Page 36 of Groomsman to Groom

“Hayes,” she says, giving me a quick, tight hug. Over August’s head, she mouths, “We need to talk.”

Great. Another lecture about my parental shortcomings, as if the one playing on repeat in my head isn’t enough.

“Grandma let me stay up until ten-thirty last night.” August adjusts his glasses with that precise gesture that always makes him look like a miniature professor. “We watched the originalStar TrekepisodeThe City on the Edge of Foreverbecause it’s about time travel and choices that affect the future, which felt thematically appropriate.”

“Thematically appropriate,” I echo, ruffling his hair. “You’re still using vocabulary that makes my head spin, huh?”

“Precise vocabulary is important, Dad.” He looks past me to the mansion, eyes widening. “Is this where all the women live? It’s very large. Inefficient design for a family dwelling, though.”

I can’t help but smile. Three minutes back with my son and I’m already remembering why no woman I’ve met on this show—Brielle possibly excepted—can match the intellectual gymnastics of conversing with August Burke.

“Let’s get you settled.” I take his backpack with one hand and his small hand in my other. “You’ve in my room with me, and grandma is in a room right next to ours.”

As we walk through the mansion’s cavernous hallways, August firing questions about square footage and architectural decisions, I study him more carefully. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there two weeks ago. He’s chewing on his lower lip, a nervous habit he develops when anxious. And though he’s talking a mile a minute, there’s a forced quality to his enthusiasm, as if he’s working overtime to convince me—or himself—that everything’s fine.

“August,” I interrupt gently as we reach his temporary bedroom, “how are things really going? At school? With Grandma?”

He busies himself with unzipping his backpack, avoiding my eyes. “Fine. School is school. The educational standards remain subpar, but I’ve been supplementing with online quantum physics courses.”

“And the other kids?” I say, remembering his tearful voicemail. “Any more issues with Liam?”

August’s small shoulders stiffen. “Liam has been recalibrated,” he says, a phrase I’ve never heard from him before.

“Recalibrated?”

“I calculated the optimal response to his continuous provocations. When he called me ‘robot boy’ on Tuesday, I informed him that while I merely correct factual inaccuracies, he actively reduces the collective IQ of our class by several points each time he speaks. Then I suggested his developmental delays might be attributable to excessive screen time or possibly lead exposure.” August pushes his glasses up, finally meeting myeyes. “He cried. The teacher called Grandma. I have detention next Monday.”

I sit heavily on the edge of the bed. “August...”

“I know, I know. ‘Don’t insult everyone else’s IQs, August.’ Except I just stated facts. It’s not my fault facts hurt his feelings.”

The stubborn set of his jaw is pure Sarah, and for a moment, grief hits me so hard I can barely breathe. She would know exactly what to say right now. She always did.

“It’s not just about the facts, buddy. It’s about how we use them.” I pat the space beside me, and he hesitantly sits. “You’ve got an incredible brain—way smarter than mine, that’s for sure. But people aren’t just brains walking around. They’ve got hearts and feelings too.”

“Feelings aren’t efficient,” he mutters, but there’s a quiver in his voice.

“Maybe. But they’re what makes us human.” I wrap an arm around his thin shoulders. “Is this why no one’s sitting with you at lunch?”

A single tear escapes, tracking down his cheek before he roughly wipes it away. “It doesn’t matter. I bring my books. Books don’t call you names or care if you know things they don’t.”

God, I’ve failed him. Two weeks away, and my lonely son has retreated further into his protective shell of facts and figures.

“I’m sorry, August. I should have been there.”

“Why?” he asks, genuine confusion in his voice. “I told you to do this. I want you to find happiness, like Grandma said. That’s logical. Life continues despite death. Entropy is unavoidable.”

“Entropy, huh?” I pull him closer. “You’ve been reading Stephen Hawking again?”

“And watching documentaries.” He leans against me, suddenly looking younger than his nine years. “Tomorrow is three years and thirty-two days, Dad. I did the math—that’s 1,127days. Just more than a quarter of my life without her.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m forgetting what her voice sounded like.”

My heart shatters. I pull him into a tight hug, feeling his small body shake with the sobs he’s clearly been holding back.

“I’ve got videos,” I tell him, my own voice unsteady. “Lots of them. We’ll watch them together tomorrow, okay? And I’ll tell you all the stories again—how she used to singYellow Submarinecompletely off-key when she gave you baths. How she kept jellybeans in her purse for emergencies, but the emergency was usually that she wanted candy.”

August nods against my chest, his glasses digging uncomfortably into my sternum. “I told you I put the pictures out yesterday. The beach ones.”

“I know, buddy. That was a good idea.” I stroke his hair, feeling like the world’s worst father. “I’m right here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

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