what then?” Simon just shrugged, not giving Nathan a chance to answer. “It doesn’t matter all that much, really. It’s just difficult to go from working so hard on something, to barely doing anything at all. I can’t remember the last time that I wasn’t thinking forward, always preparing for the next class, the next game, the next event. Now there’s all these days stretched out in front of me where I’ve got no idea what I’ll be doing. It’s awful. It’s like apathy. Turn left when we reach Fern Road. It’s in about a mile.”
Nathan kept an eye on the road, while trying to also pay attention to his destitute companion. “I’m so sorry, Simon. Don’t you have any hobbies or anything? I specifically remember your mother telling you that she’d be glad for you to get some.”
She said some gentler hobbies. Nathan didn’t think it would be particularly wise to mention that part.
Simon just shrugged in response. “My hobbies are planning.”
Not for the first time, Nathan thought this entire thing was going to be incredibly difficult.
Not much conversation passed between them as they continued driving, except for when Simon gave directions. Nathan kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering what he could possibly do to make this whole thing better. It wasn’t going to be enough for him to just be a provider, he saw that now. Simon was miserable. Having everything handed to him wasn’t going to change that.
Eventually, they arrived at a rather high-end neighborhood where the houses all looked like miniature mansions. Nathan had thought that his own house was nice, but driving through these wide, immaculate streets made him feel like a dirty peasant rather than a respected member of society.
“It’s that one,” Simon said, pointing at a house in the distance.
The house in question was pink and grand, like a little girl had grown up into a woman while still keeping hold of her past likes and ideals. It was the kind of house that a picture-perfect little family would live in, with a mother who always wore dresses despite the season, and a father who wore a suit to his flavorless job as a real estate manager. The kids would be similarly dressed, miniature clones of their parents; they would hardly be kids at all.
Nathan glanced over at Simon. “What kind of a childhood did you have?”
Simon gave him an odd look which said he might possibly have gone insane. “What? I had a good childhood. Youngest of my siblings. Got everything I asked for, plenty of stuff I didn’t. Why?”
“No reason,” Nathan said. He pulled into the driveway of the pink house, relieved that there wouldn’t be a secret past or anything here that he had to worry about. Having interacted with Simon’s mother, he wouldn’t have suspected that anyway but appearances could be deceiving.
Upon closer inspection, the pink house revealed itself to have once been at least partially a different color. Its areas of bricking were faded, soft brown and a muted coral color that might once have been red. Fresh coats of pink paint, applied sometime within the past couple of years, seemed to take hold of the fading, making it a feature rather than a flaw. One side of the house rose up into a tower with a conical roof, making the whole thing seem less like a mansion and more like a tiny castle.
It actually doesn’t look feminine at all, despite the color. Nathan parked the car and then studied the house, a little bemused by the whole thing. It looks almost stately. Like something you’d find in Victorian England.
“What are you waiting for?” Simon said impatiently, breaking his thoughts. “Let’s get out and get this over with, okay?”
“Hey, don’t sound like that,” Nathan said. He turned off the engine and then reached out to hold onto Simon’s wrist, preventing him from getting out of the car even though he already had one foot out the door. Their eyes met. Simon’s annoyed expression relaxed slightly as he waited for what Nathan was going to say. “Everything will be fine, all right? Not just this but everything else. Leave it all to me.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can, and I will,” Nathan spoke firmly, letting Simon see the conviction in his eyes.
The other wolf just looked at him for a moment longer, then he shook his head and sighed. “You’re so fucking stubborn.” But his tone was soft and teasing, if resigned. Simon pulled away, tugging his arm away from Nathan, and got out of the car.
Nathan did the same, then came around to Simon’s side and held out his arm. Simon gave him a warning glance, and Nathan put his arm back down. He was a little disappointed, even though he was trying to understand all of this as best as he could. They were here to present themselves as two men who were in a situation together, needing assistance. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with displaying a bit of affection or support amongst themselves.
Unless, of course, there was something about Simon’s mother that Nathan was unaware of. She might be homophobic or have high standards for her youngest son.
She might completely disapprove of them and refuse to help, in which case Nathan would have some choice words for her.
He followed Simon around from the driveway, over a cobbled path that led past a porch area covered in dainty furniture and a number of beautiful, colorful flowers in handcrafted, glazed pots.
Simon approached the front door, which was decorated with a wreath of dried, pressed, and preserved flowers. He grabbed the knocker and whacked it gently against the surface of the door, then took a step back. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, as if trying to hide his secret even though he wasn’t anywhere close to showing yet.
Nathan strained his hearing and detected soft, unhurried footsteps approaching the front door. Sudden nerves swept over him and he shifted in his spot, trying to catch his breath. He was abruptly, painfully aware that he had never gone through something like this before and probably never would again. He had no prior experience to guide him, to tell him what he was supposed to do or say.
I understand why Simon is so tense, he thought.
That was when the door swung open, and Simon’s mother stood there, in a nightgown with her hair still in curlers. Nathan blinked a little but the image didn’t fade. The fabric was damn near see-through. His cheeks started to burn.
“Mom! Geez!” Simon thrust out one hand to
try and cover Nathan’s eyes. “Don’t look!”
“Trust me, I’m not!” He wanted to laugh about the absurdity of this whole thing, especially at the way Simon was covering his own eyes like he was watching a particularly scary movie. Doing so would probably not earn him any favors, so he bit his tongue and held back the urge.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Simon’s mother said. “I’ll go put on my robe.”
“You couldn’t just get dressed?” Simon said, sounding like he was pleading with her. His cheeks were redder than Nathan’s, his whole face gone distinctly tomato-like.
“Unfortunately not,” his mother said. She didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Your father and I are going to be heading out on the town tonight for a date and I want to look my best.”
At least that explained the curlers.
“Come in, both of you. I’ll get my robe.” Simon’s mother turned away from the open door with a flutter of fabric, gliding serenely away like a ghost doomed to walk the same paths for an eternity.
Blinking, Nathan turned to the other man at his side. “I understand now.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Simon pressed his lips together into a firm line. “Love them both but holy shit. Anyway, come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Nathan followed Simon into the wide foyer, then looked curiously around what he could see of the house after shutting the front door behind himself. The rooms were wide-open and spacious and grand, with enormous windows through which sunlight filtered to set the furniture to glowing. The living room was an awe-inspiring fabrication of plush, oversized armchairs and couches, coupled with tables small and large, tall and short. Pristine silver accoutrements caught the eye, took the viewer on a leisurely tour of the space that both began and ended with an authentic and undoubtedly antique tea cart.
What could be seen of the kitchen and dining area showed similar arrangements that somehow gave equal priority to decoration and function. Everything gleamed as if freshly-polished, recently laundered.
Knowing as he did that Simon’s mother was a crafter, Nathan had expected to see more of that kind of thing. Then it occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t able to tell the difference between store bought products and something that had been built by hand; whether that meant he was blind or Simon’s mother was incredibly talented, he wasn’t sure. Both, probably.
Simon pointed to a shoe rack beside the front entrance. It was such a unique construction that it took Nathan a moment to realize that it was made of pieces of pallet, the kind that groceries goods were shipped on. They had been sanded, painted, and adorned with silver embellishments.
“Take your shoes off before you even take another step or neither of us will hear the end of it.”
Nathan obeyed, placing his dress shoes next to a pair of boots so shiny he could see his reflection perfectly. Kicking off his sneakers with less grace, Simon stacked them directly on top of a pair of tan sandals. Turning away, he crossed the threshold of the living room to grab onto the tea cart. He guided it over the thick carpet without much difficulty, the wheels having been covered with some sort of substance to minimize drag. “Come on,” Simon said.
Nathan followed along behind Simon as the other man took him into the kitchen. “What are we doing?”
“Making tea.” Simon picked up the tea pot and took it over to the sink to fill it up with water. “Mom always insists on having tea whenever there’s going to be a serious discussion. Don’t ask me why.”
“What can I do?”
Simon set the teapot on the stove and turned it on. Gas hissed and then flames caught, licking up the side of the metal. He adjusted the flame with the twist of a knob, the motion effective and practiced. “In the cupboard, there’s a whole bunch of teas. Pick your favorite.”
Nathan obediently went over to the cupboard that Simon pointed at and opened it. For a moment, the sheer quantity of choices boggled his mind so much that he couldn’t even really make out what he was looking at. Endless boxes and bags, all in a variety of shapes and colors. Fruit flavors, apple and apricot, blueberry, strawberry, blackberry, cherry. Herbs, like lemon balm and chamomile. Things he hadn’t even heard of before in his entire life, like lingonberry and rose hip and redcurrant. And those were just the single flavors. Many of them seemed to be mixes, and others had handwritten labels covered in a cursive scrawl so terrible he couldn’t even begin to make a guess as to the contents. The contents were all different colors, mostly shades of green speckled with pops of brightness.
He heard a giggle.
Looking up, he saw Simon holding his hand over his mouth to try and hold back his laughter.
“Sorry,” Simon said, not sounding apologetic at all. He lowered his hand, his mouth still curved up at the corners. “It was just the look on your face. Like you found the Holy Grail.”
“I think I did. The Holy Grail of tea. Why is there so goddamn much of it?”
“Mom likes to be prepared for any occasion. Just pick something that you’ll actually drink. She’ll be offended if you don’t finish at least one cup.”
Nathan was beginning to get the idea that Simon’s mother was not a person he wanted to cross. He inspected the rows and rows of tea again before picking a box that said “white blueberry.” He had no idea what that could possibly mean, but he did like blueberries.
Simon accepted the box and took the teapot off the heat. “It doesn’t need to boil if we’re doing this one.”
“Uh. Okay.”
Simon opened the box of tea and then pulled out a bag from within, which contained loose tea leaves. He scooped some out and dumped them into the teapot, then closed the top lid and set it on the cart. Grabbing onto the tea cart again, he wheeled it gently back into the living room just as his mother was returning. She had an enormous fluffy white robe wrapped around herself now, tied modestly in the front. Only her feet showed beneath the luxurious hem, glimmering scarlet with a fresh coat of nail polish.
“I’m sorry for being so long. I needed a touch-up. Simon, did you make tea?”
“I did,” he responded. Simon glanced sideways at Nathan and rolled his eyes skyward. “Nathan picked white blueberry.”
“Oh, delightful. Very calming. Am I right in thinking that I need to be calm, Nathan?”
It felt a little odd, to hear his name coming so casually from the mouth of someone he barely knew. Older people had that right, he supposed. They were all long past the point where they cared about formalities. “I don’t know anything about that, Mrs. Diamond. I just picked one.”
“Please, call me Tamara.”
“Mom, are you sure you wouldn’t like to wear some actual clothes?” Simon positioned the tea cart halfway between one end of a gigantic couch and an equally enormous armchair. “We’d be more than willing to wait.”
“I wouldn’t be,” Tamara responded. She drifted around to the armchair and took a seat, angling herself so she could look at both men at once. Reaching out to the tea cart, she checked inside the pot before setting it down again. “I’m too interested in knowing why my son is here for this lovely unannounced visit, with a man I’ve only met before on one occasion. How’s your stapler?”
“Works like a charm,” Nathan replied. He tried not to shiver under that fierce gaze Tamara directed his way, pinning him where he stood like an insect on a display board. Simon had that exact same look sometimes, with one exception: he wasn’t a fierce mother with a duty to protect her child, no matter what age that child might be.
Not yet, anyway.
“Thank you for the recommendation.”
“Of course. I’m always glad to help.” Tamara glanced inside the teapot again. Seeming to like what she saw this time, she started to set up three tea cups and saucers. She also grabbed these odd, strainer-looking things and set one over the mouth of each cup. “Take a seat. Get some tea. And let’s talk. I’m very interested.”
Simon was the closest to Tamara, having pushed the cart into its current position.
He sat down on the couch and reluctantly accepted his tea as Tamara slid it over to him. The strainer on top seemed to be there to keep the tea leaves from leaving the pot and getting into his cup, since the wire mesh was now covered in a goopy mess of wet fibers. He set the strainer aside, then reached for the sugar bowl and plucked out a few cubes.
Despite his apparent misgivings about this entire situation, Simon’s fingers didn’t tremble. He didn’t spill a single drop of tea, or make his cup clatter against the saucer. Everything he did was swift and precise and somehow dainty, a direct echo of his mother.
Nathan wondered if he was aware of that. Probably not. Sometimes when you were too close to a person, you couldn’t appreciate all the similarities. Couldn’t see the trees for the forest.
“Here, Nathan.”
Nathan sat down beside Simon and accepted the cup given to him. His hands felt big and clumsy when dealing with such a delicate piece of finery. He barely trusted himself not to hold it too tight and break it. But, he did have to admit that the pale green liquid smelt very strongly of blueberries; the scent was warm and comforting somehow.
Tamara sipped her tea while Nathan added sugar to his and stirred. Setting her cup down, she raised one plucked eyebrow. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”
“I…” Simon said.
“We…” Nathan started.
They looked at each other. Even before their eyes met, Nathan had already decided to back off. This problem affected both of them, but Simon was the one who should do the speaking, as he would be the one affected most.
Simon pulled in a deep breath, drifting curls of steam dissipating in his direction. “Nathan is my boss. The principal of the school where I just got hired. He and I have been involved with one another. On a personal level. I just found out a few days ago that I’m…Well, I’m pregnant, Mom.”
Silence fell. Tamara’s features froze, her expression going blank as she took in this news. For lack of anything better to do, Nathan picked up his tea cup and took a sip of the brew inside. In the instant before hot water scalded his tongue, deadening his taste buds, he discovered that the tea didn’t taste much like blueberries at all even though the fruity scent was so powerful. Odd.
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