Page 3 of Too Good to Be True

Seth

“ W hat else is on the list, honey?” I ask Emily as we shop at the supermarket. She is in charge of ticking off everything we put in the trolley.

“Um… Let’s see. It says… N… Nut…Nutella.”

“Very well. Nutella it is.”

This is a reading exercise for her. She is having some problems in the new school.

The teacher told me that she was a bit behind the other children.

They put an assistant with her for a few more hours, but at home, we know she doesn’t like it, so we try to help as much as possible. Both me and the children.

It’s nice that they are so united and help each other.

They remind me of Mark and me.

“Uncle Seth?” Emily draws my attention back.

“Yes, darling.”

“Are you crying again?”

“What?” I wipe my eyes with my arm. “Absolutely not!”

“But you just wiped your eyes!” Logan points out.

“I’m just… a bit sad. That’s all.”

“Is something wrong?” Mason asks. He’s the most protective. With his siblings, of course, but also with me. I think he feels the pressure of being the oldest.

“It’s OK, and if something doesn’t go so well…” I take the one-kilo jar of Nutella and show it to the boys. “There’s always this.”

The kids laugh as I put the jar in the trolley.

“What else we got, Emily?”

“Only two things left on the list.”

“Oh, well, let’s hear them.”

“Pe… Penne. This one is easy.”

“Let’s go to the pasta aisle.” I push the trolley towards the desired aisle. As I pass the shelves, I pick up a packet of White Chocolate Digestive and a packet of Dark Chocolate.

“Uncle Seth,” Mason calls out immediately.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“The caramels, of course!” I smack my head with my hand before picking up a packet of Chocolate Caramel Digestives.

My niblings have clear ideas, especially when it comes to food.

Emily likes white chocolate biscuits. She says they are the sweetest; Logan likes dark chocolate ones.

He says they help him concentrate, and Mason likes caramel biscuits because he says they are the highest in calories and give him the energy he needs.

I love that they are like that, and I admire them. I don’t know if I could still stand after such a tragedy like they do. The tragedy has hit me hard, too, but I have them to give me strength.

They only have me: a complete disaster of a man.

“Uncle Seth?” Logan calls out to me.

“Yes, darling?”

“The penne are not there.”

“Oh, hell. I wanted to make my famous baked pasta.” I rest my hands on my hips and look at the shelf. “How about macaroni?”

“Let’s say we are hungry,” Emily replies for all.

“You are right. Let’s get a move on.” I take two packs of macaroni and shove them into the trolley. “What’s still missing?”

“Just the mo… mozza… re… mozzarella.”

“Let’s rush to the fridges and then straight home. I’m starving, too.”

AT HOME, LATER, Logan hands me some mozzarella to add to the pasta. He likes to be in the kitchen to help; he loves science. Everything is an experiment, a reaction for him, and I let him try all the experiments he wants, as long as they don’t involve flames or toxic substances.

I put the casserole in the oven and then look at the clock. “Twenty minutes, and it will be ready. Would you mind helping me with the table?” I ask Logan. Mason is busy helping Emily with her homework. “I’m a bit short on time tonight.”

“Don’t tell me you’re working tonight too!” Emily says from the living room, her voice disappointed and sad.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling guilty as usual. “I can’t turn down another shift. Mr Yang will stay here with you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Mr Yang is OK,” Mason says immediately.

“Weren’t you looking for another job?” Logan asks as he puts the place settings on the table.

“I’m trying, but it’s not easy.”

“Because of your record?” Logan asks.

“Eh, but let’s not tell people, shall we? Dirty laundry is washed in the family.”

Emily giggles.

The kids know everything about me. I have no secrets from them. Well, maybe one at the moment, but I plan to tell them the truth in the next few hours or days.

I found it difficult to keep my past a secret from a nosy brother like Mark, who wouldn’t ignore it and was inclined to help others.

Without realising it, I pull up my nose.

Emily comes over and hands me a box of tissues.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“No problem. We’re here for you, aren’t we? We got each other’s backs.”

Another typical phrase from my brother. He used to say it when we were kids, and he also said it to me when our parents kicked me out. He said it again when he came to bail me out of jail, and he repeated it when he took me to rehab.

I’m sure it was something he used to say at home, in the family, whenever there was a problem or something happened to one of them.

Those children had the best father in the world. I can never be like him, not even close, but I can try hard. After all, Mark raised me, too. I hope I’ve learnt something from him, something good to pass on to his children if they don’t take them away from me.

THE KIDS APPRECIATE my baked pasta.

“Can I have some more?” Mason asks, his plate almost empty.

“Of course you can.”

He’s the most voracious of the three. It must be the sport or the growth. After all, he’s a teenager and… Oh my God, puberty? Are we there yet? I don’t think I can handle it.

I don’t have any great memories of those years; in fact, if I could erase them from my mind forever, it would be perfect.

“Shall we leave a plate for Mr Yang?” Emily asks with her usual gentleness.

“We can, although I don’t think he loves my cooking.”

“I like it,” Emily states with conviction.

“Do you think I can do the cooking?” I ask for confirmation.

“It’s food, fuel for the mind,” Logan says.

Mason shoves a huge forkful of pasta into his mouth, then says with his mouth full, “Just give me strength.”

“I get it. I suck at this too.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Emily tries to comfort me.

“You’re doing the best you can,” Mason says.

“When did you grow up so much? You are so mature for your age.”

Mason looks at his siblings, then shrugs.

“You are all your father,” I say, on the verge of emotion.

Mason smiles. “Yes?"

“Spit. You look so much like him... Sometimes, I look at you and feel like a child again; I feel like I still have him next to me.”

“And that makes you sad?”

“Melancholic.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love being melancholic, you know that, right? And I love you, I love having you around.”

“Really?” Logan asks.

“Absolutely.”

The kids smile at me, then go back to their dinner.

“Mason?” I call him, and I need his eyes to tell me.

“Mmm?”

“You know I’m trying, right?”

“I know, Uncle Seth. All three of us know. And I’m sure they know, too.”

“THERE'S A PLATE of pasta for you in the oven,” I tell Mr Yang as he enters the living room.

He gives me an eloquent look.

I laugh and shake my head.

“The kids are getting ready for tomorrow.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.” He walks past me to the kitchen.

“Just a game of Monopoly, then off to bed. And no poker. I already got a warning from the school for that.”

“They have to learn to be in the world.”

“I mean it, Mr Yang.”

He rolls his eyes, then picks up a couple of teacups.

“I’m sorry I have to leave again tonight,” I say anxiously.

“Don’t worry about it. You know I like to be with them.”

Mr Yang has been living alone for too long now.

He was already here when I rented this apartment but wasn’t keen on making new friends, especially with me.

Let’s just say that I must not have made a good impression on him.

It took years for us to greet each other on the landing.

He looked at me suspiciously, especially when he found my late-night conquests on the doorstep, looking for a pot of milk for coffee.

Everything changed when I lost Mark. It was grief that brought us closer. He had lost his wife five years earlier; he knew what I was going through, and he knew I needed a friend. The kids’ arrival did the rest.

“Thank you.”

“You’re doing the best you can, Seth. You’re working for your children; you don’t have to blame yourself."

“I hope to find something more suitable soon.”

“The most important thing is their serenity. Everything else will fall into pieces. I can feel it.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t here.”

He nods at me, then returns to his tea.

“I should be back around three o’clock."

“You know I don’t sleep anyway.”

“There are blankets and pillows in the hall wardrobe.”

“Stop worrying. We will manage as always.”

“I have no doubts about you.”

I have doubts about myself.

The only disaster in this whole thing is me. I know it, and they know it too, but they are so polite and kind that they don’t point it out to me too often.