Sick & Tragic Bastard Son

by Rowan Massey

  Sincerely,

  Clay

  Fifteen minutes later, sitting at my little desk, my heart was stuttering at the sound of an email alert. It was him. I gripped my phone like a lifeline and let a groan of anxiety escape me. Remmy got out of his bed and came over with his tail wagging. He gazed at me with curiosity and I scratched his head.

  “What would I do without you?” I asked him, letting his calm presence sooth my nerves.

  He seemed to smile in response. His tongue lapped at my hand. I wiped the slobber off on my pants and went to the sofa, sitting stiffly. My email app was open, and the bold text of the unreal message was right there, but it took some doing to make my thumb bend and open it.

  From: Lysander Mason

  To: Clay Corden

  Subject: Re:Hello

  It’s hard to know what to say to you, but I don’t want to meet up. I have my reasons, and I promise it’s not about you. You’re probably a good guy. I don’t judge you for not being around. My life is OK. You don’t need to worry about me.

  I hear you have a daughter. That’s great. You should probably just focus on her because I don’t need anything. I know I’m disappointing you by saying no, but this is how it needs to be. Take care. I can tell this will probably upset you. I hope you have a friend nearby to talk to.

  Sincerely,

  Lysander

  With each sentence, my chest tightened, my gut weakened, and finally, my eyes welled up, but I didn’t cry. The disappointment was visceral. I bent at the waist and let my head fall between my knees. Remmy thought it was time to play and came close to huff his dog breath in my face. When I didn’t move, he licked my temple. He was trained not to lick people on the face. Maybe he could sense my mood.

  What had I expected? Trying to enter Lysander’s life just as he was peeking into adulthood was a disruption. Of course he had preoccupations that would make meeting his deadbeat dad unappealing. I sniffed pathetically and let myself mourn for the millionth time. My entire life seemed to consist of consecutive periods of mourning. I’d mourned my parent’s marriage, my relationship with my family, my wasted youth, and my son. So many times, I’d mourned the passing years in which my self loathing had grown deeper and deeper roots into my identity. Once upon a time, I’d considered myself a good man, even after I’d lost Lysander. Being a father to Lottie had rebuilt me in ways I hadn’t known were possible, but with age, I’d started letting myself down more and more. Lottie had her own life, Lysander was unwilling to meet me, and I was trying to date an erratic younger man who probably signified that I was reaching the pinnacle of the stereotype of a midlife crisis. Zander was my red convertible. But since my son wasn’t going to be part of my life, what was the harm? Like he’d said, it was good to have a friend to talk to in difficult times, and Zander was a comfort. Even though Catherine had been there from the beginning, it was sometimes hard to tell her things because she knew so much about all the traumas in my life that it embarrassed me to dump even more information onto her.

  I found myself working on autopilot, shuffling around the house with old sweatpants on, putting on a pot of coffee even though I never drank coffee later in the day, and absently dodging Remmy’s attempts to get my attention with his toy dinosaur. Warm coffee mug in hand, I found myself at the kitchen window, sipping at it over the sink. There was nothing to see outside, but I’d been staring out for a while. I finally took Remmy’s toy from him and tossed it through the door into the living room. He raced after it, nails skittering on the floor, and went out of sight. It sounded like he slid into a table, so I lazily followed after him to check for damages.

  Down the stairs, I thought I heard my phone ping. After standing there wondering who it might be for a while, I found myself hoping it was Lottie checking in. Hearing anything from her after two days would be nice. So down the stairs I went, leaning a little on the wall as I plodded heavily, letting my shoulder make a shushing noise until I reached the bottom.

  Zander: When do you expect to hear something about your son? How are you?

  I mused over the oddity of his interest in me, and thumbed the messenger open.

  Clay: I got an email from him saying he doesn’t want to meet me. I’m not doing well.

  Zander: Aw fuck. I’m so sorry. That really sucks.

  I tried to think of a response, but drew a blank, and went to bed instead. Curling up under the blanket for comfort and being jostled by Remmy for cuddles made me feel like a child trying to hide from the world. Vivid memories went through my head of being told silly stories before bed when I was a little boy. When she was in the mood, my mom had sometimes been persuaded to sing her favorite songs to us until we fell asleep. I still remembered the fuzzy and comforting heaviness of falling into dreams that contained her melodies. What a strange thing to think about at my age.

  My phone was still in my hand.

  Zander: Let me come over and take care of you.

  Clay: You’re sweet.

  Clay: Not necessary though.

  Zander: Are you alone?

  Clay: Just me and the dog.

  Zander: You seem depressed. I’m worried.

  God, he was worried, and somehow, he’d deduced that I was depressed just from the few messages I’d sent. What a balm it was to be worried about, to give into it, despite knowing I didn’t deserve it. I wanted to keep surrendering to whatever he offered me. His generosity seemed undemanding, easy to accept into my life.

  Zander: I’m coming over :)

  Clay: I don’t think I can say no to that right now. I guess I’ll have to let you in.

  Zander: I’ll camp out on your lawn if you don’t ;)

  Clay: lol ok I’ll be waiting

  I immediately started thinking of when I’d last taken a shower, when I’d last changed my sheets, and so on, but my mind was still mostly preoccupied with that email. I put my head under the sheets and opened it and read it again a few times. Some lines stood out.

  It’s not about you…I don’t judge…I hear you have a daughter…this is how it needs to be…this will probably upset you…

  I wanted to respond and ask him how he had known about the PI and how he knew about Lottie, but I knew I had to think about it for a while before I could determine the right things to say. If I questioned him too much, it would sound demanding or even accusing. I couldn’t ask for a lot of information from him. In a day or so, I would send something and tell him that he was right; I was upset. Maybe I could find a way to ask him to at least exchange emails with me now and then.

  I’d daydreamed quite a bit about Lysander meeting Lottie, the three of us having pizza, picking movies, asking each other get-to-know-you questions in the car. I wished I hadn’t tortured myself that way. Those fantasies might stay fantasies forever. She hadn’t mentioned the old picture on the mantel the last time she’d come over and spent the night. I’d let it psych me out, then I’d convinced myself it was better to wait until I heard from Lysander to tell her about him.

  I tried to get up out of bed, but ended up only rolling over to stare at my ceiling. There was a chasm where Lysander’s face should have been in my mind. It had always been painful not knowing what he looked like, especially not as he was as a teenager. He could look like anyone on the street. There was an uncomfortable shift in my mind, and I thought about Zander’s young face. His email showed he was much more put together than Zander. He sounded sure of himself; compassionate but firm. It occurred to me that he had told me to look to a friend for support because he didn’t want any sad begging from me. He hoped that I wouldn’t bother him anymore. Pulling the blanket over my head, I forgot how to breath normally. Air shifted in an out of my lungs in short little rasps. I stayed that way for a while, almost forgetting about my visitor.

  The doorbell startled me, and Remmy barked. Zander hadn’t taken long to arrive, or else I’d really lost track of time. I was still in sweatpants with no shirt. Well, I was a depressed man. I’d have to forget dressing to impress. I didn’t
have it in me.

  I put my phone in my pocket, where it made one side of my waistband sag. For the sake of decency, I dug a T-shirt out of the dresser and pulled it over my head on the way upstairs. I told Remmy to go get in his bed, and he obeyed. Standing in front of the door, I rubbed at the skin under my eyes, hoping to remove any gross crust. I could sense him there waiting patiently before I opened the door.

  Honest worry drew at his features. He didn’t look particularly put together, which made me feel better about my own appearance. His clothes were faded and well worn. I’d taken note at the restaurant that he’d sewn up a small tear in his shirt. Maybe he was much poorer than I’d imagined.

  I tried to give him a smile, but it was too much of an effort to sustain for more than a second. He pressed his lips together in sympathy and stepped over the threshold to give me a hug. What in this universe could have predicted I would have such a person in my life at just the right time? I enjoyed his warm scent and let myself wrap my arms around his waist. The simple appreciation I had for him made me a little bit brokenhearted to be living in such a beautiful tearjerker of a world.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly, and drew away to shut the door.

  He pulled me close again as soon as it was closed and kissed my cheek.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  He took my hand and led me to the sofa, where we sat shoulder to shoulder, thighs touching in an easy closeness. Instead of answering, I got my phone out and showed him the email. He put a hand on my arm and leaned forward to read it. I had the urge to kiss his neck, but instead, I stared at the details of his olive skin and the shaved hair that spread down to the stretched-out opening of his T-shirt. I couldn’t see his face, but he must have been reading it twice over because it took a while for him to slowly sit back again and give me a reaction.

  “So he isn’t mad at you,” he said. “Doesn’t that comfort you a little?”

  I almost laughed, but held it back and shook my head. “What if this is it? If he never changes his mind?”

  “Maybe some other guy raised him and he really doesn’t need anything. That’s good news.”

  “I still want to see him. I still don’t know anything about my own son. If I hadn’t been such a coward-”

  “Nobody would call you a coward, and he doesn’t either. See? ‘It’s not about you.’”

  “Zander…I really hoped…”

  “Yeah, I know.” He put an arm around my shoulders and gave my cheek a firm kiss, lingering long enough for me to detect a small, shaky movement in his lips. When he pulled away, there was something heart wrenching in his eyes, but it was there for only a split second.

  “So,” he said slowly, “he sounds nice, right?”

  “Yeah, he seems concerned about my feelings, but there’s a lot of mystery in the rest. How in the world did he know to go to Nick Nugent? I didn’t tell you about that. He showed up right after I left their offices and told Nick not to tell me how to find him. It makes no sense. I haven’t had time to process, and I just don’t know what to think. I didn’t tell many people about Nugent, or even just the fact I was looking for Lysander. We must have a mutual friend…”

  I turned my head away and wearily rubbed a hand over my mouth.

  “Maybe…” Zander said, “maybe his mom already told him about you, and he’s seen your picture, but you couldn’t have recognized him. Didn’t you say she was supposed to tell him about you? So, it’s probably just some kind of coincidence that he heard something or saw something…”

  He was rubbing up and down my arm, searching for things to say. I appreciated the effort, but none of it made real sense.

  “The mystery is killing me,” I told him. “I mean, what in the world is going on?”

  “Hey, look.” He pointed to my phone screen, even thought it had automatically gone black. “He’s doing good, right? He sounds nice, and he doesn’t need anything. Maybe you can finally let go.”

  I drew away from him slightly. We’d only just met, but he’d been reading me wrong if he thought I could ever “let go” of my kid.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I just meant it’s good that he isn’t fucked up or anything. He sounds fine.”

  “I can’t know if he really is fine unless I meet him face to face.”

  He sighed and squeezed my arm. We went silent, but I continued to be amazed at him. When I was his age, I’d long since shut down. My parents never came around after Liam’s ordeal. Maybe they weren’t angry anymore and even trusted me, but they had fallen into a habit of treating me a certain way, and that had never changed. The storage closet had served as my bedroom until around a year later when we moved to a larger house with more rooms. I’d started doing all the usual things with the family again, but I’d never managed to gain affection from them, no matter how well I behaved, so after a while, I’d simply stopped trying. I’d resigned myself to being a fuck-up.

  Zander was wildly different from all that. He was damaged, obviously, but he hadn’t let it numb him. I admired that.

  “What’s your favorite movie?” he asked.

  I gave him a quizzical look. It was quite a subject change.

  “Let’s watch your favorite movie, and eat too much, or whatever you like to do,” he said.

  His hand wandered to the back of my neck. Instead of answering, I kissed him. His lips had that shaky quality at first, so I moved in closer and massaged his mouth with mine until he let out a long breath and relaxed into it. I lost myself in the sensuous rhythm of the embrace. His hands moved over my chest and arm in that way people do when their bodies have taken control. I didn’t know what my hands would do from one moment to the next either, but I managed to pull away a little. I wanted to look at him and see how stable he seemed. The nature of his passions was still an unknown to me. He didn’t look me in the face. His eyes were fixed on my crotch. I was getting an erection. He used the moment to straddle me. Our bodies slid together in motion. We pressed each other close. I wanted to touch as much of him at once as possible, and there was a hunger in him that wanted the same.

  We kissed each other’s necks and ears, but his movements changed when I slipped a hand into the back of his pants to squeeze, and reach, and arouse. He was undulating and arching his back in a practiced way that reminded me of porn. I moved my hand up his shirt and across his back instead, rubbing in a soothing circle.

  “Slow down, baby,” I murmured. “Let’s just be ourselves.”

  I caught his eye. There was the Zander confliction I wanted so badly to unravel, but he wanted to hide it, so he collapsed against my chest and rested his head on my shoulder. I wanted to ask if he was relieved, confused, exasperated, or what, but something told me not to talk too much. My palm ran slowly up and down the smooth skin of his spine. I was happy to have him relaxed and letting me prop up his weight. After a minute of massaging him and laying kisses along his shoulder, now and then sneaking a few fingers just inside his waistband, I pulled his shirt up and over his head. He responded in kind and seemed to have gotten over his self consciousness, giving me a shy grin.

  It occurred to me that I’d never had sex in my living room. That was how devoid of intimacy my life was, but I focused in on the present moment so that I could give him a good time.

  There was a jagged pace to the way we took each other’s pants and underwear off, then sat in the same position again, his legs straddling mine, so that we could reacquaint ourselves with each other’s cocks. We took turns rubbing them together in our fists, foreheads resting together, kissing now and then. He’d taken a handy condom from somewhere in his pants, and we used precum and saliva to play with his ass before I put it on. Without saying a thing to coordinate it, I slipped a finger inside him from the front, he slipped one in from the back, and he seemed to like that. His hips made movements that seemed involuntary, and his usual slow smile grew over his face.

  “You ready, daddy?” he asked flirtatiously, and I nodded.

  He took
the condom out, I rolled it on, and I shifted into a deeper slouch so that he would have better access. At first, he seemed to have trouble relaxing and letting me in, but soon, he was sinking slowly, head tilted back slightly. I had to close my eyes because the tightness around my cock and the sight of his enjoyment was so much to bear. Feeling so much at once made my mind spin in directions I didn’t want it to go. Getting that email had been terrible. Letting my hopes get high, then being let down so swiftly…