by M. A. Hinkle
“What? Why is everyone staring at me?” Felix’s voice was plaintive. He always cracked after thirty seconds of silence and told you every bad thing he’d done that day, even though his only sin was finishing the milk and putting the carton back in the fridge.
Cathal let out a delicate sigh. He must have gone to some kind of gay academy to learn those; he had a sigh for every occasion. “The plot has thickened, nephew mine. Like a fart in a crowded room, you cannot hide the truth forever. Out with it.”
Felix clapped his hands over his face. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice cracked, and he peered at them through the gaps in his fingers.
Damon looked from his son to Cathal. “This is really what you want to talk about now?”
Cathal shrugged. “This is the logical next step.” Damon opened his mouth. “And if you argue with my logic, I swear to God I will punch you in the dick. No more secrets. We’re all on this goddamn feelings boat together.” He turned his attention back to Felix. “Therefore. Fess up, kiddo. The cat is not only out of the bag, but he’s also gone and fathered a litter of adorable kittens in the time you’ve spent dancing around the point. I keep telling you this is real life, not cabaret.”
Felix wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what that means.”
Cathal covered his face. “Oh, how I have failed you as the token gay man in your life.”
“Enough.” Damon stepped between them. “There’s no need for this.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Felix, I’m sorry, but I eavesdropped on you last night. I know about your crush.”
Felix dropped his hands, his eyes wide. “Seriously?”
Cathal spread his fingers so Damon could see his skeptical look. “You know, I was trying to let you off the hook here, Damon.”
Damon looked back without blinking. “In this house, Cathal, we tell the truth.”
Cathal looked confused. “I wasn’t saying lie to him, but you didn’t need to tell him the embarrassing part. It’s called saving face.”
“He’s my son. I’ve got five million ways to blackmail him. I don’t need to worry if he’s got something to guilt me over.”
Cathal raised a finger and then lowered it. “That was surprisingly ruthless. Objection rescinded. The court may proceed.”
Damon wanted to point out how weird he was, but then they’d never get Felix pinned down.
And, as it turned out, Felix was scooting out of the kitchen, though he froze when Damon looked at him. “Okay, okay!” Felix hung his head. “I like the new guy, okay? He’s really cute and really talented and he’s got eyes like—like eyes that are really great eyes.”
Cathal made a stifled noise. Damon shot him a look, but Cathal had already recovered, his fist up against his mouth like he was stifling a cough.
Again. Distraction. “Why didn’t you tell me, son?” Damon only realized as he said the words that he was…hurt. He was such a complete fuckup that his own son had gone to his tone-deaf uncle first.
Goddammit.
Felix didn’t answer. Damon let out a breath, pushing those feelings away. They weren’t important. What was important was his son.
Trust me. He needs his family.
Damon shook his head to banish Cathal’s words. “Did you think I’d have a problem with you liking a boy?”
But Felix shook his head. “No, I know you wouldn’t care.” His eyes slid away and grew grave. “Just…after everything that’s happened…”
“You thought I wouldn’t want to hear about it.” Felix nodded, his expression miserable. Damon closed the distance between them and put a hand on Felix’s shoulder. Felix hugged him. Not like he was upset—Felix hugged anything that would stand still long enough, and even things that didn’t.
Damon patted his back, staring out the small window over the kitchen sink. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself for that. I’m sorry, Felix. I’m glad you like someone. It’s part of being your age. For most people, anyway.” He took a step back to look down into Felix’s eyes. “And it doesn’t matter who this person is or what they look like as long as they treat you well.”
Felix blinked rapidly, then pressed his face into Damon’s chest again. “It’s not an after-school special, Dad. You don’t have to tell me it’s okay to be gay. Or bi. Or whatever I am. I’ve got Cathal for that.”
Damon couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder at Cathal, who was watching with an unreadable expression. A frown touched Damon’s lips, but he was confused, not upset. “I suppose you do,” he said at last.
Cathal cleared his throat, but he choked on something and doubled over, coughing.
Felix lifted his head. “You okay, Cathal?” he asked, standing on tiptoe so he could peer over Damon’s shoulder.
Cathal rubbed his throat, narrowing his eyes. “I happened to notice there’s a lavender elephant in the room. You understand.”
Damon got the hint. He rolled his eyes and stepped sideways to let Cathal into the conversation. “Okay, okay.”
Cathal smirked. Felix wiped his face clean of tears with no shame and then looked between the two of them, confused.
Damon hadn’t explained as much to Cathal, but he’d only never told Felix about his sexuality because he didn’t know how. Cathal had always had boyfriends, and they were treated as normal parts of life, so much so that Felix wasn’t even surprised when gay marriage was legalized. If Felix had ever talked about it with anyone, it was with his mother or Cathal.
Probably Cathal. Era was straight, as far as she’d ever told Damon.
But he didn’t want to think about that. He pushed his hand through his hair and grasped at the first thing that came to mind. “Did I ever tell you how I met Cathal?”
“It’s kind of implied, Dad.” His eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Cathal. “Unless you’re like some secret spy person and not actually Mom’s best friend.”
Cathal snorted. “I was disowned, Felix, not imported. And don’t interrupt your father, or he’ll weasel out of this. I’m the one who’s bad at getting to points, remember?”
Felix considered this, then nodded and looked back at Damon.
Damon hooked his thumbs in his pockets and leaned against the counter. “I met him first, actually. In a gay bar. I like women and men.”
Felix’s brows snapped together in horror. “Not—”
“We didn’t do anything!” Damon and Cathal said at the same time. Damon felt better that Cathal also looked shocked.
“Please, Felix. I have standards.” Cathal shuddered. “I threw him out on his ass, and we’ve never got on since. So there is the grand story of our ancient grudge. Minus the star-crossed lovers crap. And also all the murder.”
Felix looked between the two of them, his face still scrunched up. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense.”
Cathal opened his mouth to reply, as though that were a normal thing to say.
“No.” Damon pointed at him. “No. We are not going to encourage him. We are going to eat lasagna.”
Cathal blinked. Then he nodded. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve ever said.”
Damon took the garlic bread out of the oven—luckily he’d turned the broiler off before Felix came home and just had the oven on to keep it warm—and set it on the stove beside the lasagna pan. Felix reached for a piece, trying to be sneaky, but Damon smacked his fingers with the oven mitt. “Don’t even think about it. You’ll burn yourself like you do every time.”
Felix let out a dramatic sigh, but he sat down and let Damon put everything on plates and bring it to the table. Felix reached again and then promptly pulled his hand back so he could suck on his burned fingers. Damon did not say I told you so, because he was a good dad. Instead, he served the lasagna.
Cathal squinted at it. “So what’s weird?”
“It’s lasagna. Don’t be paranoid.” Damon turned his attention to Felix to avoid giving away the surprise. “So tell me about him.”
Felix hunched in on himself, but
not enough that he couldn’t also eat lasagna between descriptions of Morgan. Who could apparently do everything and also was the cutest guy in existence.
Cathal made a frustrated noise. “Okay, what is in this? It’s not right.” He’d already eaten half his piece and was now picking apart the layers with his fork, glaring at his plate.
Damon finally, finally allowed himself to smile. “I used slices of eggplant and zucchini instead of noodles. It’s better for you that way.”
Cathal looked at his plate, then at Damon, and then back at his plate. “You are a vile human being.” Then he stuffed another forkful in his mouth.
DAMON DIDN’T KNOW what to do with himself after dinner. For once, he didn’t want to go up to his room and go to bed. Things…things had happened today, and he needed to think about them, and he wouldn’t if he turned his brain off.
Even though turning his brain off was the only thing that helped.
Well, there were other ways to turn off his brain.
The TV in the living room had sat untouched since Era got sick, since only Damon used it on a regular basis. Felix preferred watching things on his laptop or phone, and Era only liked it for background noise as she graded papers. They’d spent plenty of time on the couch together—Damon with his arm stretched along the back, Era curled into herself, her tongue between her teeth so she wouldn’t curse as she worked. Her hand resting on his knee. His fingers carding through her hair as she read a particularly bad passage to him.
Needless to say, nobody’d been using the living room. Damon walked in slowly, waiting for his mind to stop working, for his breath to catch, for his legs to give out underneath him.
There, after all, was the stain on the corner of the coffee table when Era had laughed so hard she’d knocked over a bottle of champagne after their wedding. The wall over the couch had once held pictures of their milestones as a family: their vow renewal, Felix’s first birthday, Felix’s first day at Cherrywood Elementary and then at high school. Now there were only blank spaces.
It hurt. But it was like stepping on something sharp instead of drowning. Bright and gone, not deadening. Endless.
Damon stood in the doorway, letting himself breathe. Then he sat down. After a moment, he got back up, but only to go to the fridge.
He had just gotten settled on the couch and picked one of his recordings from several months ago—how long ago he did not think about—when Cathal passed by with a sleeve of Oreos. Damon stared straight ahead, but Cathal still came into the living room and perched on the edge of the couch. He drew an Oreo out and twisted it apart, though he didn’t eat it. Instead, he stared at the screen as though the opening text of Damon’s food show was written in Swahili.
Damon wanted to turn the TV off and run.
Had he thought Cathal was annoying because of his expressions?
No, no. The really annoying thing was that he was as good at silence as he was at talking. He could always make you screw yourself.
Either way, Damon couldn’t stand the quiet anymore. “I figured I’d catch up. You’re the one who’s always saying how backward I am.”
Cathal did not rise to the bait. Rather, he nodded at the six-pack sitting on the edge of the table. “With a beer.”
His voice was…neutral. Damon hadn’t thought that was possible. Cathal cast judgment on everything, from candy flavors to dog breeds. And he enjoyed it.
Damon squared his shoulders. “Yeah, with a beer.” He waited for Cathal’s next comment. But Cathal kept staring at the beer, his eyes narrowed. It was almost the way he stared at food he didn’t like, but not quite. Then his upper lip curled in unconscious disgust, like with the soup. No, now…
Damon frowned. “Wait, are you worried about me?”
Cathal jerked upright and nearly fell off the arm of the couch. Damon knew he was right, even though Cathal said, “Absolutely not.” Cathal steadied himself and crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you were trying to keep alcohol out of the house, so I was respecting that by not drinking. But now you’ve got some, and I want one.”
Damon thought about raising a stink. But he wasn’t as good at raising a stink as Cathal, and he didn’t feel like being humiliated.
And they had…come to an agreement. Sort of. So he broke one of the beers off the plastic ring and passed it to Cathal.
Cathal took it, but he settled it against the back of the couch instead of drinking it. He licked the cream center out of his Oreo, his eyes still narrowed. Damon watched Cathal’s tongue. He hadn’t thought anyone could look grumpy eating a cookie.
Damon realized he was staring at Cathal’s mouth and turned his attention to the TV. He unpaused it and listened to the announcer explain the show even though it was the same every time. But the repetition helped clear his head. “Fine. You weren’t worried.” He took in another breath. “And you don’t need to be. I’m only having one. That’s…that’s not the way to handle this.”
Cathal ate the rest of his Oreo. “Well. None of that is relevant, because I wasn’t interested in your drinking. I didn’t want to get crumbs in my room, and I was curious what you were watching. I don’t have a TV.” A minor irritating thing about Cathal was that his voice was always crisp and clear like a radio announcer’s. Sometimes Damon half expected him to launch into a weather report.
“Of course you don’t.”
Cathal straightened his back. Another thing—he had perfect posture. And you knew he was judging you for slouching. That wasn’t top of the list, though, since the reminder to sit up straight was helpful. Unlike everything else about Cathal. “So. What are we watching?”
Instead of answering, Damon rewound the recording back to the host’s explanation. He expected Cathal to make fun, but instead, Cathal watched with an intense expression—the kind he saved for scribbling nonsense on Post-it notes. And it was nonsense. Damon had cleaned up enough notes that said things like “If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, and we don’t know where Cotton Eye Joe came from or where he went, we have an epidemic on our hands” or “Is there a number one pencil? Research.”
Cathal’s expression brightened when they introduced the contestants, since the first one was a feminine gay man with an adorable husband. “Ooh, a token sassy queen. I love this crap.”
Damon decided not to say anything. Maybe if he kept quiet, Cathal would lose interest.
Or…maybe Cathal would enjoy himself. Damon expected him to get up and leave after finishing his Oreos, but he cracked his beer and…didn’t say anything.
It had to be a trick.
Well. Whatever. Damon loved this show, so he was going to enjoy himself. And he did, for the first forty minutes. Then they got to the dessert round, and Cathal spoke up again. “Okay, what the fuck is bread pudding and why are they all acting like it’s the worst idea ever?”
Damon frowned and glanced at Cathal. But Cathal, to all appearances, was invested. His eyes were narrowed, and he was leaning toward the TV like that would get him closer to the action.
Actually, it reminded Damon of Felix. He did the same thing when they were listening to music. Only with giggling.
“You mean you want my opinion?” Damon couldn’t help the distrust in his voice. He’d never been smart, and he knew it. Worse, Cathal knew it.
But, to his surprise, Cathal glanced at him, and his expression was actually… Well. Not kind, because before yesterday with Felix, Damon would have insisted Cathal was incapable of kindness.
Not threatening, maybe. Cathal normally looked like he’d poisoned your coffee and was waiting for the cramps to hit. But…not now.
“Yes,” said Cathal. “You’re the subject matter expert. I don’t know anything about cooking, and I want to know why everybody thinks cute gay boy won’t win.”
Damon tucked his hands in his armpits. “Why can’t you be an asshole all the time?”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but Cathal laughed. Real laughter, not scornful. “I am many things, Damon, but I am n
ever predictable. Now. Bread pudding.”
Damon stared at him. Cathal never said his name. It was weird. “Okay, fine. Bread pudding is stale bread mixed with a custard.” Cathal frowned as if Damon had switched to French. “Which is eggs and milk and sugar. But it takes a long time for the bread to soak up the custard, and it takes a long time for the custard to set in the oven. If he waits too long to bake it, he ends up with raw eggs. If he doesn’t let it sit long enough, he gets flavorless bread cubes.”
Cathal squinted, but it wasn’t the type of squint where he said something asshole-ish. That one involved his brow furrowing and his lips pursing until they almost disappeared. Instead, he wrinkled his nose. “Is this what passes for drama in the food world?”
Damon rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the TV. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
“Just for that, I’m staying.”
Four: Potato Pancakes Disappoint Everyone.
NOW THAT DAMON had gotten back into cooking, he felt… Not better. Less bad.
Other people said they liked cooking because it helped them think, but nothing helped Damon think. His brain was one of those marble labyrinths where you had to tilt and twist the box to make the ball bearing drop out the bottom. No matter how hard he tried, he could never be as fast on his feet as Era or Cathal or even his son.
But cooking was nice. Something to reach for on days like today, when he woke up and the bed was empty and cold but he’d still curled into the corner to leave space for another person. Era was a bed and blanket hog. Damon was still adjusting to waking each morning covered.
Downstairs, they had russet potatoes on the verge of sprouting eyes, so he got out a grater and a bowl. Cathal came into the kitchen right when Damon got a good rhythm going. He looked so tired as to be deranged, but that wasn’t anything new.
What was new was the legal pad tucked under one elbow.
“I’m making potato pancakes.” Maybe that would delay the legal pad.
Cathal set it on the table.
Well. One more tactic. “Is that for whatever you’re working on up there?” Not that Damon was interested in Cathal’s new project. Good that he was working, but it would go straight over Damon’s head.
