Chapter 4

Marc snapped awake, his breathing ragged and his stomach still churning. He sat up quickly and kicked back the sheets as he tried to calm himself down. It was just after four in the morning. He ran his hands down his face and took another moment to breathe.

He climbed out of his bed and went down the hall to Ariel’s room. He went in quietly, watching her lay in the bed that was far too large for her—but she would grow into it, so he didn’t have to replace it. He settled back in the cushioned chair in the corner of her room, crossing one leg over the other.

Marc let out a long sigh, debating for the thousandth time if he was actually doing this right. He knew nothing about raising a child, much less what it might be like to raise a girl. Wouldn’t there be some teenage stage where she was running around screaming about how she hated her dad?

He watched the sun slowly start to seep into the room, starting with a soft blue morning light. By then he knew it had to be closer to six and snuck out of Ariel’s room.

Marc went to get ready for the day and got mostly dressed before he woke Ariel up for the morning. He was downstairs in the kitchen when the landline rang, making him jolt. Only one person ever called the house phone. He stared it down for a moment before finally picking it up.

“Hey, dad,” Marc answered.

“Good morning, Marc. How have things been? It’s been a while,” the man greeted. “How’s Ariel doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” Marc muttered. “She’s up getting ready for school, and I’m working on breakfast.”

“That’s good. How has work been? Busy?”

“Tiring,” Marc went on shortly.

“Understandable. The company has been expanding a lot,” his dad went on. “And if you need someone to watch Ariel for a few hours a day or something, you know I’m not doing much these days.”

“I know.” Marc cleared his throat. “Look, I’m in the middle of making breakfast,” he said again. “Kind of hard to balance with the phone, I should go.”

“Maybe I could talk to Ariel for a few minutes, then?” he tried.

“She’s not ready yet, and I don’t want her to be late. Maybe another time.” Marc set the phone back into its cradle and heaving a long sigh.

“Who was that?” Ariel piped up from behind, making Marc jump and tense.

“No one, just a wrong number,” Marc said. “Go take a seat.”

“What are you making?” Ariel tipped up on her toes to try and get a look, since he was actually using the stove.

“Careful, back off.” Marc nudged her away with his elbow. “It’s just bacon and eggs.” One of his few capable meals, as he’d decided to go outside of his bounds of cereal and toaster strudels.

Marc ignored the sting of the bacon grease as he threw in the eggs. Soaking them in grease probably wasn’t the healthiest, but sure was the tastiest. Besides, he was more likely to suffer a heart attack than she was.

They ate at the table before Marc drove her to school and dropped her off at the before care, since school didn’t start for another hour.

He went to work from there but still had a hard time focusing. His mind was still scattered from waking up like he had. He was still tweaked from it.

He was at least able to cut out of work a little early and went to sit in the parking lot of Ariel’s school for a while. Eventually he gave up and went in, getting his visitors pass and trekking back towards Brendan’s classroom.

It was all a whirlwind again with a project deadline in the past. Brendan was actually helping someone though, something to do with a drawing. He waited by Brendan’s desk and sat in the chair behind it. It was a mess of course but he was sure Brendan knew where everything was anyways.

There didn’t seem to be any actual school work or grades involved on it, just miscellaneous art supplies and some notes. Brendan finished with the student and smiled at Marc as he came over. “Hey, how was the rest of your weekend?”

Marc shrugged stiffly. “Fine.” He didn’t really want to talk about it.

Brendan nodded and shifted his eyes around. “Well usually you’re a little chattier,” he finally commented after a while.

“Didn’t sleep well,” Marc answered truthfully.

“You know, counseling isn’t always a bad idea,” Brendan pointed out, somewhat off topic until Marc understood what he was getting at.

“I just had a bad dream,” Marc defended himself. He didn’t need anything like that.

“Okay,” Brendan went with it. “Either way.”

Marc didn’t get that part but he wasn’t going to push for more. He would eventually get used to everything, even if it wasn’t right then. Counseling involved emotions, which was apparently something he wasn’t good at communicating.

“Or art could be therapeutic,” Brendan added.

Marc couldn’t help but snort. “A certain blond little girl got all those skills, not me.”

“Okay, true,” Brendan chuckled. “But you should find something you like, you know? Something that relaxes you. Reading, playing some sort of game or sport maybe.”

“You think I need to relax?” Marc asked. Maybe he was giving away more than he thought somehow. His dad had mentioned something similar that morning after all.

“I don’t know. You just seem pretty uptight today,” Brendan finally said.

“Bad dream,” Marc repeated.

“Want to talk about it?” Brendan prompted. “I mean, maybe not now. But later or something.”

Marc eyed him suspiciously. Marc didn’t mind superficial talking as much—joking around and what not. But actually having revealing conversations with people? Sharing personal things? Whether Brendan was Ariel’s teacher or not… it was hard to come around to.

“Or maybe you just don’t have any social skills,” Brendan said, half teasing, but it wasn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s usually just business,” Marc explained, shrugging and reclining further back in Brendan’s chair. He’d already given a small lie about having any friends, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give that away now. Then Brendan might actually try to be a friend, whatever that meant. He seemed like the self-sacrificing type.

“I’m inviting you to coffee then,” Brendan declared, wagging his finger at Marc.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Marc countered, frowning.

“Oh. Well, to some intake of beverages that aren’t alcoholic,” Brendan corrected himself then.

“What about Ariel then? She’d have to come along,” Marc pointed out. He would try and get out of this every way that he could.

“There are such things as babysitters you know, and it’s not like I can’t think if a few older students who would be good for it.” Brendan was well practiced in handling excuses.

The bell for the end of the day rang, and Marc was all too prepared to try and use that as his last out. “I have to go pick up Ariel,” he said, sliding out of the chair and for the door.

“I have your contact info,” Brendan called out after him, right before Marc could really get away.

Marc swore to himself then. Not that he actually had anything against Brendan, or being social, it just felt… forced, anyways. And he didn’t know how really to share anything with people. That was the main reason his wife had left anyways—he’d been “too emotionally disconnected.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t have emotions. He didn’t know how to express them, or he kept them to himself. Hell, when she’d left, he’d barely flinched through all of the screaming and crying on her part.

And maybe that was the whole point Brendan was trying to get at. Marc sighed and waited outside Ariel’s classroom for her to come out. She grabbed his hand and led the way out of the school doors, and Marc took them to the car.

He already had a text from Brendan.

***

“I shouldn’t be gone that long,” Marc said again for probably the third time.

“Okay,” she answered, smiling. “I don’t really care though, long as it’s not super late.”

“I don’t think she’d mind sharing some of her art supplies if you worked with her,” Marc continued. Brendan had gotten one of his more dedicated art students to babysit. Her name was Terri, and she was seventeen. Marc felt like she was at least a little familiar from being in Brendan’s class at the end of the day.

“Cool. I have most of my own stuff but she and I could work together,” Terri bounced excitedly. “If I end up making dinner, is there anything I should make?”

Marc half wondered if Brendan had put her up to that, or if that was an expected babysitting question. “You can just order some food. Ariel will probably complain about it.” Marc gave her some extra cash to cover that, and would have to make sure he got more cash to pay her with when he was on his way home.

He still wasn’t sure how he’d been talked into going out by Brendan. Mostly by a lot of constant text messages.

Terri nodded. “Okay, thanks. Have fun, and if you think you’ll be a while just give me a text or call.”

At least she seemed on top of things. Marc left slowly. He’d never actually left Ariel with much of a babysitter before, he usually just dragged her along.

He grumbled along to his car and drove to the Mad Squirrel studio since they were meeting at a local shop of some sort. Marc was pretty sure it was something to do with coffee anyways, but that also served actual food too.

As soon as he showed up he felt extremely out of place. He was sure most of the people were college students, including the staff. All of the ceiling tiles were painted and it was fairly busy even for being the evening.

“Oh sweet, you found it.” Brendan popped up out of nowhere, and Marc wondered if he knew about the smudge of ink across his forehead. It almost blended in with his hair but not enough.

Marc coughed and wiped at his forehead, and Brendan got the hint at least. “Oh, shit.” Brendan rubbed at his forehead but it didn’t change much. “Well it doesn’t come off easy, so screw it,” he decided a moment later as he ruffled his hair up in order to cover it.

They got in line and ordered some sandwiches, and then Brendan led them back to one of the few tables that wasn’t already taken. It was in a corner, which Marc was silently pleased with. He sat with his back to the wall so that he could watch the people around them.

“I think that girl working the counter was making eyes at you,” Marc said. That was what people normally talked about, wasn’t it?

“That’s nice,” Brendan snorted, far too busy with taking off the tomatoes that he had asked not to get in the first place.

“Wasn’t she cute though?” She was maybe too young for Marc, but he had to figure she was. He hadn’t really cared about anyone’s looks in a long time though.

“Yeah, maybe, if that’s your type,” Brendan grumbled as he pieced his sandwich back together with great focus.

“What is your type then?” Marc asked.

Brendan finally looked up at him. “Not girls,” he said bluntly, the toasted bread of his sandwich crunching as he took a huge bite.

Marc couldn’t help but stare at him in shock before realizing that was rude. He started checking through his sandwich to make sure that they had put on the extra sauce he wanted. The stiff silence made it obvious though.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” Brendan asked, pausing. “This isn’t supposed to be a date or anything, by the way.”

“No,” Marc muttered, trying not to frown. It was mostly true. “Well, I mean, not like you think.” He huffed and set his sandwich down for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone who was gay before is all.”

“Seriously?” Brendan raised an eyebrow. “Not even one person?”

Marc shook his head and rearranged some of the chips on his plate for something to do with his hands. “My high school was really small and pretty… closed. I mean I imagine it still is, but maybe less so. And my dad—well, he would always talk really negatively about those kinds of things. But I’m not my father, so I don’t think of it the same way he does, but it’s still hard for me to understand because of that I think.”

Brendan did a mix of a shrug and a nod as he was too busy chewing to talk. He stopped to wipe his mouth briefly. “I can understand that. Um… I guess, maybe to start off with—it’s not a choice type deal, people just are. A lot of people think you can change being gay, but you can’t. And that doesn’t mean I’m any different of a person either… just because you’re a guy and I happen to be gay doesn’t mean I’m automatically interested in you or anything like that. I don’t have to be overly effeminate or ‘look gay’ or anything.” He paused and softened slightly. “Not that I’m really saying you think any of that, but that’s the usual stuff. On the other hand, you’re welcome to ask any questions, and I won’t be offended. You’re just trying to learn.”

Marc wasn’t sure what all, if anything, he wanted to ask about it. He honestly didn’t really care on that level, aside from some weird streak of curiosity it had given him. What kind of guy was Brendan into then? How did sex work for him? He still didn’t imagine that was okay to ask though.

“How’d your parents take it?” That was a normal enough question, but it seemed to make Brendan snap up tight.

He glanced down at his plate and cleared his throat. “Not well.” He hesitated. “Every summer from when I was fourteen until I was eighteen, I spent at one of those conversion camps. The ones where they technically take you against your will, but since your parents signed the consent forms, it’s not really kidnapping.”

Marc tried to think hard on that. Obviously it meant it couldn’t have been good. “What did they do?” Maybe even asking that was over the line for a first time having a talk outside of Ariel and school.

Brendan seemed determined to answer though. “A lot. Trying to encourage relationships with the girls there, the boys did ‘masculine’ stuff, a lot of hate talk…” That seemed to be the end of what he was willing to say, though. “My aunt really didn’t agree with it, but since it was technically legal, I was stuck there. When I turned eighteen I went to live with her.”

“Oh.” Marc couldn’t really imagine what that had been like. He had seen the occasional horror story on the news about camps like those that had been depicted as worse, and maybe Brendan was leaving all of that out.

“Anyways,” Brendan brightened up with the topic change. “Shit happens sometimes. What do you think of this place?” Brendan gestured around them.

“I feel old,” Marc admitted, forcing a playful smile.

“Maybe a little. I guess I am too, since I’m twenty-six. I bet everyone here is twenty-three or younger,” Brendan said. “But oh well. It has a strong art community here too. All of the art on the walls are local and for sale. I’m trying to put together some pieces to get up here.” Brendan pointed around at the walls.

There were a mix of paintings and other things, ranging in size. Marc could see one that he liked near the entrance to the bathrooms.

“The art here is a lot cheaper but just as skilled as any fancy thing you might find in a gallery,” Brendan hinted. “And if anyone gets famous, well you’ve already got some of their work for cheap.”

Marc chuckled and finally started eating his sandwich. Brendan finished first of course and said something about going to get a game. He left for a few minutes and came back with something he hadn’t seen since he was a kid.

“Is that a Connect-Four?” Marc pulled open the box to find the slightly worse-for-ware game.

Brendan grinned excitedly. “I call red.”

Marc went with the yellow circles as they set up the unstable frame. They alternated turns, quickly blocking out the other one before they could get four in a row.

“So I told you something,” Brendan said as he dropped in another red disc, cutting off Marc’s streak at three yellows. “Now you tell me something.”

“Of equal value?” Marc was still sure that had been a little over-sharing, and hell, anything for him at this point was over-sharing. Even saying his favorite color felt like a lot of effort.

“Doesn’t have to be if you’re not comfortable with it. Go,” Brendan prompted him.

Marc dropped in a yellow disc for his turn. “My mom died when I was eight.” That was slightly personal, and it had been long ago enough that he was mostly numb to having to talk about it.

“What happened?” Brendan put in another piece, getting himself up to three matching again.

“Breast cancer.” Marc put another yellow on top of that so Brendan couldn’t win. They were quickly filling the whole frame, so it was likely going to be a draw between the two of them. It was still fun though.

Brendan nodded solemnly. “That sucks.”

There wasn’t much to say to that on Brendan’s part, so Marc just went with it. “Yeah. I don’t think I knew how to react to it then, and maybe I still don’t. I’m not really good at opening up about things. My dad took it pretty hard too, and… he and I aren’t really on good terms. We talk sometimes, but…” Marc shrugged.

“What about with your wife?” Brendan asked.

Marc shook his head. “She didn’t like that I never ‘talked’ to her, but I did. Just not about deep stuff like she wanted I guess.”

“More internal?” Brendan filled in the last slot of the frame, putting them officially at a tie. He dumped all the discs out and they started over again.

“Yeah, I guess. Or it just feels like I shouldn’t be externalizing any of it, because it’s not anyone’s business but mine.” Though that was technically what Brendan was doing—forcing it out of him. But it wasn’t in a bad way really.

“But people want to feel close to you, and that’s how you do it, as hard as it may be,” Brendan pointed out. “I used to be really closed off too. After all the camps, I was ashamed of myself. I never talked to anyone about myself other than the really basic interests, so it wasn’t like I had any close friends.”

“And how did you get around that?” Marc asked.

“Through some counseling, then I guess making friends with the right people who pushed hard enough to get me to open up… and afterwards, I felt a lot better about it.” Brendan shrugged and took another turn with the discs.

“I don’t tell everyone about why she left,” Marc pointed out. Even that was a lot for him.

“I figured.” Brendan smiled at him encouragingly. “So that’s good.”

They finished another game of Connect-Four, and Brendan took their plates up to the dirty dishes bin. Marc awkwardly followed him, keeping back as he wasn’t sure how the place operated. They went outside and sat along the sidewalk.

Marc wasn’t sure if this meant they were done for the night, or if he should be waiting for something else to happen. It hadn’t been too long yet. “I should get going,” Marc finally said. He was still a little nervous about having left Ariel with a babysitter.

“Understood. I’ll see you next time you come into the school, or text me and we can do something like this again,” Brendan offered. “I think I’m just going to head back to the studio and get some more work done.”

Marc nodded and went to find his car. The house wasn’t on fire when he got home, so that had to be a good sign. There was some leftover food on the stove somehow, someway. Marc wasn’t sure where the food had come from but apparently Terri had fixed something up anyways.

He found the two girls upstairs in Ariel’s art room, both working separately on art and laying on the floor as music played.

“Having fun?” Marc asked.

He watched Terri jump and almost let a swear slip, but she caught herself. “You scared me,” she hissed, partially laughing.

“Sorry,” Marc said, stepping into the room. “Where did you find food?”

“In the cabinets,” Terri pointed out the obvious. “It was just a can of soup and some other stuff, it was pretty easy. I can clean it up before I go.”

“No, it’s fine,” Marc said quickly. “You’ve done enough tonight.” Not that working on art was very stressful.

He showed Terri out and paid her, telling her to text him when she got home for the night. Ariel was looking tired then, so Marc had her get ready for bed.

Only then did he remember the possibility of homework, but he would let it slip. He didn’t really care. They’d been doing better about it, so it could slip just this once now.

Marc washed the dishes and put the last of the soup in the fridge. Maybe he could learn how to make something like that, if it was that easy.