“Yeah.”He doesn’t think about what he’s saying sometimes.A lot of people don’t.About Mom.And, I guess if we’re being honest, about me.And I don’t blame him, because it’s got to be hard, raising a kid on your own when you’re nothing but a kid yourself, and you don’t have anybody to help or any idea what to do.But—but sometimes, I do wish he’dthinkbefore he said stuff like that.And I can’t help the way it bleeds into my voice.“Yeah, I get it.”
Dad’s looking at the Cadillac now.Maybe he does know, or he thinks about it a little too late, because he puts his hand on the back of my neck and squeezes, and he’s cold from the beer.
“I’m just going to have fun,” I say again.
“That’s right.”
“Wait to settle down.”
Dad nods.
“Buy my toys first,” I say with the start of a smile.
“God, Sammy, you’d better, because you won’t be able to afford jack shit once she starts pumping out babies.”He hands me the beer, which is almost empty, and says, “All right, let’s take another look at this.”
He’s under the Cadillac now, so I can’t see his face when he starts talking again, and that means I can’t tell what that note is in his voice.“You don’t want to wait too long, though,” Dad says like he’s remembered something, but I think there’s something else too.“Or you’ll turn into a fag.”
And I want to say,I don’t think that’s how it works.
But I don’t.
5
Gray
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say as I get out of the car.“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Darnell passes me, carrying a load of boxes toward the moving truck.He’s already sweating, even though it’s early.He’s a big guy, so he sweats pretty easily anyway, but this is a work sweat; he’s probably been going for hours.
“Start with the stuff in the office,” Darnell says.“Coffee and donuts in the kitchen.”
Being awake at six AM on a Saturday should be a fucking crime, unless you’restillawake and working your way through a pile of twinks.Or something like that.I guess if you’re one of the twinks in the pile, that’s probably okay too.Equal opportunity and all that bullshit.
While Darnell takes another box to the truck, I head inside.Coffee and donuts are right where he said they’d be.I skip the donuts for now and help myself to the coffee.It’s from the Casey’s, and weirdly, it’s some of the best coffee in town.Not as good as what Darnell used to make.Not that he was going to make coffee on the day he moved.Everything was already packed up, and he had other stuff to do, and it wasn’t like we were still in that weird, toxic combo with him doing stuff for me all the time.But, I think as I look around the kitchen, hedoesmake good coffee.
I do a quick walkthrough.Aside from the boxes, which are stacked everywhere, and Darnell’s furniture, which is neatly wrapped, the house is empty.The kitchen, of course.The bedroom I’d used—I couldn’t bring myself to call itmybedroom.The bathroom.His bedroom, or I guessourbedroom.His office.
The house looks good.He’s repainted some of the rooms.He’s changed a couple of the light fixtures.The old aluminum mini blinds in his office are gone, replaced by new, faux wood ones that are consistent with the rest of the house.It takes me a moment to put my finger on something else that is different, and then I get it—the baseboards.It shouldn’t make such a difference, but it does.
That’s the kind of thing responsible homeowners know, I guess.Responsible people in general.What to paint and change and replace so that your house has sweat equity.Fuck, for that matter, responsible people know how to buy and sell a house.They have furniture, and they have—shit, I don’t know, lawnmowers.They aren’t almost thirty years old, living in a tiny apartment, with a twin bed they got off one of those neighborhood apps.If I lived here, I could invite the donors over, show them my baseboards, and say,Take a fucking look at that.And then they’d give me shitloads of money, probably.
“What are you doing?”Darnell asks as he passes through the hall.“What’s wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at the baseboards for five minutes.”He takes a step and tries to peer past me.“Is something wrong?”
I raise the coffee cup in salute.“Just admiring the handiwork.”
He’s got dark eyes, and he doesn’t miss much.Finally, he says, “Gray, boxes in the dining room.”
So, I start carrying boxes to the truck, and for a while, I don’t have to think about how in the fucking world I’m supposed to make myself respectable and responsible and a fucking pillar of the community and—fuck me—a family man.Maybe I could become Emery’s live-in gimp.Fuck, that’d probably be a step up from where I was now.
Okay, maybe I don’t stop thinking about it entirely.
After we clear the dining room, Darnell wants to get the big pieces of furniture loaded.So, we do that.Sofa.Beds.Desk.His face is red, and I think about telling him to go slow because he’s already had one heart attack.
“I’m fine,” he says before I can open my mouth.
