Death of a Bachelor

by M. A. Hinkle

  Damon glanced at Cathal to make sure he was following. “You can’t be too mean to Felix when we leave,” Damon whispered.

  Cathal grinned up at him, and for a minute, it was like he’d never left. “I would never dream of it.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Damon whispered back and realized he was smiling.

  Goddammit.

  The parlor had a fancy couch and bookcases and a coffee table. Or, well, a tea table, probably. Damon put his hands behind his back, certain he’d bump into something and break it.

  “Go ahead and relax.” Gareth gestured at the couch. “There’s no TV or anything in here, but you can look at the books if you want. Dad’s read them all, so he wouldn’t care if you borrowed one.” He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall, because of course there was a grandfather clock. “Dinner will be done in about half an hour, I think. I’ll make Morgan come get you, or he’ll never stop practicing.”

  Felix had a dreamy smile on his face. “He can practice forever as far as I’m concerned.”

  “He needs to eat once in a while. C’mon.” He dragged Felix out of the room.

  Damon sat on the couch. It was not comfortable. The cushions were hard, and it didn’t feel stable. Better to not put all his weight on it.

  Cathal was already at the bookcase, squinting at the titles. “Half of these are in Latin. I’d say Trevor’s pretentious, but I honestly don’t think it would occur to him that maybe other people didn’t learn Latin at their fancy prep school.”

  “You know Latin,” Damon said and then wanted to punch himself. He couldn’t talk to Cathal like…like they were friends. Or anything at all. Cathal had made that much clear.

  Cathal glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Yes, well, that I can hardly help. It makes science a lot easier. And some academics automatically think you’re stupid if you don’t understand it.” He took one of the books off the shelf. “I’m trying to decide if Plato or Socrates would look more pretentious.”

  “I have no idea who that is.” Damon laced his fingers together so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything.

  “Exactly why I say they’re pretentious.” Cathal set back the book and picked a thinner volume, then flopped on the couch next to Damon. He was completely at ease, which only made Damon sit stiffer and straighter. “You’re useful for keeping one’s finger on the pulse of the working class.”

  “Except I don’t work anymore.”

  “Pedantic as always,” said Cathal absently, flipping through the book.

  Damon decided it was better to keep his mouth shut than risk admitting he was thinking about all the times they’d relaxed like this. Only there should have been a TV. What kind of weirdo didn’t have a TV in their living room?

  He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until Cathal replied, “It’s not a living room, it’s a parlor. There’s a difference. A parlor is where you bring guests so they can ooh and aah over how fancy you are before you bring them to dinner or polo or whatever. A living room is where the family hangs out.”

  His words were offhand, but Damon frowned. “You seemed to get on with him fine.”

  Cathal lowered the book, raising his eyebrows. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy in your tone?” Damon kept his face fixed straight ahead. “First of all, Trevor is straight as straight could possibly be. Even the most closeted gay man could never be that awkward, and I should know. I’ve gotten plenty of them to come out over the years. Second, his idea of academia bores me to tears. I pity the students in his classes. He probably reads directly off the PowerPoint.” He paused. “Scratch that. He reads directly from his notes. There’s no chance he knows how to use PowerPoint.”

  Damon fixed his gaze on a very ugly abstract painting so he wouldn’t look at Cathal. Even if Cathal was thinking of—anything, Damon would not have been able to tell. And he wouldn’t have been thinking of anything, because Cathal did not care, and Damon had read too much into everything, because he was stupid and lonely and didn’t have anything better to do.

  “Are you all right? You look like you’re about to puke.” Cathal had real concern in his voice, and that surprised Damon enough to look at him. But, of course, Cathal’s face was a pleasant mask. “I mean, you always look like that at social gatherings, but still.”

  Damon pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I’d forgotten how much fun it is to make you make that face,” said Cathal, almost fondly.

  Damon was still trying to convince himself Cathal had actually said that when Morgan appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Mr. Eglamore, Mr. Kinnery. Dinner’s ready.”

  Cathal took great pleasure in leaving the book laying propped open on the couch. “You know, if you don’t start calling me Cathal, Morgan, I’m going to start wondering if this is all an elaborate prank. I’m not familiar with the day’s reality shows, so feel free to go ahead. I won’t watch it.”

  Morgan’s brow furrowed.

  “Don’t listen to him, Morgan,” said Damon, pushing himself up. “He likes confusing everyone else so he can feel smart.”

  “I am extremely intelligent, thank you.” Cathal put his hands on his hips. “If I need to feel smart, all I have to do is volunteer to help the English 101 professors with their grading overflow, like I used to do for Era. Well, that also makes me despair for the state of the education system, but every good thing comes with drawbacks, wouldn’t you say, Morgan?”

  “Really, just ignore him,” said Damon. “If you don’t give him the attention he wants, he’ll drop the subject.”

  Morgan still looked concerned, but he shrugged. “The dining room is this way.”

  The dining room had a chandelier. At least it had light bulbs instead of candles, although the embellishments looked like real gold and crystal. The table was draped with a white cloth and had enough chairs for the cast of Felix’s play, although there were only seven places set. Felix and Gareth were already seated, involved in a heated argument about drum machines.

  “Where’s Father?” Morgan asked, sitting beside his brother.

  That left one seat at the head of the table and two seats across from the teenagers. Cathal claimed the one farthest from the head seat, and Damon took the one next to it, assuming Trevor wanted the head of the table. Or that it was polite. Or something.

  “He’s still getting ready.” Like Cathal, Gareth could say things as though they were a contagious disease. “He’ll be out in a minute, I’m sure.”

  Damon bit back a sigh. Great. More waiting.

  Cathal was inspecting a fork with small tines. “What in the name of our lord and savior Carl Sagan is all this flatware for?”

  “That’s an oyster fork.” Damon spread his napkin over his knees and smoothed the pleats.

  Cathal’s eyes narrowed, and he set the fork back down. “We’re not having oysters, are we, boys?”

  Gareth shrugged. “I don’t think so. But the silverware doesn’t come out all that often, so Anna likes to put it all out, even if it doesn’t get used. Looks nice, she says.”

  Cathal picked up a tiny spoon. “What is this supposed to be for, garden gnomes?”

  “It’s a cream soup spoon.” Damon looked over at Morgan, who was pointedly not involving himself in Felix and Gareth’s argument. “Are we having cream soup? I love cream soup.”

  “I don’t know,” said Morgan, shrugging. “My father is a picky eater, so probably not.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to tilt your bowl away from you when you have soup?” said Cathal, tapping his cheek.

  “We’re not having soup, so why would it matter?” Damon wanted to be annoyed, but he wasn’t. He never thought he would miss weirdness.

  Cathal shrugged. “It doesn’t, but I’ve always thought it was strange.”

  “It’s so you don’t spill on your fancy clothes,” said Damon.

  Cathal looked at the spoon as if he expected it to jump out of his hand and join the rest of the silverware in a musical performanc
e. “That’s a reasonable answer. My entire worldview has shifted. I must now consider the possibility that there are sensible reasons for all the other stupid etiquette rules Era taught me.” He stared down at his plate with a mock profound expression. “I still think this tiny fork is stupid.”

  “Well, if we have oysters, I call dibs on yours.”

  Cathal was actually smiling, the way he had more and more while he was still living with them. Damon had forgotten how good that looked.

  But before they could say anything more, Trevor arrived. He was wearing a suit jacket. With elbow patches. Cathal covered his mouth as though to stifle a cough. Damon elbowed him in the side.

  “I did not say anything, thank you,” Cathal hissed.

  “You were thinking it so loud that my brain is deaf,” Damon replied.

  “That’s not a thing,” Cathal hissed back.

  Then Trevor sat down, and Cathal turned to him, flashing that perfect smile that made everyone like him. Even if they didn’t want to. Even if they wanted to never think about him again.

  “Professor Lewis. How good it is to see you.” Cathal’s voice was polite, but Damon kicked him under the table for good measure. Cathal’s smile did not falter.

  “Hello, Cathal, Damon,” said Trevor, putting his napkin on his lap. “I apologize for my lateness. A student needed my attention.”

  “It couldn’t wait until after dinner?” said Gareth, only partly teasing. His eyes were hard.

  “It’s finals week,” Morgan pointed out, shooting his brother a silencing look.

  Trevor shrugged, unbothered by his son’s tone of voice. “As I said, I apologize. Anna will be along shortly with the food.”

  “Are we eating anything weird?” Gareth asked. Morgan shot him another look, but Damon was glad he’d raised the question, since it meant Cathal couldn’t.

  “Hey, weird is good,” said Felix. “My dad’s been all about weird lately, and it’s super tasty. Even the fish heads.”

  Gareth looked at him, and then he stopped and looked down at his hands. “I have no snappy comeback. It’s too weird. Am I sick?”

  “Don’t be dismayed, Gareth,” said Cathal. “Felix has that effect on everyone.”

  Felix beamed and patted Gareth’s knee.

  Trevor shook out his napkin with a loud snap. “We’re having a Niçoise salad to start, then beef Wellington, potatoes, and mushroom risotto for the main course, I believe.”

  Cathal’s eyes narrowed, but luckily, Trevor had addressed his words to Gareth, so he didn’t see it.

  “Don’t make that face,” Damon whispered, nudging Cathal with his knee. Cathal glanced at him sharply. “You’ll like it. It will be fine.”

  “You are not the weirdness judge,” Cathal replied, sticking his nose in the air. “We’ve established that.”

  A woman came out of a side door a moment later, wheeling a cart with covered plates. “Are we ready for supper, Dr. Lewis?”

  “Yes, please, thank you, Anna,” said Trevor, glancing over his shoulder.

  She served them all, starting with Damon. “What’s in Niçoise salad?” Cathal whispered to Damon. “It sounds French.”

  “It is French. And it’s vegetables. It’s not going to kill you.”

  Cathal made a face at him. “You can’t know that. What if I choke? Then you’ll be sorry.”

  Damon rolled his eyes.

  When the cook had passed out all the plates, she turned to Trevor. “Anything to drink, sir?”

  “Wine for me, please.” Trevor glanced at his sons. “And a glass each for Gareth and Morgan, I suppose. It’s a nice dinner.” He looked over at Damon and Cathal. “Gentlemen?”

  “I’m driving, so water for me,” said Damon.

  “And I’m not, so definitely wine,” said Cathal, grinning.

  “What about meeee?” said Felix, batting his eyelashes.

  “No,” said Damon and Cathal in unison. Morgan hid a laugh behind his hand; Gareth didn’t bother.

  “Water for my son, please.” Damon pushed away how much they kept talking over each other. It didn’t mean anything.

  The cook nodded and went back through the door to the kitchen.

  “How come you guys get wine?” Felix asked, making a pitiful face.

  “Father grew up in France. You have wine with everything there,” said Morgan.

  “And I believe introducing children to alcohol at a young age discourages them from overindulging.” Trevor was cutting his green beans into smaller and smaller pieces.

  Felix sighed, though he didn’t seem honestly upset. “I guess that’s okay. Beer is gross, so wine probably is too.”

  “Ah, my gayness has influenced you after all.” Cathal smiled like the cat with the canary. “Next you’ll be saying you want an appletini.”

  “Felix takes after his mother as far as alcohol goes, you know that,” said Damon. Noting Trevor’s curious look, he added, “Era would never drink anything that wasn’t brightly colored and half off on ladies’ night.”

  “I don’t know where I went wrong with that one,” Cathal said, heaving a melodramatic sigh.

  “Well I’m glad you never managed to get to her,” Damon replied. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “Oh, please, you love me,” said Cathal, his voice nonchalant.

  Damon ate his salad instead of saying anything.

  AFTER DINNER, FELIX asked to stay later. He wanted Morgan’s help with a song he was working on.

  “Are you sure you’re asking the right twin?” Cathal asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  Felix didn’t bite. Since he wasn’t blushing, the innuendo had gone over his head. “I’ve got band practice tomorrow, and Sarah will make fun of me forever if this is what I bring her. Morgan has a bigger vocabulary than I do.”

  Cathal looked up at the ceiling and spread his hands wide, as if to ask why. “Sometimes, dear boy, I cannot handle you. The jokes write themselves.”

  “What jokes?” Felix asked.

  Cathal walked toward the front door.

  “What jokes?” Felix looked at Damon as though he had any answers.

  Damon put his hands on his hips. “Seriously now, what’s going on with the three of you?”

  Felix dropped his eyes immediately, and Cathal looked at Damon, his lips twitching. “Why Damon, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so directly. Could you be taking charge of your son’s welfare once again?”

  “Not funny, but not the point.” Cathal’s face went flat, but Damon returned his attention to Felix before the boy could sneak off. “Felix?”

  Felix sighed, but only because he was embarrassed. “Okay, okay. Gareth is my boyfriend now and stuff. And it’s…it’s good. I think we’re learning stuff from each other. Y’know. Since we’re so different.” He took in a deep breath and stood up straight. “And I swear I am not staying to make out with him, because I still do not know how I feel about making out, and also because I actually need help with this song.”

  Damon nodded, turning the words over in his head to make sure he was satisfied with the answer. “All right, that’s good. I just needed to know, son. Thank you for telling me.”

  Felix rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, Dad, I know. So can I go?”

  Damon pointed down the hallway, and Felix skipped away.

  Damon had almost forgotten Cathal’s comments, but when they shut Trevor’s huge front door behind them, Cathal said, quickly and without looking at him, “I didn’t mean it that way. About Felix. It was…it was good to see.”

  Damon glanced down at him. “You’re still better at it, you know,” he said at last.

  Cathal smiled, but it wasn’t a smile at all, not really. “No, I’m not, but we’ll leave it at that.”

  Damon decided not to ask any more. He was confused enough. He’d hoped Cathal would spend the majority of the ride home talking to Felix, needling him about his crush and the eccentric Dr. Lewis. But nope. The two of them. Stuck together.

  Cathal,
of course, didn’t pull any punches. “So when is this competition, anyway?”

  “It’s in two weeks.” Damon started the car. “Why?”

  Cathal shrugged, looking out the window at the front lawn of Trevor’s place as Damon started down the long driveway. “Maybe I’ll catch it on TV. You said it would be on public access, right?”

  Damon wrinkled his nose. “They’re not broadcasting it for another few months, Cathal. They have to edit it. Make it more dramatic, I guess. George says it’s actually really boring. Sometimes they make them go back and reshoot parts to add in drama so it’s not people applying fondant for six hours.”

  Cathal set his cheek on his hand. “To be fair, food people have a different conception of drama than the rest of the population, I think. Most people would not consider adding too much saffron to be riveting television.”

  Damon’s mouth twitched. “Look at you, talking about saffron like you know what it is.”

  “I know it’s weird and I don’t want any.”

  Damon rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. He could not help smiling, even after their time apart. “I’m glad you’ve come to terms with that.”

  Cathal went quiet, and Damon thought maybe he would stay that way for the rest of the ride, which would be nice. A conversation that didn’t end in a raging dumpster fire. Or awkward kissing.

  Or kissing that was not awkward at all. At least on Damon’s end.

  Then Cathal said, “Can I come?”

  No was almost out of Damon’s mouth, but he bit his tongue. Literally. It hurt. He was glad he had to focus on driving, because he wouldn’t see what he wanted in Cathal’s face, and looking at him would just ache. Never mind how much Damon wanted to look at him. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t know how these things are filmed. The ones on Food Network have an audience, but this is a local thing, so I don’t even know if they have people watching.”

  “Of course they do.” Damon’s words came out sharply, and he made himself wait before continuing. No reason to get so upset about this line of questioning. No reason to get upset about anything Cathal did. “We’re allowed to bring family. I was going to let Felix come, and maybe the twins, but you can join us if you want. They don’t care how many you bring as long as nobody wears anything with swear words or corporate logos or whatever.”