Page 5 of Open Water

“Fuck the hell off.” Tom almost whimpers.

“Talk, Dad. What the hell freaked you out? Because you are kind of scaring me now.”

Tom is kind of scaring himself, gulping down the beer in large mouthfuls and not even looking up. Max doesn’t even dare to take a sip out of the drink in front of him. He’s not supposed to have alcohol. He’s not supposed to drink in a pub. He’s not supposed to talk to his Dad. Not like this. His Dad is supposed to be normal. Not sweating and panting and looking like he is about to pass out.

“So, did you shag his girlfriend, then? Slag off his boyfriend? You know he’s gay, don’t you?”

Tom just whimpers and sticks an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Sucks on it like it is some kind of lifesaving miracle oxygen.

“Dad, you look like you are having a panic attack. Seriously, dude. Breathe.”

It’s not often Max seems to worry about him. But right now, catching his reflection in the glass windows, his skin grey, and his hands visibly shaking, he’s a little bit worried about the state of himself. And anyway, he can’t even look at Max. Instead, he grabs his beer with a shaky hand and takes another loud gulp.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. Because Tom has spent years and years perfecting the speech he would give if he ever laid eyes on Lukas Myrtengren again. He has tweaked it and twisted it and changed the words so many times in his head, that his thoughts kind of spin with confusion on how he can’t get a single word to come out of his mouth. It has happened. He has stood right there in front of him, in all his Lukas-ness. Still unmistakably him. Still with that arrogant eyebrow cocked and the anger radiating from his eyes and the mouth. That fucking mouth on him. Tom has to close his eyes. It’s just. Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

“Dad, I am the drama queen in this family. Come on, don’t take that from me as well. If you are going to freak and cause a scene, then I’m leaving.”

Max takes a long defiant gulp of his beer. His eyes are twinkling, and he is doing that thing. Being all Max. Normally, Tom would have shouted something unrepeatable and rude at his beloved son. Swatted him playfully over the head. Threatened him with withdrawing the rumoured bottomless pit of money that he will always gladly spend on his only child. If only he would show a tiny ounce of gratitude and respect and understanding that his father is actually a human being with feelings, needing just a little bit of kindness.

Just fucking tell me you still love me. Even though I am an arsehole most of the time. I am your Dad, and I fucking love you to the end of the earth and back.Not that he will say that. Because… Just because.

“I need a hug,” he blurts out.

Max cackles from the other side of the table.

“Okay Dad,” he says softly. Shaking his head and playing with the pack of cigarettes on the table between them.

“Fuck it. Let’s go home.” Tom sighs, and sweeps the dregs of his pint down. Banging the glass down on the wooden table top a little harder than he should have.

“No.” Max almost sounds triumphant. “I haven’t finished my pint, and then, after we can go back and speak to Lukas. I still need to finish school.”

“You are changing schools. Easy.”

“I like this school. I’m not changing schools again.”

“I’m not even dealing with this now—” Tom starts, but Max cuts him off.

“This is how you deal with everything, Dad. You remember when Anne-Mette asked you out for a date? Instead of letting her down gently and saying no, you fired her and changed to a different cleaning agency. Anne-Mette was brilliant. We both loved her. And you fucked it up. Then, remember when I scratched the neighbour’s car with my bike? We moved to a new house. You could have just apologised.”

Tom just groans again.

“You can’t just run away from everything. It makes you look like an arsehole.”

“I am an arsehole.” Tom is. He knows it.

“You are not an arsehole. At least not all the time.”

“I am. I know people hate me. I didn’t even get an invite to the E.R. Christmas party.”

“Yes, you did, it was a Facebook thing. I saw it.”

“I don’t have Facebook.” Tom looks almost too pleased with himself.

“You have Facebook. And I have your password.”

“You said you deleted it! I mean we only set it up to see if we could stalk your Mum.”

“Yeah and then I reactivated it, so I could snoop on you. You are boring on Facebook, but you actually did get invited. You should check it sometimes. You might make some friends.”

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