CHAPTER TWO
So, okay, maybe Elliot’s a coward. Maybe he pretends he doesn’t hear the knock on his front door the first two…three…times. It’s possible, one could say, that he’s happy to leave his kid hanging on the porch while he works up the nerve to face Mark Kade again.
But he finally finds his balls and opens the door, babbling away like a nervous fool because that’s exactly what he is. “Sorry, didn’t hear the door, I wear headphones when I work …”
“No you don’t,” says Sammy helpfully. Elliot shoots him a glare, which he promptly tries to hide with a painfully fake laugh.
“Such a joker,” he chuckles, ruffling Sammy’s hair. “Get in here.”
Sammy looks at him with the very height of scathing judgement and mutters a thanks to Mark, who Elliot still hasn’t looked at.
“No problem, kiddo,” Mark calls after Sammy.
With Sammy disappeared into the depths of the house, Elliot now finds himself standing alone with Mark. Which—oh god, help.
Mark clears his throat. “This is a nice house,” he says, knocking an attractive snort out of Elliot.
“It’s a shoe box.”
“A nice shoe box.”
Elliot chances a look at him, because that voice sounds entirely too warm and pleasant, and Elliot is weak. Problem is, the face matches the voice—sparkling eyes, soft expression. Friendly. Nice.
Elliot swallows. “Thanks for bringing him back.”
“Not a problem,” says Mark. He puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels. You’re supposed to leave, Elliot thinks wildly. But Mark doesn’t leave. He says, “They had a good time. Already talking about the next time Sammy can come over.” And just like that, Elliot gets it. He understands.
Mark’s trying to make everything normal again. Take away the awkwardness. Put them back on level ground.
And—okay, sure. Elliot can appreciate that, and he’ll take it with a whole lot of gratitude. So he smiles, and he leans against the doorjamb, and he looks Mark square in the eye so he can talk to him like a grown up. “Think it’s our turn to have Wade next. Although it might be a shock for him hanging out in a room smaller than his bath tub.”
“You don’t know our bath tub.”
“I mean, it’s an educated guess.”
“I feel like this is reverse snobbery,” says Mark, amusement lighting up every part of his face. Such a nice face.
Elliot’s response is cut off by Sammy yelling, “Dad, I’m starving!” from somewhere inside.
Mark looks absolutely stricken by this information. “I did feed him,” he says. “I mean, he ate a whole pizza…”
Elliot waves it away. “The kid would eat literally nonstop if I let him. Don’t sweat it—”
“Dad! I want to order Chinese!” yells Sammy.
“Sometimes,” says Elliot dryly, “I can’t help thinking that if he wasn’t my kid, no one would ever find the body.”
“I know that feeling,” Mark says, flashing a grin. And then, apparently deciding he’s achieved his goal of making things less awkward between them, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder and adds, “Anyway, I better get going. Wade’s in the car and he’s likely to try hotwiring if I leave him too long. Oh,” he says suddenly, reaching into his back pocket. “You should take my number.” He hands a business card to Elliot.
Elliot looks at it, takes in none of the information, nods, and then steps back from the doorjamb. “Thanks again. For having Sammy.” And with a final smile and a goodbye from Mark, Elliot watches him leave, the strong lines of his back and shoulders as he heads back to his car…
Shaking himself out of it, Elliot shuts the door, tucks the business card into his pocket, and goes to find Sammy, whose impatience now has him rummaging in the fridge for something to eat.
“Come on, we better get to the doctor’s office,” Elliot says to him.
Sammy pulls out of the fridge and shoots him a look of bafflement over his shoulder. “Why?”
“Apparently you’ve got amnesia, because it seems you’ve forgotten all your manners.” He raises a pointed eyebrow for good measure.
Sammy huffs, shuts the fridge door. “Sorry, I’m just really hungry.”
“Yeah, well, I was having a conversation. Don’t try that shit again.”
“Okay,” says Sammy, because sometimes Elliot knows how to be a real parent, and Sammy’s learned to recognize when that line is drawn.
Elliot smiles at him. “All right. Let’s see what dinner options we’ve got here. I’m not ordering takeout again.”
“Ugh,” says Sammy, which…business as usual. But he helps Elliot dig through the cupboards anyway, and they eventually unearth some boxed mac ‘n cheese that looks vaguely edible.
“So what was it like,” Elliot asks as they get to work making it—Sammy more hovering about than actually helping. “At Wade’s house?”
“Pretty cool.”
“I bet he’s got loads of awesome stuff in his room.”
Sammy lifts a shoulder. “Kinda normal, really. Xbox, a few board games…”
“Oh. So no personal cinema screen or thousand-dollar drone?”
“Not that I saw.” He takes over the stirring at Elliot’s prompting and mutters, “You wouldn’t even know he was rich.”
“I mean, apart from the mansion.”
“They didn’t choose that house.”
“No,” Elliot agrees, remembering all the cold modern art on the walls and the massive, empty rooms. So different to Mark’s personality, miles away from his warmth. He can imagine Mark in some woodland cabin, maybe by a lake. Cosy fires and worn-soft sweaters.
“Dad.”
Elliot blinks. “What?”
“I said, is this done?”
Elliot gazes down into the pan and shakes his head. “Couple more minutes.” He pauses, nibbling his lower lip, and then: “Did you hang out with Wade’s dad much?”
“Yeah, a little. We had pizza together.”
He doesn’t really know how to say Tell me everything you learned about him without giving himself away, so instead he says carefully, “He seems like a nice guy. Right?”
Sammy shrugs. “He’s a dad.”
Right. Fair point, from his kid’s view. But not exactly the gossip-fest Elliot really wants to have. “You think you’ll want to hang out over there again?”
“Yeah,” says Sammy, and a moment later the mac ‘n cheese starts sizzling, putting an end to the conversation—the lowkey interrogation, really—so they can dish up and eat.
He doesn’t press Sammy for any more information that evening—and really, what does he even want to know? Mark’s a nice guy, a decent dad, and he’s straight. That’s all anyone needs to know. So Elliot finds him attractive, and maybe he’s got a repressed crush going back to their high school years, and possibly there’s a part of him that sparked a little hope when Mark remembered him so easily—like he’d thought about him over the years. But…whatever. He’s the father of his kid’s new friend, and that’s the only dynamic that matters.
He puts it all out of his mind, settles down to watch a movie with his kid, and definitely doesn’t spend any part of the next day thinking about twinkling eyes and broad shoulders. Not even when Lucas stops by to take Sammy for the day, leaving Elliot alone with the thoughts he definitely isn’t having.
He googles Mark a little bit. But that doesn’t count. That’s just curiosity, because after all, he’s leaving his kid in this man’s care. It’s only natural to want to check out all of his social media profiles, to find himself fifty-three weeks deep in his Instagram…
Eventually, he remembers the business card, and the number printed on it.
TO: Mark
Hey, just passing on my number.
A moment later, he realizes his mistake, and rushes to correct it.
TO: Mark
It’s Elliot, btw.
FROM: Mark
who?
Elliot stares at the phone screen, heart sinking like lead down to his toes. Then his phone beeps again, and a second message comes through.
FROM: Mark
i’m kidding ;) it was nice catching up with you
For a start, he’s not really sure they did much catching up, and for another start, can it really be called catching up, when you barely ever knew that person in the first place?
Still, though, that little winking emoticon holds his attention for a long moment, and he breaks his brain trying to think of something to say in response.
TO: Mark
Yeah. Same.
Fucking lame.
“Sammy tells me you know Mark Kade,” Lucas says later that evening, after dropping Sammy home and promptly helping himself to a coffee.
Elliot gives him a guarded look, all too aware of the knowing glint in his husband’s eyes. “Kind of.”
After a pointed, drawn-out sip of his coffee, Lucas murmurs, “That guy is hot,” which makes Elliot roll his eyes, even if his heart leaps at how forcefully he agrees. “You never mentioned you went to school with him.”
“Didn’t know it was a big deal,” Elliot says airily, turning his back to pull the clean dishes from the dishwasher. But of course it’s a big deal—Lucas is a sports fan, and Elliot knows a famous sportsman. There’s no reason why he never told Lucas about it, not even in the beginning, when he was trying to impress him.
He’s never really thought about why he didn’t.
Lucas tuts. “Selfish,” he says. “Keeping him all to yourself.
I wish, thinks Elliot, but he’s a grown up, so he doesn’t say it.