“No, buddy, I don’t think we’re getting ice cream today.” The last thing he needed was any sugar. And I knew Michael was stricter about sweets during the week than on the weekends. “But maybe we can convince your daddy to go for a walk with us after we eat dinner and clean up.”
As we walked through the doors, Henry’s eyes grew wide. He’d been here before, but every visit was an adventure for him. I gave Henry crayons, paper, and glue to keep him occupied at a small table in my office. As I worked on the budget sheets, I caught myself stealing glances at him. Henry was drawing something with intense concentration, his little tongue poking out.
Henry and I packed up shortly before four. He showed me the spaceship he’d made from construction paper. I praised his creativity, and we set off for Michael's house. On the way, we stopped by the grocery store, and Henry helped me pick ingredients for dinner.
Once at the house, I let Henry wash his hands and turn on the TV while I started preparing the meal. He fussed about wanting to play in his room instead, so we compromised by bringing some Legos into the living room.
By the time Michael walked through the door, the kitchen was alive with the aromas of garlic, chicken, and fresh bread. The casserole bubbled in the oven, and I was setting the table with Henry, who was still talking a mile a minute, currently about the lessons they had at daycare about outer space. It seemed to be his newest fixation.
Michael’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the kitchen: the table set, the casserole that was almost finished baking, and Henry sitting at the table with a huge grin on his face. He seemed taken aback for a moment, and then smiled tiredly, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“I can’t believe you two,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter, a playful grin on my face. “You gotta eat,” I said. Then my tone turned serious as I pointed a finger at the overflowing trash can near the door. “And I counted seven pizza boxes in there. SEVEN. That’s not healthy for either of you.”
Michael’s mouth opened as if to protest, but I raised my hand to stop him. “Nope, not hearing it. You need to take care of yourself, man. Not just for you, but for Henry. You’re no good to him if you're burned out and make yourself sick.”
There was a pause as Michael looked from me to Henry, who was climbing onto his chair at the table. I could see the wheels turning in Michael’s head.
Suddenly, Henry chimed in, “Daddy, Uncle Billy said we’re gonna be eating good food from now on! No more pizza every night!”
Michael’s gaze softened as he looked at his son, and then he sighed. “Fine, you win. I get it. But only if you promise to teach me some of these magical cooking skills, Chef Billy. I can’t believe you worked all day and still had time to put this together. Unless your mom sent over food after you told her I’ve been living on pizza while I’m trying to get everything ready for the council meeting.”
I laughed and patted him on the back. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that. Maybe I should tattle. But no, this was all me. If you want, we can spend some time this weekend prepping so dinners will be easier during the week.”
“I’d like that.”
As we sat down to eat, I could see the stress start to leave Michael’s shoulders. The atmosphere was warm, and there was a certain tension in the room I’d never felt before. I wondered if he’d been more aware than he let on last night and didn’t know what to say. That was sure as hell part of my own quiet tonight.
“I, uh, I appreciate this, Billy,” Michael said quietly, as he took a bite of the casserole.
I looked at him and gave a firm nod. “Anytime, buddy. But this is a two-way street. You gotta promise to take it easier, alright?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “It should get better after next week.”
It wouldn’t. And it didn’t escape me that he made no promises.
“If it doesn’t, you need to tell me, Michael. You have people who care about you.” I said, glancing at Henry, who was enthusiastically digging into his meal. “Both of you. And I’d rather help you out when you need a second set of hands than try nursing you back to health.”
Michael’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer than usual. “Thanks,” he whispered, his voice slightly choked. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Luckily, he’d never have to find out. Michael and I had been fast friends since the moment we’d been assigned desks next to one another in second grade. Even my desire to knock him out cold when Danny had skipped town only lasted about ten minutes.
By the time he’d got done telling me about Jessica’s latest legal troubles, I’d put together a list of resources for him. When it became clear there was no way she’d be out of jail before Henry was born, I’d stuck by Michael’s side as he navigated the interview process to first become a foster parent and then through the adoption. Through all of that, I kept his secrets, shouldering my family’s anger that I wasn’t casting him aside because I knew his heart had been in the right place even if his brain had checked out.
I couldn’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for him.
After dinner, I helped Michael clean up while Henry played in the living room. As I handed Michael a plate to put away, our fingers brushed. There was that electric charge again, stronger this time. I caught my breath, and so did he.
We looked at each other, and for a fleeting moment, everything around us seemed to pause. His tired eyes, now wide and alert, stared into mine, and I felt my heart thump hard against my chest.
“Daddy, Uncle Billy, can we go for our walk now? Uncle Billy said we couldn’t have ice cream because it’s a school night but we could go for a walk.” Henry’s voice cut through the thick tension between us, and we both jolted back to reality.
“Yeah, buddy, let me get changed out of my work clothes and we’ll go,” Michael said, his voice shaky. He shot me one last glance before turning to Henry.
As Michael disappeared into his bedroom to change, I busied myself by getting Henry ready for the walk. I couldn’t shake off the feeling of the connection between us. Was it possible that Michael felt it, too?
Michael returned wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks. His hair was still slightly damp from a quick shower, and a whiff of his aftershave wafted through the air as he walked past me. It was an intoxicating mix of sandalwood and cedar, and I felt my stomach do a flip. I realized then that I needed to compose myself. We had Henry with us, and now was not the time or place to try to figure out what in the hell my brain was doing to me.
