Page 95 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 2

“Sure.” I hurried to bring out the plates, forks, knives, a stack of napkins, and a pitcher of water with two glasses on a tray. We set up an impromptu dinner table next to the main part of the world he had built.

Seven feet by twelve, the miniature universe dominated the room. After I placed the food on the cleared work table, I held my hands on the small of my back and examined his work. The smell of food made my mouth water, but my eyes were glued to the fascinating project that had occupied my father’s time for years.

I couldn’t lie. It was impressive. Far superior to the one he had tossed out in bitter disappointment, this was beyond a simple train set. It was geography and urban planning and pure craft. Train tracks circled around the world, connecting the town and the villages no matter the obstacles. There were two bridges with train tracks, crossing a small river, a viaduct that led into a tunnel through the immense mountain, and an elaborate central station where he could control the tracks. Powered by batteries, the trains could actually carry different loads, and each was unique to a village.

My arms moved around and crossed on my chest. It was the detail of the town and the villages that truly took my breath away. On a less steep side of the mountain, there was a small train station, and around it were houses with land and people and cattle, mining equipment of an age long gone was scattered around.

Dad had added hidden wires into the tiny houses with LED lights in various colors. Flicking a switch, he could bring the world to life. Flickering flames and lights would flood out of the tiny windows.

“You should have seen it this Christmas,” he said. “I put fake snow all around.” He whistled down. “Cleaning that up took me longer than putting the damn thing together.” A laugh followed.

The color work was striking. There weren’t two houses that were the same or a figure that was identical to another, aside from the McAdams twins, who’d built their houses next to each other to match and stood proudly in their little yards. They were identical, save for the clothes they wore and one had a mustache.

Dad sat down and wiped his fingers on a rag, then sliced a bit of lasagna, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. “Mm. This is delicious, Tyler. When did you learn to cook?”

I laughed. “I found it in the freezer, Dad.”

“Oh. That’s right.” He nodded as he chewed, pondering that. “The pills. They make me forgetful.”

“Give it time,” I said. It was an old conversation we’d had countless times. He wasn’t complaining and I wasn’t pushing it. The dosage changes made his thoughts fuzzy for a little while. It would pass.

“Of course,” he agreed in a rough voice. His hair was a little shaggy, his face shadowed with a two-day stubble, and his mustache only slightly overgrown. He’d trimmed it recently, I could tell. “I wasn’t sure what to get,” he explained. “So I got a bit of everything. Frozen stuff’s the easiest.”

“It sure is,” I said, enjoying the food despite it being a quick-bake fake. It was delicious even if it wasn’t nutritious. After a short silence, I decided to say it. “You seem better.”

Dad made a surprised expression and smiled. “I am. Way better. Haven’t felt this good in years.” He tapped my knee firmly. “I’ll tell you this: I’m glad I’m doing better when you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re better regardless,” I said, and we grinned at each other.

I’d had a lifetime of practice when it came to reading someone’s emotions. I could do it based on nothing more than a sideways glance or an eerie calm. Maybe my dad wasn’t the world’s greatest dad, but he was mine, and I loved him. He’d done his best, which was all that mattered, and we’d gone through the rough times without letting it all crash down around us. We still had each other.

Even so, being raised by him meant I’d developed a sixth sense when it came to people’s moods and feelings. I could see what others felt almost easier than knowing what I felt. Case in point were my growing feelings for Sebastian. I hadn’t been aware of it for years until it suddenly all felt perfectly clear to me. Understanding myself was a much tougher job than understanding what troubled those around me.

So I couldn’t shake off a sense of premonition when I returned to my room and there wasn’t a text from Sebastian. There was nothing. I’d dropped a line asking him how things were and his silence was louder than if he’d said things were fine.

Just as well as I had learned to sense my dad’s moods, I had learned to sense trouble over there. It was hard to remember a time when Sebastian was with his family and didn’t end up feeling like shit.

I picked up my phone and began typing. I wouldn’t call in case he wasn’t alone, but I could text. So I wrote and wrote and wrote, telling him to stay true to himself and to let the worst of their comments wash over him. And when I tired of typing, I looked at the mile-long message I had crafted, and shook my head. It was a huge intrusion to send this. It was me shoving my nose where I’d decided not to meddle any longer. And it was a lack of respect for the guy I was crazy about. It would appear like I didn’t trust him to deal with his own family.

So, I erased it.

Maybe I was overthinking this thing. Maybe they were playing Monopoly and singing together.

I chuckled bitterly.

There was no universe in which I could imagine Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez singing. Or having fun of any kind. Fun felt good. Sins felt good. Fun was a sin. That was the logic of my future in-laws.

I chuckled again, much less bitterly, because it just sounded right. I couldn’t imagine a future in which Sebastian wasn’t the very center of my universe. He was the well of gravity that pulled me into his orbit. I was the happiest when he was there, even if only in my thoughts.

Pull yourself together, I snapped at myself. It had only been half a day and this trip would be over before I knew it. Besides, it was good to spend a few hours alone with Dad. It was good to make sure he was calm.

After Mom had walked away from us, Dad had lost all hope of meeting someone else. He didn’t want other people. He wanted his garage and his paints. Even so, I had rarely felt like he was enjoying himself until now. He was happy.

And so was I. And so was Sebastian.

Life was beginning to make a lot more sense these days.

I closed my eyes as I lay flat on my back. I wondered what it was like at his place. Eryn would be there, of course, so he would have one person who understood him. One person who cared. The rest of them? I doubted they would show anything other than disdain and criticism. Why chase a rubber puck for a living? Why be on a queer team? Why not do something useful with your life? Are you attending Sunday Mass?