by Dan Wingreen
The room itself seemed kind of narrow with a large flat-screen TV bolted to the far wall above an entertainment center packed full of video-game consoles and overflowing with tangled wires. On top of the entertainment center sat a display case filled with what seemed to be replica Harry Potter wands. Across from the TV, next to the entryway, there sat a black leather couch flanked by two recliners; one, a black leather as well, and the other one a deep-purple velvet. And right in the center of the room, singing into a PS4 Rock Band microphone with a cheap plastic Rock Band guitar slung over his shoulder, stood a Spencer Tim had never seen before.
He wore a pair of flannel pajamas, which was so different from his usual tight jeans and grandpa sweaters and at least three sizes too big. His hair, usually somewhat tamed by product, was floating around his head like soft, fluffy feathers. The scruffy, nearly full beard was also a surprise since the most Tim had ever seen before was five-o’clock stubble. It somehow made Spencer seem even younger than he usually did; like a boy who had tried growing it out in a desperate attempt to seem mature, rather than a man six years older than Tim with a son and an actual career. He looked…utterly adorable in a way Tim wasn’t at all prepared for, and he had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to coo and hug him.
“Dad.”
Spencer stopped singing and paused the game. “What are you doing…”
His gaze passed right over Connor and landed on Tim. He froze and then let out a tiny shriek and quickly started pushing his hair down. “Why didn’t you tell me you brought him home?” he hissed. “I haven’t showered in like two days…”
And then he noticed his son.
“Oh my God! What happened to you?” He immediately forgot about his hair and rushed over to Connor, pulling him into a hug before pushing him back and frantically examining the injuries on his face. “Are you okay? Did you get mugged?”
“Yes,” Connor said.
“No,” Tim said at the exact same time.
Spencer glanced back and forth between the two of them. Tim tensed, fully expecting Spencer to believe his son over someone he’d wanted nothing to do with until two weeks ago. After a long moment, Spencer gripped Connor’s shoulders tightly for a second and sighed.
“Okay. Another talk about lying in the future. Great.” He turned to Tim. “What happened?”
“Wait—” Connor started.
“He said the boys who were picking on him in school attacked him.”
Spencer’s entire body stiffened.
“I never said that,” Connor said quickly.
“Names.”
“Dad—”
“Names, Connor.” Spencer leaned down so they were eye to eye. “Now.”
“Please…”
Spencer didn’t so much as blink, and Tim could see the exact moment Connor gave up.
“Dean and Julie Henderson,” he muttered, roughly palming the tears away from his eyes.
Spencer blinked. “Dean and Julie—”
“Yeah, Dad. Julie.” He shoved Spencer’s hands off his shoulders and moved away. “I’m getting beat up by a girl. Happy?”
“Not at all.” Spencer frowned. “Is that why you never fought back? Because you were being beat up by a girl?”
“You can’t hit girls.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.” Connor gaped at him, and even Tim had to raise an eyebrow. “Okay, I mean, yeah you can’t go around hitting girls—or anyone—just because you want to, but if one of them attacks you? Damn right you hit her back. The most important thing is that you protect yourself if you can. I’m not gonna be mad at you if you hit someone in self-defense. Just get away and come back here, and we’ll sort it out, okay?”
Connor stood stock still, not saying anything. Spencer sighed.
“I’m not mad at you. And I don’t think you’re weak or anything because you’re getting bullied by a girl. I know the Hendersons. I had Julie in fifth period a few years ago, and she’s fucking jacked even compared to some of the boys in school. And her brother’s always been…off. I don’t blame you for being scared of them.” His expression hardened. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”
Spencer straightened up and turned to Tim.
“Can you stay with him while I call the cops? They’ll probably want to talk to you too since—”
“No! You can’t call the cops!”
“Con, they attacked you outside of school. I can most definitely call the cops, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
“They didn’t attack me! I…” Connor wrapped his arms around his waist and lowered his head. “I hit him first.”
Spencer started at him in disbelief. “You hit him first?”
Connor swallowed and nodded.
“Why?”
Connor flinched.
Spencer sighed again and softened his voice. “Sorry. I just want to know what happened. I won’t yell…unless you, like, walked up to them in the streets and started swinging away. If you did that, we’re gonna have a long talk about assault and battery and why you wouldn’t last a day in juvie.”
Tim frowned. That last part was a little insensitive, but he kept his thoughts to himself when all Connor did was sniff loudly and wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t even know they were there until they stopped in front of me.”
“Okay, good,” Spencer said. “What happened next? Did one of them make a move like they were going to hurt you?”
“No. They just started saying the same shit they always say in school, and I can deal with it in school because it’s like five minutes at most between classes, but they wouldn’t stop, and no one was saying anything, and I got so mad…”
“So, you hit him.” Spencer’s face turned grim. “Him, right? Dean?”
Connor nodded. “Yeah. I hit him, and then he hit me back, and then she hit me. Then I fell down, and they both kicked me and left.”
“They kicked you?” Spencer immediately reached for Connor, who quickly stepped back. “Stay still, I need to make sure your ribs aren’t broken.”
Connor shot a quick panicked glance at Tim. “They’re not!”
“You don’t know—”
“I think,” Tim said, interrupting, “that if he’s moving around as well as he is, his ribs probably aren’t even bruised. You can wait until I leave before checking him over.”
He almost smiled at the exaggerated expression of relief that came over Connor’s face and silently begged Spencer not to make his son lift his shirt while Tim was there. He’d spent enough summers helping with swimming lessons at the YMCA to recognize the signs of a body-shy teenager.
Spencer pressed his lips together tightly but nodded. “All right. But the second Tim leaves I’m making sure you’re not hurt. Either that or I’m taking you to the hospital,” he added, steamrolling over Connor’s half-voiced objection.
“Fine,” Connor said sullenly. “And…you’re not gonna call the cops?”
“No,” he said, sounding even more sulky than Connor. “Not if you threw the first punch. Unless Tim’s willing to lie and say he saw the whole thing, and they attacked first…”
He glanced questioningly at Tim, but before Tim could even think to respond, Spencer shook his head.
“Never mind. That’s unfair, sorry.”
Relief flooded Tim. He had no idea how he was going to say no—or if he even wanted to. Spencer and Connor had been the only bright spots in his life these past few weeks, and he’d already lost a relationship and his future because there was only so far he was willing to compromise his morals. Would he be willing to lose them too? He didn’t know, and he was very glad he didn’t have to find out.
“Can I go to my room then?” Connor asked.
Spencer’s hands clenched tightly, and Tim got the idea the last thing he wanted to do was let Connor out of his sight. Yet, when he answered, his voice was calm, if subdued.
“Yeah,” he said, “go on.”
Connor glanced warily at Tim like he expected him to disagree and make him stay.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Tim said, flashing his best reassuring smile.
Connor barely finished nodding before taking off toward the nearby stairs. He got maybe two steps before Spencer broke, running after him and pulling him into a backward hug.
“Dad!” He struggled to get away, but it seemed to be mostly out of habit instead of an actual desire not to be touched. Spencer squeezed him tighter, burying his face in the soft curls on his son’s head.
“I love you, kid,” he said so softly Tim barely heard.
There was a long silence, and then, “I love you too.”
Spencer’s arms tightened again, and then he let him go. Connor ran out of the room. They both listened to the sounds of sneakers clomping up the stairs. His room must have been right at the top because almost the moment the noise stopped, Tim heard a door closing just quiet enough not to be a slam. The moment it closed, Spencer collapsed on the couch before resting his arms heavily on his legs and letting his hands dangle limply between his thighs.
Tim shifted in place, suddenly uncomfortable now that Connor wasn’t there as a barrier between them. Should he say something? Spencer was obviously upset. Should he try to comfort him? Tim’s instinct was to sit next to him and put his arm around his shoulder, but that seemed like it could go wrong in more ways than he could bear to count. Would Spencer even want comforting? The more insidious thought, that this was all Tim’s fault for not watching after Connor the way he promised, kept him paralyzed and silent. If Spencer wanted to yell at him, he would stand there and take it and know he deserved every second of it.
Which was why, when Spencer finally spoke, Tim was half-convinced he was having a wishful hallucination.
“Thank you.”
Tim stared. “What?”
Spencer glanced up, a rueful expression on his face, like he knew exactly what Tim had been thinking. “For making sure he got home safe, I mean. It’s just… Thank you.”
“Oh. Right. Uh. You’re welcome.”
“We’re articulate today, aren’t we?” Even though Spencer’s tone was teasing, his smile was nowhere to be seen. He stared up at Tim, half his face bathed in light from the paused game. He seemed tired and haggard. The circles under his eyes were so dark they had to have been building up way before Connor came home with a bloody face.
I completely forgot he’s been grading papers all weekend. I was supposed to be giving him a break, and all I did was bring him his beat-up son.
“Can you sit down or something?” Spencer asked, dropping his head. “I feel like I’m about to be lectured by my dad with you standing over me like that.”
“Sorry.” Tim sat down next to him on the couch and only then wondered if that was okay. Was he sitting too close? Did Spencer want him to sit in the recliner off to the side instead?
Why are you being weird about this?
“Is it wrong that I kinda really wanna drive around the city until I see those little shits and run them down?” Spencer asked.
Tim blinked. “I…you have a car?”
Spencer let out a surprised laugh. “Really?”
“What?” Tim said, feeling slightly defensive—and more than slightly embarrassed by his inane question. Why was being alone with Spencer short-circuiting his brain like this today? Was it because they were in his house? Was it because of what happened to Connor?
“Let me guess—” Spencer tilted his head and peered up at him with a small, shadow of a smile. “—you’re a lifelong Chicagoan, and you don’t need no cah when there’s public transpahtashin’?” he asked, finishing the last part of his sentence with what Tim assumed was supposed to be a Chicago accent.
The tiny Mary Ellis that lived inside his head let out an indignant gasp, and he responded without thinking. “I’m from New York, actually.” Then, because he wasn’t his mother and didn’t really care when people didn’t immediately recognize him as a New Yorker, admitted, “But yeah. I’ve never known anyone outside of college who owned a car.”
Spencer sat up straight. “You lived in New York?”
“Yes…”
“Like, the city?”
Tim nodded. “Queens.”
Spencer laughed again. “I grew up in Putnam Valley.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Spencer shook his head in disbelief. “That’s so weird. We lived like an hour away from each other when we were kids and then met at a youth center in Chicago.”
An odd, bubbly tightness spread throughout Tim’s chest. “Yeah…”
“So, why did you move out here? Was it because you hated living there? Because I went to Manhattan once, and it was fucking awful.”
“I wanted to get away from my mom.” Spencer burst out laughing. Tim winced. “I mean…”
“No, no way. That was way too honest. You don’t get to take it back. I wouldn’t believe anything you tried to say anyway.”
Tim huffed but couldn’t quite hold back the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew what Spencer was doing, latching onto pointless small talk to keep from thinking about Connor, but part of Tim relished the opportunity to learn more about him. “Fine. Why did you leave, then?”
Spencer’s laughter trailed off. “College.” He hesitated, then added, “And…Connor.”
“You moved here because of Connor?”
“No, I moved here for my job. I went to Ohio State for college, and by the time I graduated, my parents had moved and were living with Connor in Columbus full-time…but yeah. I originally went so far away because I wanted to get away from him.”
Tim gaped at him. “You left Connor behind?” That sounded nothing like the Spencer he knew. That Spencer lived for Connor; it was one of the things Tim liked the most about him.
Spencer smiled weakly. “Connor was born when I was fourteen. My parents helped out a lot, but I was still a teenager with a kid going to school with people who already hated me for being small, dorky, and gay. Getting away from it all, going to college, and pretending I was any other stupid kid just starting to grow up? That was like a fucking paradise to me back then, and I was weak, so I jumped at the chance.”
Tim felt like he’d run all out into a brick wall. Spencer’s gay?
Spencer snorted. “Go on and ask.”
Tim didn’t waste any time. “You’re gay?”
“What?”
“What?”
“That’s what you’re asking?”
“You just said I could…”
“No—I mean, yeah, but…that’s not what I expected…” He shook his head again. “People usually want to ask about how Connor was born.”
“Through…childbirth?” Tim said before he could stop himself. He mentally groaned and fought the urge to pound his head against the wall.
“Seriously?”
“Sorry. I’m…sorry. I just…didn’t expect you to be gay,” he finished lamely.
Spencer’s eyes turned flinty. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No!” Tim exclaimed, his eyes wide. “Of course not. I…I’m gay too.”
Spencer stilled. “Oh.”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed, though Tim couldn’t even begin to describe how. Maybe they’d both made assumptions about each other, and they just needed a minute to brush those assumptions away and slot new information into place.
And speaking of new information…
“Can I still ask about Connor?”
“Yes,” Spencer said in a strange tone Tim couldn’t interpret. His eyes were doing this flickery thing, almost like he was constantly forcing himself to look right at Tim. “Um, are you going to…?”
Oh, yeah. I’ve been staring at him for a while, haven’t I?
Tim felt his face start to burn, and he really hoped he wasn’t blushing too visibly.
“Uh.” Tim cleared his throat. “So…how did Connor get born?”
Spencer studi
ed him for a long moment. Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth curled up.
“Childbirth.”
Tim couldn’t do anything but laugh. “Seriously?”
Spencer grinned. “Yep. Well, childbirth preceded by thirteen-year-old me getting drunk on spiked punch at a school dance and having sex with an equally drunk girl named Becky Ling in an attempt to prove that everyone at school was wrong, and I wasn’t the least bit gay at all.”
“Ser—” No, he didn’t want Spencer to think he was joking this time. “Really?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the P a little. “I’d probably feel bad about using her like that if I wasn’t almost 100 percent sure she’d just been using me to take a dive into the deep end of the teenage-rebellion pool. That and the aforementioned drunkenness.”
At Tim’s questioning glance, he added, “Her parents were really strict and very stereotypically Chinese. I’m pretty sure if she was sober, she might have tried dating me, or some other non-Chinese boy, instead of…you know, jumping one. She seemed to sober up pretty fast once she realized what we’d done though.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Both of us did, really.”
Tim had no idea what to think.
“Wow. That…”
“Sucks? Yeah, I thought so too. Mostly because it drove home just how incredibly gay I actually was, which meant everyone who made fun of me and pushed me into lockers and everything had been right all along, and that…well. At the time, I was pretty sure that was the worst thing that could ever happen.” He smiled wryly. “Imagine my surprise when Mom and Dad Ling showed up at my parent’s door two months later screaming in Mandarin and demanding a paternity test.”
“No way.”
“Oh, yes.
“God.” Tim couldn’t suppress a shiver as he pictured the same situation, but with his mother on the other side of the door, and before he could even consider whether or not it was too invasive for their new friendship, asked, “What did your parents do?”
Spencer’s lips twitched. “They locked the door and called the cops.”
“They didn’t yell at you?”
“Not at me, no. The poor cop got an earful when he wouldn’t arrest Becky’s parents.”
“Really?” At Spencer’s nod, Tim shook his head. “My mom would have killed me if I got someone pregnant in high school.”
