Story time
Please don't be mad if I don't smile back, alright?
If I fuck up my words, don't think I'm absurd, alright?
-- Melanie Martinez, Detention
By the time he’d emerged from the study, his parents’ guests had already started to leave; he saw them cross the foyer for the front door. His watch read 1 in the morning. Even though he’d recovered from his embarrassing breakdown, he still didn’t feel like mingling and just stood by the stairway instead, watching. His parents’ voices traveled from the sun room, still energetic somehow; they were the kind of people who recharged during social gatherings, not after them. It was strange. Theodore always felt exhausted after talking to a crowd this size, but his parents were the opposite; it was a week of silent contemplation that burned them out. Quiet dinners were the worst.
It didn’t take very long for the crowd to thin out; a few people stayed behind to finish their drinks, others looked for a bathroom, a couple waited for their ride to arrive and the rest picked up their keys with the valet outside. Theodore took the opportunity to slip into the sun room and track his parents down—Henry spoke to one of the men while Carolyn poured herself a glass of water. Perfect. He walked up to her with his heart in his mouth, hands closed into tight fists. The sound of his footsteps caught her attention.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he started. “It was total garbage. I should’ve rehearsed first.”
“Well, Theodore, what’s done is done.” She barely looked at him, stiff with vexation—her neck didn’t even move. It was her voice that betrayed her, stilted with the strength of her emotion, eyebrows bouncing for emphasis. A hand placed her empty glass down before she turned to him. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Don’t you wanna talk to me?”
“What about?”
“You—I mean, you invited me here.”
“Yes…?”
“I thought, well, that you had something you wanted to say to me—something important.”
“Oh, that’s a conversation for tomorrow. It’s really not that important.”
How could it not be important? If it was what he thought it was, then his parents—but mostly his father—should be tearing him limb from limb by now. That video must’ve already ended his life; it’d been a whole day, after all.
“I wanna hear it,” he insisted.
“Theodore—”
“Please.”
Green eyes found his face, unimpressed. A deep, resigned breath filled his mother’s lungs—a sign he’d pushed too far, but she refused to let it escalate. His parents treated him much differently than Ryan in that regard. If he had to guess, it was probably because he’d never been this bold and insistent before, whereas that was all Ryan was. He’d jaded them. “Fine, then. Wait for your father to be done.”
“Okay.”
It only took Henry a few minutes to wrap up conversation and come over—he’d clearly taken notice of his wife and son both watching him from across the room. He opened his arms during the approach, illustrating his annoyance. “Well, that was a complete fucking shit-show. What made you think getting sloshed was even remotely the way to go? Jesus, Theodore; aren’t you an adult now? Start acting like one, for Christ’s sake.”
The harshness of his father’s tone put tears in his eyes. He very expertly managed to keep them from falling, even if the entire world drowned underwater—a talent he’d practiced his entire life. His composure remained. “I didn’t mean to; I was just having fun,” he defended. Although his lips trembled, his voice didn’t waver.
“What you lack is self-awareness. When you’re being social, you must always ask yourself how you’re coming across to the public. If they think you’re a bumbling idiot, well, you’ve failed.”
He hid his shaky hands in his pockets, throat swallowing around a lump. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”
“Luckily, you haven’t; your mother and I smoothed out your idiocies, but I need you to be more mindful. We can’t pick up after you forever.” Henry didn’t need to raise his voice; his calm, stern tone was enough to instill fear.
Theodore had nothing to say to that.
A hand came up with Henry’s impatience. “Well, what is it you need me for? You’ve clearly been waiting to speak to me.”
Theodore glanced at his mother, so maybe she’d explain things to him. All she did was look back at him from the corner of her eye, extremely vexed; a semi-eye roll showed she was through with this. He held a breath in his throat, chest caving with abandonment—alright; he’d have to deal with this himself. His head very slowly turned back to stare at his father. “I was wondering if there was something you wanted to talk to me about,” he explained, quiet and careful. “I mean, you—you brought me here for a reason, right?”
Henry passed his mother a glance.
“He refuses to wait,” she added. “He just has to know.” There was another eye roll in her tone, even if it never manifested on her face. Henry practically rolled his eyes too.
If tonight was really about the video, then their attitude made him believe it was more of an inconvenience than a real problem. Did they think he hadn’t meant it, that it was all just a prank? They weren’t really acting like this was serious. If that was the case, then it could be an out. He could go along with it, saying he’d compared Laith’s—Shark’s—diligent babysitting to a committed relationship, since Shark had been with him all week, guarding his apartment. Laith hadn’t even liked the speech; if he happened to be in frame, then they’d see how mortified it’d made him. Yeah, that was pretty believable. Theodore wasn’t sure how earnest he’d come across in the video, but if his parents gave him room for doubt, he could take it and run.
“Alright then, I suppose we’ll do it tonight.” A brief pause allowed Henry to collect his thoughts.
The fact he’d taken his parents by surprise when they’d only planned to go over this tomorrow was another point in his favor. Drunk and unprepared, they might not grill him as effectively as they’d hoped. That could be good. The upper hand puffed his chest, shoulders pushed back—the wall of tears over his eyes slowly disappeared.
“Honestly, son, I don’t want to see you step out of line. I want you to be a successful young man who’s focused on college and bettering himself, not straying with junkies and failures—you’re not one of them. So I brought you here for a check-up. It’s Friday night; I know it’s tempting to leave and party when everyone else is doing it too. At least here you’re safe to do what you want with people who love you. If anything goes wrong, you know we’ll take care of you.”
Well, that was unexpected—when would the video come up? While that speech was technically true, he wasn’t sure he could actually experiment near his parents. They probably hadn’t invited him with the intention of letting him drink; his father must’ve tackled that in there to garner his sympathy, improvising after he’d already done it. The way he talked, the positivity he’d chosen to put into the speech clearly alluded to something darker coming up. Theodore held his composure, ready for it.
“Last time we talked, you had a few outstanding actions to take,” Henry continued. “I’d like to know how your to-do list looks like now.”
O—kay? Wait, what? Why would he still be hung up over that if the video was so much more worrying? Unless he didn’t know about it. The possibility raised Theodore’s eyebrows, heart skipping a beat. Oh my god, he didn’t know about it. He knew his father wasn’t on social media, but he’d thought one of his lackeys would’ve brought that to his attention. Well, apparently not. Did that mean Laith was safe? Theodore found himself breathing easier now, vision perfectly clear—the tears were gone.
“I did everything you asked me to, dad; there’s nothing left to do.”
“Is that right.” Henry didn’t sound convinced. The sharpness of his words did a complete one-eighty on Theodore, because maybe he had seen the video and this was all a front to catch him slipping. His heart hammered. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to believe in.
“I’m not lying,” he quickly defended. “I don’t talk to Justin anymore and I haven’t left the apartment all week. You can ask your puppy if you don’t believe me; he’s always there.”
“I already have and I know all that is true. That’s not what I really want to hear.”
Oh. Right, of course; he’d almost forgotten about that. It was so stupid.
“I don’t keep weed in the apartment,” he lied again. “I’ve never even bought it.” Ironically, that last part was true; all the weed he’d ever smoked had been gifted to him.
A hand came up to touch Henry’s chin, eyebrows deeply furrowed. He pondered for a moment, probably deciding whether or not to believe any of that. About ninety-nine percent of it was total bullshit, to be fair, but he’d fallen for it before—lying was the only thing Theodore was good at. The fact Laith could easily call him out on that while his own father couldn’t tell his lies apart meant something. If his parents really knew who he was, like Laith did, they’d be able to read him too.
“Did you have plans for the weekend?” Henry asked.
Alright, this line of questioning clearly alluded to the fact that his father didn’t know about the video at all. If he did, it would’ve come up at this point.
The obvious move here was to lie again, but a smarter one would make Laith look good—and competent, like his job really mattered. He’d guarded Theodore’s apartment so diligently that it’d completely stopped him from leaving, even though he really wanted to. A good lie was always very close to the truth. “Yeah, I was gonna party at someone’s house with Jessie and the others. Justin wouldn’t be there; it’s a small thing, friends only.”
“Have you tried to leave while Shark was there?”
“Well, I was kind of counting on the fact he wouldn’t come tonight. It’s Friday, I mean… doesn’t he have a social life?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Alright, time for the best performance of the year. He faked hesitation. “I was too scared to leave.” He tried to make that sound as genuine as possible, like his father had really just pulled a deeply shameful confession out of him. His gaze even dropped for emphasis, shoulders moving closer together.
“So this whole time, you’ve wanted to drink and get high.” Henry sucked in his teeth. “Unbelievable. You haven’t learned a goddamn thing.”
“You and mom get drunk all the time; what does it matter if I do too?”
“You don’t know how to handle yourself, Theodore. You’re a fucking embarrassment like this.”
“That’s not the point,” Carolyn cut in. “I don’t want you near drug dealers, do you hear me? I don’t want you to speak to them and much less try their product. Those aren’t toys you can play with. Surely, I raised you to know better.”
“Weed isn’t addictive.”
“But other drugs are. You know that’s the gateway for stronger ones—you start with a joint, and soon enough, you’re shooting coke up your veins. Justin is not your friend.”
The pipeline was a little more complicated than that, though.
“Drugs are only dangerous if you’re irresponsible,” he defended.
“Is that a risk you’d like to take? You’re barely out of the crib, Theodore. Do not think for a second you’re adult enough to know what kind of drugs you can handle responsibly. Only an idiot would fall for that kind of logical fallacy. Jesus, you can barely handle your alcohol!”
“I know it’s a big risk, mom, which is why I’ve only ever done weed. I don’t want to do anything stronger.”
“When that fails to give you the edge you’ve been looking for, you’ll move on to something that will, so don’t even start. My son isn’t a fucking junkie and that’s the end of it.”
They held the stare. He knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything else, that this was the end of the conversation, but the question that came up his throat simply refused to go back down. It got stuck behind his tongue, battling with it.
He lost.
“Are you speaking from experience?” His voice was quiet, an apology with a question mark attached at the end. He hadn’t wanted to ask it as much as his mother hadn’t wanted to hear it.
She had all the reason to slap him across the face and send him up to his room, but instead, he saw her shoulders droop and her eyes soften. A deep breath filled her lungs, arms crossing over her chest. “It’s a difficult mistake to undo. If you’re smart, you’ll take my word for it rather than find out for yourself. It’s not worth it.”
Oh my god?
“Party all you want,” she continued. “You’re in college; you’re supposed to be partying—just don’t let Justin take you away from me.” A hand found his hair, palm flat over his head. The fire in her eyes died with her rage, replaced by a much calmer, much more soothing look that practically tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead goodnight. She cupped his cheek, holding his face. “You’re a good boy, Theo. You’re my baby.”
For some reason, that just broke him; his eyes filled up with tears in an instant, lips pursing to keep from trembling. Swimming in alcohol, his brain could barely stop it.
“Oh,” she whispered. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed with concern. Her other hand joined the first, pressing firmly against his cheek.
In her hold, he crumbled, biting back sobs as tears dripped into her hands. “I’m broken, mom. I’m haunted.”
“No.”
“I keep… trying to numb it, but I can’t. I can’t.” He struggled to speak through the sobs, voice breaking. “There’s something wrong with me.”
“Theodore, you’re perfect.”
“No, mom, I wanna hurt myself.”
“No… oh.” Her voice was so small he barely heard it. She pulled him in for a hug, holding him with a hand on the back of his head and an arm across his back. Torn up into pieces, he leaned against her, unresisting—he couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged him, really hugged him. His hands grabbed onto the back of her dress, face hidden in the crook of her neck. Another hand touched his head, heavier—his father?
“Have you?” Henry asked. “Have you done it?”
All he could do was mumble a negative response.
“Book an appointment with Tim for tomorrow,” his mother whispered to his father, “and make sure he comes over as soon as he can.”
“I’ll try to call him, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll pick up. It’s almost two in the morning, darling.”
“Then keep trying.”
The heavy hand left his head.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” she whispered. “It’s time for bed.”
Obediently, he let her break the hug and take him upstairs. The comforting contact didn’t cease, however; she kept a hand on his back as they walked, remaining in-step with him. It was difficult to move—the world had become very heavy all of a sudden—but he managed to leave the sunroom and climb the stairs, step by step. Tears still dripped down his face, wiped away by a clumsy hand every now and then. His footsteps were heavy, muffled by the carpet.
Shadows darkened the second floor, barely visible. The chandelier that hung down the foyer was the only light source that managed to reach the top of the stairs, crystals shining little spotlights over the walls as they slowly turned. His feet stopped absently, before his mother’s path branched from his own, since their rooms were in opposite ends of the hallway. She stood next to him, touching the space between his shoulder blades.
“I’m not tired,” he protested.
Part of it was true, but a much larger part came from not being ready to leave her just yet. Her presence hadn’t felt this calming in a long time; he had to enjoy it.
“Why don’t you lie in my bed then? I’ll read you a story,” she offered.
“Thought I was too big for that,” he mumbled.
“I’ll make tonight an exception.”
His father’s voice echoed downstairs, inaudible.
“Dad’s gonna be mad.”
“Oh, he can’t be mad if it’s an invitation. Come, I’ll read you Hansen and Gretel. I still have the book.”
The fact she’d kept his favorite book warmed his heart. They hadn’t read it in forever; that was only something they used to do when he was a child, before he’d even learned how to read. If she’d kept it, then maybe those memories were important to her too, even if she’d never told him. His eyebrows furrowed upwards, eyes full of tears. Slowly, he nodded.
***
He didn’t realize how much he’d needed this. A hand played with her hair as she read to him, curling soft locks around his fingers only to uncurl them a moment later. He barely paid attention to the words, listening to how quietly she said them instead, careful not to disturb the night. He rested his head on her shoulder, brown hair falling over his forehead, soft on his face. One deep breath filled his lungs with a field of lilacs in the summer rain.
His mother was perfect.
As soon as his father walked into the room, his body stiffened, eyes wide—story time was over. He knew he’d overstayed his welcome and should be leaving now, but he didn’t move right away—he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready. His eyes held the stare with Henry, watching him take notice of the one thing he hated most in the world. This bed belonged to him and his wife, not his grown son. It’d never even belonged to him when he was small, either; he couldn’t remember a time when his father had been okay with him sleeping between them. Henry had always hated that.
He glanced at Carolyn next, at how unconcerned she was that he’d just entered the room. She noticed him, of course; a brief glance had illustrated her acknowledgement, but it hadn’t been significant enough to pause her reading. This lack of reaction from her struck him as odd—Theodore saw it on his face, his furrowed brows, the subtle way his back straightened up. He’d clearly expected something else from her, more aligned with what he had in mind. Theodore didn’t fault him for that; historically, she’d always taken his side and stopped reading when he entered the room, but tonight was different. The world shifted in its axis and it felt like Theodore had finally started to win at this game. Defeated, Henry crossed the room for the closet.
His disappearance, even if brief, still pulled a breath from Theodore’s lungs—he had another minute with her. It was so precious that if he could hold it, he still wouldn’t, too afraid to break it and end tonight way too soon. Snuggled up next to her, he closed his eyes and buried his face into her hair, imprinting this moment into his soul, memorizing every detail of it—the low of her voice, the softness of her words, the flowers that surrounded her. He held in a breath for as long as his lungs would let him, acutely aware of the finite characteristics of this moment, too delicate to survive very long.
Henry’s voice killed it as if it’d never been alive. It reached the room before the rest of him, successfully interrupting the story. It pulled Theodore’s face from his mother’s hair and Carolyn’s eyes from the page before her, all to see him walk back into the room. “I spoke to Tim. He said he’ll come over tomorrow at eight.” Dressed in a plain white shirt and some pajama pants, Henry very pointedly held his wife’s stare. Theodore knew this meant he wasn’t invited into the conversation, and in fact, shouldn’t even be here anymore. He was being ignored on purpose.
“Good,” Carolyn spoke while closing the book. Story time was officially over. Instead of asking him to leave, however, she simply made to get up. The glance she offered prompted him to lean away from her shoulder, allowing her to set the book aside and get out of bed. Surely, she’d kick him out now? He waited for it with dread crawling up his veins, arm awkwardly holding him up. His subconscious knew he wasn’t supposed to get comfortable right now.
Surprisingly, she never said a word. Instead, she stepped in front of Henry to have her dress unzipped and slipped into the closet. The couple spoke very little; a word to get the dress, another to indicate gratitude, a comment on tomorrow’s goings on and the staff that should be coming to clean up tonight’s mess. It was all very mundane, yet Theodore felt like he wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. His father circled the bed for his side, picked up a tablet and took a seat all the while speaking to Carolyn. Even though there was a healthy space between them, it still didn’t feel right to be on his father’s bed with the man in it too—this had literally never happened. Theodore clearly shouldn’t be here. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to slink away; something inside him just bound him here, because if Carolyn wouldn’t tell him to leave, then he didn’t have to and he wouldn’t. She’d be back soon.
“Who’s Tim?” he asked.
“Why should I tell you if you’re going to meet the man in a handful of hours?” his father spoke without looking at him, eyes down at the tablet.
“Is he a doctor?”
“Of a kind.”
Slowly, his arm relaxed. “Is he going to prescribe me something?”
“Hard to say. It’ll depend on what he finds.”
“Am I sick?”
“You were born sick.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Carolyn interjected. Her voice brought air to Theodore’s lungs, eyes latching onto her figure the moment she left the closet. “This isn’t something you’re born with; it’s a propensity. He didn’t always have it,” she spoke while walking over, voice swelling with emotion. “And it’s not a defect, either. God, you speak as if he were a broken vase!” A hand stripped the blanket off the mattress, full of rage. He’d never seen her this affected by anything before.
“He’s a perfect copy of you, Carolyn; always has been. I’m actually not surprised that he has it.”
“We don’t know that, but even if he does, he didn’t inherit it from me; that’s simply not possible. What he has is a propensity for developing it later in life. He wasn’t born like this.” She got into bed with a scowl on her forehead, blanket up to her shoulder.
“I’m not accusing you of passing it down to him, but you can’t say you’re completely free of blame.”
“He could’ve still developed it even if I didn’t have it.”
“You widened his chances.”
“We are done,” she informed him, sharp and stern. Her eyes moved over to Theodore, and as soon as they landed, they softened. He watched it in real time, how her scowl disappeared and all her pent-up anger slowly dissipated. She touched him on the arm. “Here, let mommy hold you.”
Obediently, he lay down with his back to her, the same way he used to do when he was a child. It hadn’t happened much—he could count all the times on his fingers—which only served to make this one even more special. She hugged him across the chest, holding him close. His fingers touched the back of her hand, the rings near her wedding band.
“You’re not broken, Theodore; you’re perfect.”
“You’re perfect too,” he whispered.
“That’s my point.”
His father turned off the lights, engulfing the room in darkness. The rustling of the sheets indicated movement, that he was lying down too. Theodore couldn’t see which side he faced, but hoped it was the other one.
“Are you haunted, mom?” His question was so small it barely existed.
“No, Theodore; no one’s haunted in this house.”
“I am. I can still see them.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I touched one once. Remember Ethel? She told me about you.”
“Ethel’s not real.”
“She told me about the trailer park.”
The silence that followed was almost palpable. He nudged his fingers under his mother’s hand, holding the back of it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Be glad you didn’t grow up in one too,” Henry cut in. The fact his voice didn’t come directly towards Theodore told him his father faced the other way. Good.
“Did Ryan?”
“For four years.”
“That explains nothing about him,” Carolyn defended. “I turned out just fine. Everyone has the potential to. Now shush—it’s time for bed.”
He nodded.
The position he was in, lying between both of his parents, was definitely strange—one of the most bizarre things he’d ever experienced—but at the same time, it was really nice. This was the closest he’d ever felt to them. Even though he didn’t particularly care to be this close to his father, the fact the man let him do it still brought a warm feeling to his chest. His father clearly minded all of this, but for one night, he let it happen. There was enough space for him to move around all he wanted; he wasn’t restricted to a corner and that wasn’t really the point. It was a matter of principle, and for the first time, he let Theodore have it his way.
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