“Is the boy keeping you up?” She asked with a giggle. She wanted the goods.
“Yes, but not the way you’re thinking. And he’s not a boy. He’s twenty-two. He can drink, vote, buy cigarettes, and serve in the armed forces.”
“I have a twenty-year-old son. I know all about that age.”
“Luis is twenty?” Walker remembered the boy who tagged along with his mom to work. “Don’t tell me that.”
Walker returned to his computer. His desk shook when he plopped down the study. A lineup of email subjects were striped across his screen.
RE: RE: ASSETS NEEDED: Radiance Fall Initiative
Meeting Invite: Monday
Meeting Invite: Thursday
Subject: Here’s my proposed agenda for Thursday’s meeting
Subject: Where are we with-
APPROVAL NEEDED: Banner Ad Copy
There was one email Walker wanted to send himself:
PLEASE RESPOND: How the fuck is this my life?
Φ
Walker left work early to attend Hobie’s gymnastics class. Doug had scheduled their son to within an inch of his life. Gymnastics and soccer and piano lessons. Doug wanted Hobie to start learning French for fear that he was falling behind. Falling behind whom? Walker wondered. Doug didn’t have any answer either, but he still worried.
The class was showing off their tumbling skills today. Walker found Doug and Ron in the stands. He couldn’t not sit next to them and risk being talked about by the other parents.
“You made it,” Doug said.
“I’m only ten minutes late.”
“You almost missed Hobie tumble.”
The instructors were still scrambling to get the kids in an orderly line. He didn’t miss anything, just more smugness from Doug. Walker yawned into his arm. Doug elbowed him in the side to stop while maintaining a pristine expression for those around them. Walker was still sore from dancing last night, but it was a good sore. His body had been used for something more than sitting and typing.
Doug had friends in the stands, other parents he’d gotten to know while Walker was busy at work. Really, Walker didn’t have the energy to compete with them, which was all these parents seemed to do with each other. None of it spoken, of course. That’s how Hobie wound up with a trampoline extravaganza birthday party complete with artisan birthday cake.
Melinda, one of the unofficial head moms of their age group, turned around and tapped Doug on the shoulder. She always reminded Walker of a cat staring down an unworthy human.
“How is that piano tutor working out for Hobie?”
“Fabulous!” Doug knew how to play the sassy, fun gay when needed. “Now, if Hobie could just sit still enough to practice.”
“Sophie was the same way. Always squirming.” She leaned in and whispered. “We had her tested for ADHD, just to make sure. All clear,” she said, back at normal volume.
“We also had Hobie tested.”
“He’s fine,” Walker said abruptly. Melinda and Doug traded looks.
“Hobie just likes doing his own thing. He types at the piano keys.” Doug chuckled.
“Don’t worry. Sophie got the hang of it very quickly. I’m astounded at how well she plays now.”
Doug slapped his lap. “When are we setting up another playdate with Hobie and the lovely Sophie? We keep talking about it every time we see each other!”
