August

Ron holds the remote out in front of him, way in front. I wonder if he realizes he doesn't have to do that. It's not like it makes a difference.

The TV makes a little boop noise every time he thumbs down to the next entry in the lineup. He scrolls through all the NHL games, looking for baseball.

Twirling my beer bottle slowly in my fingers, I watch the condensation form droplets and rub them out with the pad of my thumb.

“This all right?” he asks absentmindedly.

“Sure,” I agree without looking at what he's putting on.

The familiar sounds of a sports match fill the air. I don't even have to watch. I'm just here holding down the other end of the sofa for Ron.

Suddenly I realize, I have never asked him about his love life. He was always there for me with Trina, then later suggesting other women in his office like Kelly… But I never even asked him about other women. He has never brought it up either.

“Ron? Do you date?”

His beer bottle pauses halfway to his lips, just for a second.

“Date? Like women?”

“Yeah, women.”

Ron shrugs and drinks his beer. “I don't think about it much anymore.”

We sit in silence. I know I’m not going to get much more out of him. If Ron wanted to say more, he would have.

Finally he finds a show and his hand drops back into his lap. It's soccer, strangely. Or football, I guess is what the rest of the world calls it.

“I didn't know you followed soccer,” I say.

“I guess it’s what’s on,” he answers vaguely.

There's a team in yellow, and another team in green. The announcer is speaking so quickly I'm not sure if it’s English. It might be English. It might be just English with an accent. No idea.

“Ron… Listen…”

My voice trails off. Why is this so hard?

“Ron…” I start again. “Man, I need to ask you something.”

He sets his bottle down on the end table, still not looking at me. “Ask away.”

“I was just thinking… well…”

English. I am pretty sure it’s English but maybe with something like a German accent. Pretty sure.

We sit there in silence for a good long time. I feel like half the game goes by. Finally Ron turns his head toward me.

“Were you saying something?”

“Ron… I think… I'd like to date Dahlia.”

The crowd goes wild. The announcer yells something.

“With your permission,” I add. “Only with your permission.”

“She's twenty-one,” Ron says, his voice even and implacable. “She doesn't need my permission.”

I shrug helplessly. “That might be true… But I need your permission, Ron. I need to know that you and I would be okay. That you would be okay. It's important to me.”

He gets up from the couch walks away. I don't move, listening to the thunderous sound of my heartbeat my ears. After quite a long time, he returns, sitting down and placing two fresh beers on the coffee table in front of him.

“Dahlia is… she's my girl, August,” Ron says softly.

“I know that. I have nothing but respect for that.”

He picks up his beer, watching the TV screen intently over the top of the bottle opening. After a long swig, he puts it back down.

“As long as you know that,” he continues. “You gotta know that. You gotta do right.”

The game moves along, with the yellow team rushing to one side, the green team rushing to the other side. The crowd roars its approval and disapproval. Guys in black and white striped shirts hustle alongside the action.

Near the end of the game, Ron is almost finished his beer. I hear the front door open and Dahlia and Bunny walk into the foyer.

“As long as you understand that,” Ron says again, his voice barely audible under the sound from the front of the house. “She's everything in the world to me.”

“Thanks,” I choke, my voice thick with emotion. I know that's the most emotional conversation Ron has had in a long time. He's usually happy just to have me next to him. Not talking, not about anything important anyway. He's always aware, always even. He's a rock. But there's nothing more than he needs to say.

I totally understand.