Page 80 of The Elements
“Then why don’t you? Like, you’re ancient but you’re not gross or fat or anything. And, as much as it makes me want to throw up, some of my girlfriends think you’re not the most repulsive dad out there.”
“Good to know,” I say, laughing a little. “The truth is, I was never very good at relationships.”
“You found someone to marry you.”
“And look how that turned out.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was as much my fault as your mother’s,” I insist. “Maybe even more.”
“I doubt that.”
“We were too young.”
A strange expression crosses his face.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just… I wondered…”
“Wondered what?”
“Like, I don’t know if you have… I mean, sometimes I’ve wondered whether you might have some secret life going on that I know nothing about. A woman you hook up with.” He hesitates, avoiding my eye. “Or a guy maybe.”
I sit back in surprise. “Emmet, I’m not gay,” I tell him.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure, yes.”
“It just seems weird that you never date anyone, that’s all.”
“If I was gay, I would tell you I was gay.”
“OK,” he says. “That’s a relief.”
“You’re relieved that I’m not gay?” I ask, surprised that he would say such a thing. It’s out of character for him to express any kind of prejudice.
“No,” he says quickly. “Not that. I mean I’m relieved you haven’t felt that you had to lie to me about something like that. Jesus. Come on. What do you think I am?”
He looks genuinely mortified that I could have misinterpreted him, and I hold a hand up to acknowledge this.
After all, Damian came out to him only a few months earlier, and if anything, it seems to have brought them even closer.
Emmet’s invited him for even more sleepovers than usual since then, which I think is his way of expressing unqualified support, a move that’s impressed me.
“It would be nice to be in a relationship,” I admit, as much to myself as to him.
The truth is, all these years, I genuinely have either been working or bringing him up and haven’t had much time to date, although it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of parents in the class WhatsApp group who would have taken Emmet anytime I asked.
And a few single mums who’ve seemed open to the idea of going for drinks.
“I just…” I don’t know how to finish this sentence. “Maybe one day,” I say finally.
“Well, don’t leave it too late,” he replies, and I’m about to laugh but I can see from the expression on his face that he genuinely means it.
“You don’t want me to be alone,” I say quietly.
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” he clarifies.
I nod, and there’s an awkward silence between us.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says eventually.
“About what earlier? There’s so much to pick from.”
He smiles.
“In the bookshop. Talking about Furia’s book like that.”
“Oh. That.”
“It was early. I was tired, hungry, and grouchy.”
“It’s fine.” I wait a few moments before asking a question that I’m not even sure I want him to answer. “Have you read it?”
He hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head.
“No.”
“It wouldn’t bother me if you had. You like books and everyone’s saying how good it is. You said it had an—”
“Unreliable narrator, I know.”
“That’s why I thought you might have. Where did you even pick up such a phrase?”
“In English class. And, you know,”—he pauses, takes a sip from his glass—“in the reviews.”
“You’ve read the reviews?”
He looks slightly embarrassed. “A few of them.”
“OK.”
I don’t quite know how to feel about this. Was he hoping they’d be negative or positive?
“Have you read it?” he asks me, and I give him a look that says, What do you think?
It occurs to me that, since he’s asking such intimate questions of me, perhaps this is a good opportunity to turn the conversation back on him.
“So, speaking of girlfriends,” I begin, saying each word slowly so as not to frighten him away. “Is there anyone that you like?”
He opens his eyes wide and looks as if he’d be perfectly happy for the cabin door to burst open right now and suck us both out into the night sky.
“I’m not having this conversation,” he says.
“So you can ask me about my love life, but I can’t ask about yours?”
“Correct,” he says. “Got it in one.”
“OK but, joking aside, if there is someone, at school or down the beach or wherever, someone you like, you could talk to me about her.” I sense an opportunity to tease him as he teased me. “Or about him.”
“You think you’re so funny,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he can’t help himself, he smiles.
“I do,” I admit.
But while we’re on the subject, why do you have semi-naked pictures of yourself on your phone? Who asked for them? Who did you send them to?
We’ve finished our drinks, and No é mie asks if we’d like another round.
It’s completely irresponsible of me, of course, but I see a hopeful look on my son’s face, so I nod and say yes.
Maybe I’m getting him liquored up so that he might open up to me even more.
It’s reckless, I suppose, but God knows there are worse things an adult can do to a boy his age.
The stewardess gives me a look that says, I know I’ve been complicit in this, because the boy charmed me when he told me about your birthday, but this is his last one .
“What will you do when I’m gone?” he asks when she returns behind the bar.
“Gone?”
“Like, in a few years’ time when I’m out of the house.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“Uni,” he says with a shrug. “I suppose.”
“Oh, right. Then.”
“What will you do?”
I’ve never given much thought to the fact that it won’t be long before I’m back where I started, before I even met Rebecca.
It’s narcissistic, but the thought flashes through my head that I’m a good man, with a good career.
I’ve kept my body in decent shape, and I’m reasonably attractive.
Some might say that I’m a catch. So why the fuck don’t I have someone, other than my son, to go home to?
Why is it that I haven’t had sex in so long?
Why have I never been to bed with anyone other than my rapist and my ex-wife?
“Dad,” he says, and when I look up, he’s staring at me with a concerned expression on his face. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, confused by the question.
“What?” I ask him. “What do you mean?”
“Dad, you’re crying.”