by Dan Wingreen
Tim felt like he was watching the birth of the sun, and to his amazement, something that felt almost like happiness started to bloom inside him.
Okay. Let’s see where this goes.
Chapter Seven
SPENCER: Im reading an essay on Romeo and juliet written by a kid who cant spell tybalt, mercutio or Shakespeare. Kill me now.
Tim snorted as he read Spencer’s text and then looked around the kitchen to make sure Sarah hadn’t heard. She was still hunched over the cake she was decorating, swearing for the three hundredth time since Tim had started working for her that she was never going to take a custom order ever again. Her process for cake decorating had always confused him, but even if they all started out looking like a three-year-old’s imitation of a Jackson Pollock, they usually turned out great in the end. Not nearly as good as his mother’s, of course, but he was sure there was some kind of complicated physics equation that could prove why that was impossible. Either way, he counted himself lucky his boss was too focused on her latest “never again” to start in with those weird glances she’d been giving him ever since he and Spencer had started texting each other.
TIM: He’s what, 14? 13? Give him a break. They’re hard words to spell.
He barely had time to sneak one last glance before his phone buzzed again.
SPENCER: theyre names not words and THEYRE ALL WRITTEN IN THE PLAY MULTIPLE TIMES! MULTIPLE TIMES TIM.
SPENCER: Shakespeare is in every spellcheck ever. She HAD to have seen the red squiggle and completely ignored it. Honestly, the sheel levels of laziness are almost impressive. Im kinda tempted to give her bonus points.
SPENCER: maybe shes allergic to proofreading?
SPENCER: sheer not sheel*
SPENCER: shut up
“Y’all get some good news?” Sarah asked suddenly, her sharp Texas accent startling Tim so badly he almost dropped his phone.
“Huh?”
It was Sarah’s turn to snort now. “You’ve been looking at that phone and grinning like a loon for the last five minutes. Gotta be somethin’ good, right?”
The obnoxiously knowing glint in her eyes was muted by the icing smeared on her left cheek and, somehow, all over her hairnet. Tim shoved his phone in his pocket and did his best to arrange his face into a neutral expression. “It’s nothing.”
“Same ‘nothing’ you been all happy about for the last few weeks?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, crossing her arms and looking way too much like his mother.
“Stop that,” he said, suppressing a shudder. “You’re weirding me out.”
“And you’re distracting me,” she said.
“I’m not doing anything! Except my job,” he added quickly at her sharp glance. Which wasn’t even a lie, really, but at eleven in the morning, his job was mostly over. He’d already been there since four, firing up the ovens and baking the standard inventory for the day so Sarah could sleep in. Once the extra cashier who helped with the afternoon rush showed, he’d be out the door and collapsing face-first into his bed for a much-needed nap before meeting Connor at the center later.
“I can feel you bein’ happy,” she said, jabbing her finger at him.
“And my happiness is distracting?”
“Yes! You been carryin’ around that big ol’ gloomy raincloud for so long I was startin’ to think I imagined that handsome smile of yours.” Her expression softened. “Seein’ it again is the definition of distraction.”
Tim shifted uncomfortably. He thought he’d been doing a much better job of hiding his…moods. At least from people who weren’t his mother. Even though he had four years of education telling him his feelings were completely valid and justified, he was still embarrassed that she’d noticed how unhappy he…was? Had been?
Was he actually happy?
He was certainly distracted, at least. There wasn’t much time to wallow between his job and Connor and this new friendship with Spencer; a friendship that was…kind of wonderful. Spencer fit into his life in a way none of his other friends ever came close to.
They talked every day, mostly through random texts from Spencer that almost always evolved into amazingly fun conversations Tim had to physically tear himself away from. Something he knew was mutual because he had a dozen texts from Spencer yelling at Tim for distracting him from his grading or from making dinner.
They also had a standing unofficial shopping meetup every Thursday at their grocery store; something they’d both been early for last week, which had both of them slightly flustered as they teased each other about being kids excited for their “playdate.” For the first time in longer than he could remember, Tim felt wanted; not as a sex object or a wall to scream at or a source of constant validation but as a person. He had no idea if he could be feeling true happiness or just euphoria at finally making a connection with someone again, but whatever it was, he really didn’t want to question it—or talk about it with people who might force him to question it.
“I…”
Thankfully, his phone buzzed again, saving him from trying to think of something to say.
“Oh, go on then. Get back to your textin’. I gotta finish this damned cake up anyhow.” She gave the confection a quick glare. “Tell your new man he’s welcome to stop by any time. Anybody who can bring that smile back’s got my seal of approval.”
Tim’s face started to burn. “He’s not…”
Another buzz distracted him long enough for Sarah—who had been in the middle of ignoring his denials anyway—to cross the bakery and start working on the cake. Tim…was okay with that. He’d have to set her straight at some point, but it was probably best if he had some time to think about what he was going to tell her. He wasn’t too sure he could actually explain his completely platonic admiration for Spencer without coming off exactly like a teenager with a crush.
SPENCER: Okay. No bonis points.
SPENCER: bonus* fucking touchscreens. Why did we ever stop using keypads?
SPENCER: Anyway. Shes actually trying to say that romeo and mercutio are having a secret gay affair and that juliet is romeos beard because, and I quote, ‘aint no straight boy that hot gonna date a 13 year old girl when he could be rolling in it with girls his own age’. I cant fucking even.
Tim choked on a laugh.
TIM: Maybe she handed it in as a joke?
SPENCER: Its gonna be real funny when I mark this down as her actual grade.
Another buzz followed, but instead of a text, a picture popped up of a neatly typed sheet of paper absolutely covered with red marks and comments in the margins. Tim winced in sympathy—for the girl and Spencer.
SPENCER: This is page 1 Tim. OF 3.
SPENCER: Seriously I give the kids Shakespeare to torture them not so they can torture me.
SPENCER: If I ever find the english teachers these kids had Im gonna make a citizens arrest for crimes against humanity. Any jury in the world would convict them.
SPENCER: Youre still taking the kid shopping for his halloween costume this afternoon right?
The sudden subject change surprised Tim—they’d been texting and shopping buddies for just over two weeks now, and rare were the times when Spencer would leave off a complaining binge before he completely exhausted the topic—but he typed back a quick affirmative.
SPENCER: Good. I need a fucking break after dealing with this. And a raise.
TIM: Well, I can give you the former, at least.
There was a long delay before Spencer responded.
SPENCER: You used former correctly.
TIM: Yes…?
SPENCER: Do you know what latter means?
TIM: Yes.
Another long delay.
SPENCER: Marry me.
Even as Tim laughed, he was very glad Sarah wasn’t close enough to read over his shoulder.
*
Zip. Zip. Zip.
Tim nervously played with the zipper on his jacket as he wait
ed for Connor, watching the autumn leaves blowing down the sidewalk through the front doors of the center. Since they were going to be leaving right away, there was no point in meeting in the cafeteria, but part of Tim longed for the familiarity of their routine. This would be the first time they’d left the center together, and even though they were just going a few blocks down to a costume store, he couldn’t help feeling jumpy. He knew he was being ridiculous.
Connor was a good kid and he came with a signed permission slip. Spencer himself had practically begged him to take Connor shopping because he was too busy to go and didn’t want Connor walking all over the city alone. That casual caring, the way Spencer acted like he’d never even considered sending Connor off on his own, had made Tim smile even as the heavy mantle of responsibility settled onto his shoulders. Spencer trusted him to watch after his son out in the world, and Tim was painfully aware he could barely watch after himself these days. For the first time since meeting Connor, he was starting to wonder if maybe he might have bitten off more than he could chew.
Zip. Zip. Zip.
It didn’t help that Connor was already fifteen minutes late.
Stop that. It’s not like he’s never been late before. Stop projecting your own fears onto a situation that’s most likely completely benign.
He ground his palms into his eyes and tried not to think of all the ways someone could get hurt walking through the city. When he lowered his hands, he had just enough time for the spots to start clearing from his vision before a boy-sized blur shoved open the door. He quickly jumped back before it could hit him, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to keep Connor from barreling headfirst into his chest.
“Ah!” Connor yelped, pressing his hand to the side of his face and stumbling back with wide eyes.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”
That was as far as Tim got before he got a clear look at Connor’s face.
“Oh my God, Connor! What happened to you?” Tim asked. “Did you get mugged?”
Connor, who had been in the middle of wincing and turning away, jerked his head up. Tim held back a gasp. He’d only seen the black eye and the dried tear streaks, but now that Connor was staring directly at him, he could see a split lip and the remnants of dried blood on his chin.
“Yeah!” Connor said, seeming surprisingly enthusiastic for someone who’d supposedly just been robbed. “That’s what happened.”
Even the fierce surge of protectiveness that had risen up when Tim saw the bruising wasn’t enough to get him to ignore such a blatantly terrible lie.
“Okay. Who mugged you?”
Connor’s eyes widened. “Uh. A gang?”
“Uh-huh.” Tim crossed his arms and forced himself to ignore the way Colin flinched. “And where did this happen?”
“The…streets…”
“Connor…”
“What?”
“I can’t help you if you’re going to lie to me.”
To his credit, Connor knew when to give up.
“Maybe I don’t want you to help me,” he muttered.
Tim’s still-fragile ego wailed for him to keep pushing, to barrel in and help Connor because that was his job. He ruthlessly pushed those thoughts aside. What Connor needed was more important than what Tim’s ego wanted.
“Then what do you want?” Tim asked as calmly as he could. “Do you want someone else to help you? If you do, I can at least help you find them.”
“Can you get me someone who won’t tell my dad?” Connor said under his breath.
“You don’t want Spencer to know?” Connor tensed. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Tim held back a sigh. He might not have been dealing with teenagers for very long, but the way Connor was stubbornly setting his jaw was almost a picture-perfect copy of the exact same expression on an eight-year-old. No matter how much he pushed, Connor wasn’t going to answer. “Can you at least tell me why you wanted to lie to me about getting mugged?”
Connor said nothing. Tim decided to switch tracks.
“You know your dad’s gonna see how beat up you are, right?”
“Not if you take me to buy makeup.” Connor rolled his eyes impatiently at Tim’s raised eyebrow. “To cover up the damage.”
“You put a lot of thought into this.”
“I had a lot of time to think while Ju—” Connor clamped his jaw shut and turned his head away, flushing slightly.
“Drug-store makeup can’t cover up that much of a black eye,” Tim said, ignoring Connor’s slip. “Not to mention the split lip. And even if it could, I’m not lying to your dad about this.”
Connor glared up at him. “You said you were my friend!”
“I am.”
“A real friend would lie to my dad for me.”
Tim shook his head. “A real friend would want to make sure you’re taken care of. Whether that means telling your dad or taking you to a hospital or a rape center—”
“I didn’t get raped!” Connor cried.
“I didn’t say you did.” Though he could have collapsed with relief at hearing it. “I was just listing things.”
“Well don’t list that. De—he—they just…” Connor groaned in frustration. “Dad’s never gonna let this go now…”
Now? Tim frowned. He’d never been slow, however, and it didn’t take too long before things began to slide into place. “Did those kids who were bothering you in school do this?”
Even without the flinch, the way Connor refused to meet his eyes was all the answer he needed.
“Jesus Christ,” Tim breathed.
“It’s not that bad!”
“Not that bad? They’re beating you up outside of school. That’s assault.”
As far as Tim was concerned, it was assault when it happened in school too, even though schools rarely handled as such. But this definitely wasn’t the time to dwell on the failings of public schools.
“No, it’s not! They’re just—I mean it has nothing to do with… Please don’t tell my dad.”
Connor’s eyes started to tear up, and Tim could feel his heart wrenching.
“I’m sorry, Connor, but I have to.”
“Please!”
“Even if I wanted to keep it from him—which I don’t—center policy says I have to tell the parents when something happens to a kid I’m watching.”
“But you weren’t watching me when it happened!”
“Doesn’t matter. You were on your way here, and more importantly, your dad has texts from me saying I’d look after you that were sent after he confirmed you’d already left. Even after I tell him what happened, he could still get me fired for that alone, and probably arrested too.”
Which wasn’t exactly true. Even if he thought Dick would be that unfair, the policy really only applied when the kids were in the presence of a center worker, and Spencer would have to accuse him of beating Connor before the police would do anything. He felt bad about lying, especially when the tears started dripping down Connor’s cheeks, but in this case, it was for the best. Spencer needed to know about what happened to his son, and fighting with Tim about it would only make Connor more upset in the long run.
“I can walk you home,” Tim offered, as if he’d ever let Connor walk out of here alone after being attacked. “And I can be there when you talk to your dad if you’re worried about how he’ll react.”
“Can you keep him from killing me?”
Tim thought it was much more likely he’d want to kill the kids who did this.
An image popped into Tim’s head of him holding a flailing Spencer by the back of his shirt as he scrambled to get free to murder a group of faceless teenagers. Despite the situation, Tim had to press his lips together to smother a completely inappropriate laugh.
“I think that’s probably the least I can do.”
Connor glowered. “You better.”
They made the walk home in silence, sullen on Connor’s part and grim on Tim’s. Even though this was the right t
hing to do, he wasn’t looking forward to telling Spencer his son had been attacked.
Connor is Spencer’s whole life. This will completely gut him.
Spencer and Connor lived in a surprisingly nice neighborhood for a single dad on a city teacher’s salary. Their house appeared to be one of those two-story buildings that had been converted into duplex townhouses, complete with a small little garden cradled between two sets of stairs, the house itself, and the sidewalk. Connor led the way up the rightmost set of stairs like a man walking the last leg of The Green Mile. He pushed open the door and slunk inside, leaving it open for Tim to follow, which he did…
And was immediately hit with the sound of someone very loudly belting out the chorus of “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
“Dad hasn’t heard us yet,” Connor said quietly. “We can still leave.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “That’s Spencer? Wow. He’s really good.”
Connor’s face twisted into an expression of pure incredulous disgust.
“You are so weird,” he said and then stalked off further into the house. Tim shook himself and caught up to him, gently taking his shoulder so he couldn’t run off. It got him a filthy glare, but there was no way Tim was going to try to explain what happened without Connor right there so Spencer could see the damage. Spencer was definitely the type of person who would immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion if Connor wasn’t right in front of him.
Tim took a moment to glance around the house. The small foyer they were standing in led into a short hallway. At the end of the hall, Tim could see what appeared to be a small kitchen along with two more halls he couldn’t see down, one leading left and the other right. To the right of the hall Tim stood in, he saw a large open entryway. All along the hall were framed pictures, but instead of the usual landscapes or family portraits, each frame held a picture of a character from a movie or video game—including one of Darth Vader dressed as a Napoleon-era French general. Tim couldn’t help smiling. It was exactly how he would have imagined Spencer decorating his house.
Then Connor led them through the entryway and into the living room, and interior decorating became the absolute last thing on Tim’s mind.
