Page 62 of Silent Is The Heart

Easton

The sight of your convict father in nothing but an MSP sweatshirt, knee socks, and his boxers, watching your television like he owns your living room is a sore comparison to the vision of Aaron’s elated face amid the glow of Christmas lights. Hanging my keys up on the wall inside the door to my apartment, I avoid his gaze by glancing across the room to the open door of the spare bathroom. I can tell from here that he followed through on his promise to make it right again. He clearly replaced both faucet handles with new ones when only one was necessary. I want to roll my eyes. Going above and beyond will get him nowhere with me.

“It’s all cleaned up. New pipe’s on, too. You shouldn’t have that problem again.”

Just to be a dick, I walk in and inspect the bathroom, resenting theOld Spicetoiletries I see littering the sink counter. They’re aligned tidily, but I don’t want to see or smell Old Spice because I associate it withhim. The water stain above the baseboard appears to be fading, drying enough that I might not have to worry about a mold problem. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to buy new ceiling panels to replace the stained ones I took down from above Wolf’s station, however, just to keep things copacetic with my business partner.

“You’re not going to get fired for not showing up to work?” I challenge, heading past the couch potato toward the kitchen area.

“No. I explained what happened, and they understood. The parole officer won’t have a problem with it either if he finds out. I get some paid time off, so it’s not a problem.”

Like he’s doing me a fucking favor. He’s the one who caused the damn leak to begin with. Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, I stare at it in my hand for a second. I’ve not seen him touch a drop since he arrived. It’s probably not wise to even keep alcohol in here with him around to be tempted by it.

Turning around, I watch him bite into a piece of fried chicken straight from a carryout container, flecks of crumbs tumbling down his chest. An episode ofSwamp Peopleis blaring on my big screen. He’s living his best life while I gave up an evening with Aaron to clean up the rest of the mess he caused downstairs.

“You like this show?” he asks, motioning to the TV with his chicken leg. “They’re pretty funny.”

Stomping over to my recliner, I pop the lid off my beer, no longer giving a fuck about his self-control. If he falls off the wagon, maybe it’ll cure me of the lapse in judgment I had by taking pity on him. Swiping up the remote off the end table, I drop into my chair and bring up the menu. Kickboxing—nice. Something violent to express my current mood.

“You finding a place anytime soon?” There. I got to the point of why I choseSwamp Peopleover spooning Aaron tonight. Short but sweet.

I can feel him eye me warily. In my peripheral, he drops his chicken leg and sets his Styrofoam container down, swiping up a napkin to clean his hands.

“There’s a complex not too far from the factory,” he explains in that annoying slow drawl of his. “I heard they’re open to admitting parolees, so I got a renter’s application from them. I just need another paycheck or two if they accept me.”

“Good.” I nod, pretending I’m immersed in the fight.

“How was your evening with…yourfriend?” The way he hesitates to say ‘friend’ is both telling and grates on my nerves. To top it off, he adds, “I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had.”

Should I tell him I can’t bring Aaron back here because I don’t want him subjected to my homophobic father? Does that constitute ruining plans?

“It was fine,” I grumble. “I prefer to stay at his place for now,” I add, hoping he’ll get the hint. “I don’t want him over here until you’re gone.”

Taking a long draw from my beer, I wait for his reaction. He wants to be nosy? He wants to try to get to know me? Let him choke on that Pride flag and try to hide his true colors.

“He seems like a nice guy. You been together long?”

It’s said so passively, I don’t know what to think. Where are the sneers? The derision? How is this the same man that called me asissyandfagwhenever he’d catch me ogling men in my mother’s magazines?

“A few months.” The words flop out of my mouth with no defense in them, my nerves trembling.

“That’s good. I hope he treats you well.”

It’s too much. I don’t know how to receive it. Prison was supposed to be a hell he rotted in, not a place where he turned a leaf and shed his bigotry and alcoholism. They call it reform for a reason, but I can’t wrap my head around the change from what I remember of the past.

Tossing the remote on the end table, I push out of the recliner.

“Better than anyone I’ve ever known,” I spout off in the only way I ever remember talking to him and head toward my room.

I tell myself I lock my bedroom door behind me because he’s a criminal who killed my mother. It has nothing to do with the conflicted emotions bubbling inside me, threatening to crack the armor I built that helped me hate him for the last decade. Of course, I fucking hate him. I don’t care if he found his own boyfriend in prison or whatever the hell it was that has him imparting well wishes to his queer son. Except, I’m really tired of hating. I never realized how exhausting it is. I thought I hated Aaron once for making me think he was the answer to my prayers and then running off to give those prayers to another man. I was wrong about him, but I can’t be wrong about Leonard. Still, I can’t wait for him to be gone. I don’t want hate in my heart anymore now that I found something better to live there.

Shedding my clothes, I step under my shower and focus on better things, happy things. Only one thing, if I’m being honest. One person. Watching the suds circling the drain, I smile at how freely Aaron offered his help to clean up the mess tonight. It doesn’t matter whether we’re just putting a puzzle together or cleaning up shower water; he seems to be content doing anything as long as it’s with me. I certainly owe him one for the gesture and abandoning him tonight. My little Christmas elf.

Ha. I know just how to knock his socks off tomorrow. I have to go to the hardware store anyway to buy more ceiling panels. Shaking my head, I laugh. Someone’s going shopping for Christmas lights for the first time in their life tomorrow.

CHAPTER 31

Aaron

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