by M. A. Hinkle
Damon rubbed his forehead. Then he knocked.
No answer from within. Damon didn’t want to say anything, in case Felix heard. His son had always been a light sleeper, and Damon had no idea how to explain any of this to him.
Instead, Damon knocked again.
Still nothing.
Cathal was not asleep. But Cathal was not going to answer the door.
Well. His son was right, as he so often was. Damon went to go lay down.
HE WOKE UP at five, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he’d slept badly or because it was ingrained in him at this point. When he first left his job, he’d been able to sleep in, but now his old schedule had returned to him, and it was awful. Waking up early made it clear how much of the day you had left to fill.
Before this he’d been getting better, but now he couldn’t get the image of that closed door out of his mind. He’d been a fool in so many ways.
Well, he’d learned one thing since Era died. He could sit in bed and mope, or he could get up and do something. Sooner or later, momentum would carry him to something better.
TO HIS SURPRISE, Felix came down an hour later, rubbing his eyes. He sat at the table. “What are you making, Dad?”
“Nothing, really,” said Damon, squashing the gum paste. “Just practicing. Couldn’t you sleep either?”
Felix shrugged. “I had too much to think about, I guess.”
“Make any decisions?” Damon asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Felix shook his head, staring at the floor. Felix didn’t usually worry about anything for long; it didn’t fit his face. “All I know is I’m hungry.”
“You could have said you wanted me to make breakfast.” Damon couldn’t imagine eating, but making breakfast would help.
“That’s no fun.” Felix twisted on his chair as Damon gathered the ingredients for scrambled eggs and hash browns. “Should I go wake up Cathal?”
Damon paused, half out of the fridge. Then he made himself start moving again, glad he had his back turned. Felix was only perceptive when you didn’t want him to be. “No, let him sleep. The smell’ll wake him up if he’s hungry.”
Felix flopped forward on the table. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”
“This is why you need to learn to cook, son,” said Damon, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Hash browns are delicious, but they’re not complicated.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded, but whatever happened was out of his control. He’d done something dumb, and now he’d have to take the cards where they fell.
“But then I couldn’t make you make them for me.”
Damon almost wished Cathal was down there with them. He would have had the perfect thing to call Felix, in that tone of voice that sounded so rude but was really the way Cathal talked when he didn’t want to admit he had feelings like a person. Damon settled for, “At least you’re not this lazy in other parts of your life.”
“Cathal says it’s being efficient.”
It wasn’t worth arguing, so Damon kept his mouth shut.
DAMON WAS FINISHING breakfast when he heard Cathal come downstairs. Damon wanted to step out in the hallway and see what was going on. But he made himself keep watching the hash browns, even though no amount of staring would make them turn golden and delicious any faster.
At the sound of footsteps, Felix perked up, but his brow furrowed when Cathal didn’t immediately come in the kitchen. He stuck his head out. “Where are you going, Cathal?”
Damon didn’t catch what Cathal said, and he told himself he did not care.
“So you’re going to go without eating?” Felix said, sounding dismayed. “It’s all ready, isn’t it, Dad?”
Damon suppressed a grimace, turned away from the hash browns, and walked to stand by Felix.
Cathal had a duffel bag draped over one shoulder, pulling his suitcase behind him. He looked the same as when he arrived at their place after Era moved into the hospital: distant, unruffled, untouchable. Damon had forgotten how empty Cathal could look.
“I’ve got to go and get ready.” Cathal was looking at Felix, not at Damon. He hadn’t looked at Damon at all. “I’ve got to get things organized—the summer term’ll start in less than a month.”
“So you are going to teach summer classes?” said Damon. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
Cathal shrugged. “They need my help. I can’t really say no.”
“Were you planning to walk there?” Damon’s voice was sharp, like they still hated each other. Funny how fast that came back.
“It’s called a bus, Damon.” But Cathal’s voice was weary, not angry.
Again, Damon spoke before he knew he would. “You’re not taking the bus with all your stuff. Sit down and have some breakfast, and then I’ll drive you.”
Cathal hesitated, but, to Damon’s surprise, he didn’t argue. He set aside his duffel and suitcase and sat on the chair closest to the kitchen door.
“You look like crap, Cathal,” said Felix.
Damon shot him a look, and Felix clapped his hands over his mouth.
“Clearly, you’ve been spending too much time with the triplets minus one,” said Cathal. “Or me.”
“Sorry,” Felix mumbled. Damon forced himself to return to the food. He’d made enough for three people, even though he hadn’t expected Cathal to join them. “You look really tired, I mean.”
For his part, Cathal lounged in his chair like this was just another day. “I am in fact really tired. Don’t get old, nephew mine. It sucks.”
Damon realized he was pissed—not really pissed, under the surface pissed. He hadn’t felt that in a while. He set a plate of hash browns in front of Felix and then Cathal.
Cathal didn’t look up, but he was still talking to Felix. “Your powers of perception continue to astound me, my lad. However, my exhaustion is nothing new, as that is how I work.” Cathal put his chin on his hand and leaned toward Felix. “What is new is whatever you inexplicably shared with your father and not me last night.”
Felix dropped his eyes, blushing. “I thought you’d make sex jokes.”
“Point,” Cathal said. “But fret not. I’m not going to harp on you about it. At this point, I’m satisfied that you don’t burst into flame saying the word. We have to work up to the joke point.”
“Oh, good.” Felix rubbed his cheek, still embarrassed, and looked at Damon. “Dad, did you want to tell him?”
Damon had been taking an extra long time serving himself. He told himself it was to give Felix a chance to talk to Cathal without him lurking in the background like a creeper, but he wanted to delay the moment when he had to sit at the table and pretend everything was normal. He squared his shoulders and turn to the table. “Why would I want to tell him? It’s your news.”
Felix hunched up his shoulders even more. “Yeah, but you’re my dad. It’s, like, your job to embarrass me, isn’t it?”
A real smile touched Cathal’s lips for the first time. “You don’t want to admit that your evening involved romance.”
Damon wished Cathal would look at him, to see if that smile stayed or fled. But that was stupid. He focused on cutting up his egg, which he’d fried over easy instead of scrambling. Watching the yolk run into his hash browns instead of looking at either of them made it easier to sound like he wasn’t simmering inside. “This is your story, Felix, and you know that I’m terrible at stories. At least according to your uncle. So go ahead and tell him.”
Felix huffed. “Okay, okay. There was romance, but it was with Gareth, not Morgan, and I tried to sleep on that to figure out how it makes me feel, but all I know is that I’m still confused and want to eat my breakfast.”
Cathal’s brow furrowed. “The jerk? Why would you romance him?”
“I didn’t. He said he liked me.” Felix stuck out his chin. “But I didn’t get a chance to ask him about it, because then his dad came home and kicked everybody out.”
Cathal opened his mouth, closed it, and then started
massaging his temples. “No, actually, Damon should tell this story, because at least Damon doesn’t leave out all the facts, but you clearly need to talk about it because, generally, having a partner requires the ability to talk about relationships without exploding from stress. Begin at the beginning, you, while I try to pretend I don’t have a migraine.”
Damon listened without adding anything to the conversation, keeping his eyes on his food as his son walked back to the beginning of the night. Cathal didn’t interrupt, keeping his chin on his hand and watching with the smallest of smiles. Another expression Damon recognized. Cathal used to wear it when he was spending time with Damon and Era, and Era would accuse Cathal of not wanting to admit he was happy. Damon hadn’t seen that smile in a while. He didn’t like it.
But if he was seeing it, it was his fault. It was always his fault.
Fingers crept to the edge of his plate, and Damon looked up, eyebrows raised. Somehow, while telling his story and without once pausing for breath, Felix had finished his food and was now looking at Damon with practiced puppy eyes.
Damon sighed. “You can have the rest of the bacon.”
Felix bounced out of his chair and ate the bacon out of the pan with his fingers, smacking his lips in pleasure. The sound brought a smile to Damon’s face, despite himself.
“You see why I must return to my own home,” said Cathal. The comment wasn’t addressed to Damon, as it might have been yesterday. Rather, Cathal was inspecting his nails, talking to no one. “I have no idea where those fingers have been.”
“In the bacon pan, obviously,” said Felix, walking to the sink to wash his hands.
Cathal glanced sideways at Damon for the first time. Damon stiffened, expecting accusation or dullness—but in Cathal’s eyes was the long-suffering patience they’d come to share. Then Cathal looked away, and Damon wondered if he’d seen it at all.
Had he misread the entire situation? Maybe Cathal was telling the truth, and he did have to leave right this second to prepare for summer classes.
Damon had cooked his hash browns perfectly, but they weren’t appetizing. “Are you finished?” he asked Cathal without looking at him.
“Yes, actually.” Cathal nudged his plate toward Damon’s. He hadn’t eaten anything but the cheesy hash browns.
Felix returned to the table, bouncing in place. “Can I have the rest of your eggs?”
Cathal pushed the plate toward Felix. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down to eat.”
Felix obeyed, but he was still bouncing, only now in his chair instead of on his feet.
Cathal pushed back his chair. “Shall we?” he said to Damon, though he didn’t look in Damon’s direction.
“I’m ready.” Damon made himself look at Cathal, hoping Cathal would meet his eyes, but he didn’t.
Cathal ruffled Felix’s hair. “Don’t let your physics slip, young man. I’ll know.”
Felix tipped his head back. “You talk like you’re never coming back.”
Cathal snorted. Was it forced? “Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to sleep in my own bed. I’m sick of having that unicorn staring at me every night. It can see into my soul, and it’s judging me. I don’t appreciate that.”
Felix sucked on his spoon, looking concerned, but he didn’t say anything else.
Damon picked up Cathal’s luggage, partly out of habit and partly because putting it in the trunk meant Cathal could get in the car without Damon seeing.
What was he supposed to do? He’d kissed Cathal. If he wanted anything else to happen, he would have to pursue it. But he’d make an idiot of himself.
Except he’d already done that. Better to try one more time than wonder what would have happened otherwise. You didn’t always get a second chance.
Damon got into the car but didn’t start it, staring straight ahead at the garage door.
After a moment, Cathal said, “Are you hoping the car will start by psychic power? Because I left my tinfoil hat in my duffel bag.”
Damon didn’t know where to start, but he never did. He turned to look at Cathal. “Last night—”
Cathal immediately turned his head away. “Was infinite evidence why I should have returned home ages ago.”
Damon continued, because if he didn’t get this out, he would regret it. “Last night was important to me.” He swallowed. “Was it important to you?”
He already knew the answer, but he still had to ask.
Cathal’s jaw flexed, as though he were going to speak, but instead he sat for a long moment, then let out a slow breath, though none of the tension left his body. “Era asked me to stay until you got your life back. If you’re thinking about kissing anyone, that means you’re ready. End of discussion.”
Damon watched him, waiting to see if that was it. It couldn’t be. Cathal had footnotes and annotated bibliographies for his arguments about Star Wars, for Christ’s sake.
But Cathal didn’t crack. He was really done. And there was another thing about Cathal. He didn’t lie. Even when they were at each other’s throats, Damon knew that much.
Damon looked back at his garage door, turning his keys over in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hollow. “I hope you’ll still come by, once in a while. Felix likes having you around.” He dropped his eyes. “I do too.”
Cathal passed a hand over his face, but whatever expression he was trying to hide was gone before Damon could figure it out. “I will.”
They drove the rest of the way without speaking a word.
DAMON GOT OUT of the car first and grabbed Cathal’s stuff, even though he wasn’t sure why he was drawing this out. Cathal didn’t want to see Damon. If he had, he wouldn’t be leaving, no matter what class he’d offered to teach.
But Damon could never end things. When anything good fell into his lap, he held on too tightly. And Cathal had been good.
Cathal didn’t protest, just led Damon up to his apartment door. He dug out his keys. Before turning them in the lock, he looked up, as though he were going to say something. But he didn’t.
Damon nodded, setting down Cathal’s bags. “We’ll see you around then?” He wasn’t surprised at how empty his voice sounded. He’d gotten used to it since Era got sick.
Cathal picked up his duffel bag. “Of course. I’m sure Felix will be whining about needing help with his physics soon enough or something like that. Something always comes up.”
Damon thought about saying something more, but what was the point?
CATHAL MADE HIMSELF enter so he wouldn’t go after Damon.
He almost didn’t recognize his own apartment—everything was the way he’d left it, but he’d gotten so comfortable in Era’s guest room. He walked through, touching things, trying to feel a connection. There was the couch he’d gotten at a thrift store. His bed was on the floor in the corner, separated from the rest of the studio by a curtain. He couldn’t remember if he’d made it or left it in a mess when he’d heard Era had been permanently moved to the hospital; he didn’t want to bring that whole moment back, even though it hung around like a ghost.
That was the last time he’d been here, after all. He’d walked out knowing he was going to watch his best friend die. And now he was back. His best friend was cold in the ground, and Damon thought Cathal didn’t want him.
HE’D LIED ABOUT the summer class—he’d almost forgotten the cutoff date for summer teaching until it passed. But a few phone calls, and he did find a place. They were looking for teachers for the science writing class, and even though that was not technically Cathal’s specialty, the rules could be bent since he had popular books.
It would be a good time, but Cathal felt so heavy when he set down the phone. Last year, he’d have jumped at this chance. Now, he was only accepting to give some credence to his lie and to make sure he’d have some reason to stay at his apartment instead of slinking back to see Damon under the pretext of helping Felix with his summer projects.
Ugh.
He went to look in his fridge
and remembered it was empty. His pantry, as always, was stocked full of ramen noodles (only the chicken kind, since the other flavors were for heathens). He closed the cupboard and ordered Chinese.
Twelve: No One Bakes like Gaston. No One Makes Dino Cakes like Gaston.
DAMON EXPECTED TO feel restless and loose and shaky—that the emptiness would build inside his head until it roared like an animal and he’d have to hide in his room to escape the sound.
But it wasn’t that way at all. He felt nothing, and he continued to feel nothing as he walked inside. Felix was on the couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons upside down.
“Doesn’t that give you a headache?” Damon asked out of habit.
“It makes more sense this way. Cartoons these days are really weird.” He still had his spoon from breakfast, though he was twirling it between his fingers instead of sucking on it. “You left your phone in the kitchen, Dad. It rang a couple times. I didn’t answer it ’cause I thought that would be weird.”
And it wasn’t like anyone important would be calling Damon. “I didn’t realize.”
Felix shrugged, popping the spoon in his mouth. Damon could tell he wanted to ask about Cathal, so Damon headed into the kitchen.
What would he even tell Felix? From Felix’s point of view, Cathal had left for no real reason. And Damon had just let him go because, after all, they didn’t care about each other.
Except that Cathal actually didn’t care. Damon had seen that in his eyes. He’d been kidding himself to think any other way, like when he’d let himself think Era would be one of the women who beat the odds and made it through. Stories like that existed, but they weren’t real life.
He’d left the dishes in the sink from breakfast, so he forgot about his phone until it went off again. Cathal had set the text noise to “What Does the Fox Say.”
It was George, who’d sent him five texts. Damon braced himself as he opened them. George had stopped flirting with him, but Damon was afraid of it happening again. He wasn’t used to other people liking him. Era had occasionally said a waitress or waiter was hitting on him, but Damon had never seen it, and he preferred being kept in the dark.
