Date: Tue, 8 Jan 2019 22:26:27 -0500 From: RJ Subject: Closer than Ever Chapter 1 Closer than Ever by RJ This story is about the love between a father and his son and contains sexual activity between the two of them. If such themes offend you, do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don't hesitate to email me. As always, please support Nifty in any way you can. Please note that this chapter serves as an introduction and will not include as much sexual content as future chapters. ~ Chapter 1 (Son's POV) ~ "We're getting a divorce." I look between my parents, and I can't tell what expression my facial features are making. Amusement, probably. They're just fucking with me. There's no way they're getting a divorce. "Seriously?" I say sarcastically. My mom's about to speak again, but my dad cuts in. "We're not joking, buddy," he says, and I notice I'm finding it difficult to locate the playfulness that's usually in his eyes. "We're... We've decided to split up." "Split up." That's probably just his way of making things seem less intense since "divorce" just sounds more brutal. He's always been like that: leaning towards the lighter side of things. "Wait, seriously?" I ask, blinking a few times. "Yes, seriously," my mom says with a slightly irritated tone, but it's clearly focused towards my father and not me. She looks almost mad, and he just looks embarrassed. What the hell happened? A divorce? Where is this coming from? Just four days ago we were celebrating my sixteenth birthday, and just a week before that, their twenty-first anniversary. That's twenty-one years of marriage. They were so happy and affectionate and loving towards each other just a damn week ago. At least, they seemed to be. What am I missing here? But before I can even get an explanation, Dad says he's moving out. Tonight. That's the biggest shock to me. His bags are all packed and he's ready to go. Might even have a place lined up to move into -- but obviously that means it's not ready yet. He's probably going to stay in a motel or something for the time being. "It's way closer to the hospital, at least," he says with a smile. There he goes again, trying to show the bright side of things. So what if his commute to work is shorter? Why the fuck is he moving out? But I realize when my dad says my name that I haven't been saying anything. "Jo?" he asks, and then I come to. All these questions have just been running through my head. I blink and shake my head to clear my thoughts. "Sorry, I'm just... very... confused..." I say slowly. It takes a moderate amount of effort to get those words out. "Where is this coming from?" My dad looks at my mom as if for answers but she's not paying him any attention. He clearly doesn't know what to say, which implies that this is all her idea. Dad did something. But what? Did he cheat on her? "I'm sorry if you feel like this has been... sprung on you," my dad says. "Well, yeah, that's exactly how I feel," I say, noticing that my mom won't even make eye contact with me. "What's going on, guys?" "I... uh..." My dad sighs slightly, playing with his fingers before gesturing towards my mom to answer the question. "Lisa?" She looks up, briefly glancing at my dad before looking at me. "It's between me and your father," she decides to say. I wait for her to continue but she doesn't offer up any more information. "So that's it? I get nothing?" "It's not your business, Jonah," she says. I flare up almost immediately. "You're kicking my dad out and that's none of my business?" My dad steps in on her behalf. "Jo, don't blame your mom for--" "And why did you agree to this?" I ask, rounding on him. "One second I think everything's fine and now all of a sudden you're leaving me." My words have the intended effect. He's hurt. He always makes a particular expression: his eyebrows get more furrowed than they normally are and a slight red tint appears in his cheeks. "Your mom and I just thought, with school and everything, it makes sense for you to stay here." I'm about to chime in but he keeps speaking. "I won't be far. You can visit whenever--" But clearly my mom doesn't like that. "Mark, no--" He looks at her. "What, so now my son can't visit me?" "I don't think it's a good idea--" "I'm not having this argument with you again." My mom stops protesting. Honestly, I was hoping they'd continue. Maybe it'd offer me some insight as to what the hell is going on. It must be something bad if my mom doesn't want me seeing him. Which hurts. I love my mom, but we argue a lot, and I've always been much closer to my dad. He's just always been the more loving, accepting, kindhearted, fun one. If I'm feeling overemotional about something, I go to him for advice. Even if I just want to talk, or hang out. He's good for it. He's also my only source of support (unless my best friend is sleeping over) for when the nightmares hit. I've had night terrors since I was a kid, and the only thing that has ever calmed me down is sleeping next to someone. That was always a point of contention between my parents as I got older: my mom absolutely hated that my dad kept letting me get into their bed in the middle of the night. Honestly, I understand that I'm probably way too old to be sleeping in my parents' bed. But the thing is, it helps. And my dad knows that. And now, he's leaving. And apparently, there's not much I can do about it. Over the next few days, the only time I talk to my mom is if I want to pester her about what's going on. She'll try and change the subject, but if she does, I'll go completely silent. I figure that if she doesn't want to give me answers, I at least get to be immature about it. But it's frustrating as fuck. Even my dad won't tell me anything. He'll text me to see how I'm holding up, but when I ask for details, he just says "Ask your mom." I'm sure I could wear my dad down if we were talking face-to-face. I tried making plans with him for the weekend, but they fell through because he booked a last-minute surgery. And I don't have a car, nor a license yet (I still only have my permit), so I can't very well visit him whenever I please -- wherever that even is. But a little snooping can go a long way. Mom has a tendency of leaving her phone open, like while she's cooking. So when she's busying herself with stir-fry, I manage to snatch her phone off the island and scroll through her messages with Dad. The disappointment I feel when I see nothing about what actually happened is overpowering. It's all just talking about money, lawyers, me... There are allusions to whatever my dad did, but nothing even remotely specific. It's like they're both afraid to even type it. My frustration reaches its climax until I finally discover something useful: my dad's new address. I know my dad will be doing surgery Saturday, and who knows what's going on Sunday, but I know he always has Sunday mornings off. If I can get one of my friends to give me a ride, I can corner him before he has to go to work. I beg my best friend Brett to drive me forty minutes out of his way in order for me to see my dad. It doesn't take much convincing. He's always been helpful, and he feels bad that this divorce has been sprung on me. I even offer him gas money but he refuses to take it, saying we could just do something in the area after I talk to my dad. So Sunday morning, Brett picks me up from my house and brings me several towns over. It takes us a bit to find the right address, but once we do, he parks his car on the side of the road in front of the apartment complex. "Looks snazzy," he says in his Brooklyn-esque accent. "Yeah, well, he can afford it," I say, eyeing it curiously. I hope he's home. And willing to talk. "Want me to wait here?" Brett asks. I turn to him. "No, no, you can do whatever. I'll just call you when I'm done." "Okay, cool," he says, nodding. "I might check out that skate shop we passed a few ago." He takes a minute to readjust his backwards cap in the mirror. "And spend more money you don't have?" I tease. "Fuckin' right," he says with a grin, chewing his gum. Brett has always been obsessed with skating. He doesn't need another board, but I guarantee he'll have one in the backseat once he comes back to get me. "Whatever, man," I say, chuckling and stepping out of the car. "Have fun." "You too," he says with a smirk before driving off once I close the door. I turn my attention back to the apartment building, check to make sure I have the right number, and then head up the stairs. When I look at the buzzer, I notice his apartment is the only one that doesn't have a name. Maybe because he just moved in, practically. I'm about to hit the buzzer when someone inside comes down the stairs and then pushes the door open, walking out onto the street without so much of a glance my way. I take my chance to slip into the building before the door closes. Now I have an even better chance at surprising him. I head up two flights of stairs and look for his door number before knocking. I wait for half a minute before knocking again, more loudly and more rapidly. I hear a bit of movement on the other side, and then a muffled voice says "Who is it?" I bite my lip. "It's me, Dad." There's a pause before I hear the door unlock. When he finally opens the door, the first thing I notice is how tired he looks. Usually, he looks polished. Classic brown hair dusted with grey is always kept neat -- something he's proud of, especially because it's not receding yet. Cleanly-cut facial hair that I convinced him to keep since it makes him look more respectable. But his hair altogether is a little messy right now. Plus he has heavy bags under those green eyes of his. He's always had a lightly weathered look on his face, but that's gotta be the job. Even with it, he's still crazy handsome. At first, he looks shocked to see me. Then he smiles widely. "Jo! What..." Then, back to confusing. "What are you doing here?" he asks, peering outside and looking up and down the hallway as if expecting to find someone. "I came to see you," I say. "How did you get here?" he asks, squinting. "How'd you get in?" "Brett drove me," I say simply. He looks like he just woke up. He's still in his underwear and his hair is a bit disheveled. He rubs his face a bit. "Does your mom know you're here?" I bite my lip. "No...?" He sighs a bit, closing his eyes. "Jo..." "Can I come in?" He scratches his head. "I mean, yeah. Come in. Here." He holds the door open for me and I step inside, looking around his new apartment. It's just as nice as I expected it to be. It's modern, so it's not exactly my style, but definitely nice still. Everything looks polished and new, and the ceilings are high. It's a little lacking in furnishings and personal effects, but I didn't expect him to have it all so soon. I do notice something interesting though. Walking into the living room, I see a few empty liquor and beer bottles lying around. He seems to notice me looking too because he quickly rushes over to gather them up. "Sorry," he says, holding the bottles in his arms and heading over to the kitchen to toss them in a recyclables bin. He comes back in the living room to face me, looking a bit embarrassed. "I would've cleaned up if I ... knew you were coming," he says. Then he seems to notice that he's just in his underwear. "Or gotten dressed." "It's okay," I say. His lack of clothing doesn't bother me, and his apartment is not that messy, anyway. Unless he's specifically talking about the bottles. Is he an alcoholic? Is that why they split up? "Your new place is nice." "Yeah, I thought so too," he says with a little smile. "Still have some furniture to buy and more things to spruce up the place, but..." He shrugs, looking around. "It's pretty solid so far." "I'll say. Is it one bedroom?" "Two actually," he says, gesturing for me to follow him. He shows me the kitchen area before taking me down the hall way to show off the bathroom (which is almost obscenely nice) and the master bedroom (which just has a dresser and a mattress for now) as well as a smaller room filled with boxes of his stuff. "It's technically a bedroom but I think I'll make it into an office of some sort. Or whatever." "Can't be my room?" He just smiles slightly. "The couch I bought turns into a bed," he says. "I got it specifically for you." I smile slightly but something about that comment irritates me. I think it's less about the comment itself and more about the situation. This sudden, fucked-up situation. I mean, I'm standing right in front of my dad and I already miss him. "I miss you," I tell him. He looks sad for a moment before pulling me into a hug. "I miss you too, Jo," he says, kissing the top of my head in the open doorway. It feels good to hug him. He's always been an affectionate guy, and I've missed his hugs the past few days. He's really warm too. "I don't get why you had to leave," I say, "or why I can't just live with you." "Don't you wanna finish school with your friends?" "I mean, yes, but--" "That's why we made that decision." "But why was the decision made at all?" I ask, pulling back and looking up at him. He doesn't make direct eye contact. "I'm completely in the dark right now. I just want some answers, Dad." He sighs, looking down for a moment before nodding. "Fine," he says, gesturing for me to go into the living room. Finally. That was easier than I thought, but then again, it's easy to get information out of my dad. I think he just has a weak spot for me. When I sit on the couch, he sits next to me, both of us slightly facing each other. "Ask." Obviously I have one question on my mind. "Why'd you and mom split up?" "I, uh..." He scratches his hairline lightly. "We're just not attracted to each other anymore. Well... I'M not attracted to her anymore." He fidgets with the hem of his boxers a bit. "Oh." I pause as I think about it. "That's not really a big deal," I find myself saying. And it's not. Couples fall out of love. It happens. But is that really it? My dad isn't into her anymore? That doesn't explain the seemingly last-minute separation, or why she doesn't want me to see him. There's more to the story. "But why...?" Suddenly I'm finding it hard to figure out how I want to word this. "It just doesn't make sense," I end up saying. He sighs slightly, looking at me for a long while before glancing at his lap. "Sorry if it seems so fast." "You said that already," I say, getting impatient. "Just tell me what's going on." "I don't know, Jo," he says, looking agitated. "Your mom doesn't really want me talking about it--" "Fuck her," I say, and he looks surprised at my outburst. "You guys can't make these decisions without telling me why. It's not fair." He stares at me again for a long time, and the moment hangs in the air until he finally speaks again. He just blurts it out in that way that someone says something just to get it out of their system. Something they've been holding back. "I'm gay." There's total silence between us. It's that kind of silence that's heavy on your ears, when the white noise in the room gets too loud. Gay? I almost laugh. I expected an affair, or a drinking problem, or maybe he was involved in something illegal through work... But the possibility of him being gay never even crossed my mind. For one, he just looks so... straight. I don't know how else to explain it. "Really?" I say, confused. "Yeah," he says, and I notice he looks mildly ashamed. "At least, I think I am," he says. "I don't know. It's something I've kinda just buried since I was your age." "But..." That's a long time to be denying that he's gay. "But you married mom. And... and you had me." "I know it's confusing," he says, but the more I think about it, the less confused I feel. Shit happens, really. One of my old friends is gay but has only ever had sex with girls. He said something like "Sometimes the body just responds." I don't pretend to totally understand what that's like, but I can at least acknowledge that it happens. And my mom's response to my dad being gay... I can see her not taking that well. For one, she has more than her fair share of insecurities already. Plus she's a devout Catholic, so I can only imagine the rage she's been keeping at bay. No wonder she didn't want me to be around him anymore. Her husband is sin that walks and talks. Then my dad taps my knee with his knuckle. "Hey." I blink, looking up. "What?" "I asked if you're okay." I must have been lost in my thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking." He nods a little, still staring at me before he takes a breath. "Listen. I can understand if you wanna take your mom's side on this--" "Wait, what?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "--because it's hard and confusing and all, but... just know I still love you--" "I still love you too, Dad," I say. He just smiles slightly. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm twelve." He laughs a little. "Sorry. I'm just... stressed out." "Well yeah," I say, offering him a smile of my own. "It's okay though." He steals a look at me. "You sure you're okay?" I shrug. "Why should I care?" "Everyone else does," he says, which immediately makes me a little sad. "Well fuck everyone else." He laughs, seemingly a little more comfortable and happy. Almost like his usual self. I'm glad he could get this off of his chest. At least to me. "Don't let your mother hear you talk like that," he says, nudging my arm. "Oh, and... don't tell her I told you I'm... y'know..." "Gay?" "Yeah," he says, blushing again. "She'd have my head." "I won't tell her," I say. "I promise." I bite my lip, shifting on the couch as I get a better look at him. He doesn't look different to me. Or seem different. This is just another little tidbit about him, right? Not a huge deal. "She'd probably kill me too." He laughs a bit. "Yeah, well. You know how she can be." "I can't believe you've stayed with her so long," I comment. He shrugs. "I didn't always know how I felt. I mean... I don't know," he says, sounding exhausted. "It's complicated, I guess. But things have been fizzling out between us for a while." "Really?" I ask. I hadn't even noticed. He nods. "I'd been building up this resentment, I guess. Because, well, you know how she can be with her religion and her comments. And once I started thinking more about my sexuality, her beliefs started to hurt me. But we'd argue about every OTHER little thing because I didn't want to bring it up and face myself, and then eventually, because of it, we stopped being... you know, intimate." "Like sex?" I ask. He blushes but nods. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "We tried to work through it, but..." He looks down at his lap and pauses. "But...?" He glances at me. "She, uh... found some things on my laptop," he says. "She suspected I was having an affair or something. She was wrong," he clarifies, making it known that he wasn't cheating. "She probably would have preferred that, honestly," he adds, practically mumbling. It sounds more like he's talking out loud to himself than directly to me. I can only assume my mom found gay porn or something, but I don't want to put him on the spot. "I'm sorry," I say. He looks at me in surprise. "No, Jonah, don't be sorry," he says, resting his hand on my thigh. "I'm trying to be empathetic, here," I tell him, and he smiles. "Well, thanks," he says with a slight laugh. "Maybe this is a good thing," I point out. He looks at me curiously. "Now you can be yourself, or whatever. 'Live your truth'. Be who you wanna be with." He chuckles a little. "I don't think I'm ready for dating or anything just yet." "What if it's just sex?" He laughs a little harder. "Jo--" "Wait, what kind of guys do you like?" I ask suddenly, leaning forward. I get this ultra-vivid image of my father and my history teacher together. They're both quality men. They'd make a hell of a good match. "Because my teacher, Mr. Tully? Remember him? He's definitely gay, and I think he's around your age, but he's super smart, like you, and you guys both love--" "Slow it down, buddy," my dad says, putting my hand on my shoulder. "I... appreciate the consideration, but I'm fine." He smiles, looking amused. "Sorry," I say, laughing. "I got excited for a moment." "Well, no offense, but I don't need you influencing my sex life," he says with a smirk. I hold my hands up. "I get it. Fine." He smiles and then checks the time on his watch before groaning. "I gotta shower and get dressed," he says, leaning forward, grabbing the back of my head and kissing my forehead. Then he stands up. "Are you gonna stick around, or...?" I shrug. "I can leave whenever. Brett's on retainer." He smiles. "Alright. Just give me a few minutes and I'll make us breakfast or something." I nod, leaning back on his couch. "Sounds good, Pop." As my dad showers, I lie down on the couch and think. So. My dad is gay. Or at least he thinks he is. At the very least, he's bi. Whatever. He's not straight, is the point. For some reason, this almost makes sense to me. I wonder if that's bad to say. I mean, does gayness really serve as an explanation as to why my dad has been such a good father to me? He has all the nurturing characteristics, which are widely (and stupidly) considered "feminine" qualities... But he's not feminine, in the slightest. He just likes men. Maybe I'm thinking about this too hard. I'm definitely thinking about this too hard. It's a simple matter of attraction. I smile to myself. I hope this opens some doors for my dad to really be happy, now. If he wasn't happy before, that is. Once he's dressed, he comes out and starts making his famous crepes with raspberries and apples. I think at first he may have been nervous that I'd wig out over this news, but now that he's refreshed, we're back to our same old dynamics. We laugh and joke around and talk normally and remain affectionate. If anything, Dad seems happier now. Which is great to see. "How've you been sleeping, by the way?" Dad asks when we take a seat at the table. "I've been worrying about that." I grimace a little. "Not great, to be honest." Since he's not there, and my mom doesn't approve, if I have a night terror, I just don't go back to sleep. And Brett has been busy, and even though he'd absolutely come sleep over with me, I hate being a bother, or feeling like I'm taking advantage of his niceness. Honestly, I should be in therapy, shouldn't I? "I'm sorry, buddy," he says, reaching over to stroke my hair before he takes a bite of his food. "Wish I could be there." "Maybe you should get me one of those Love Dolls to keep me company." We both laugh. "Those things are horrifying," my dad says through some chuckling. "I'd rather you see a shrink at that point." He looks at me. "Have you been talking to your counselor?" I shrug. "A little," I say. "You know how they are though." He grins. "Unhelpful?" "Yeah," I say with a laugh. "We'll figure something out," he says, taking another bite of his breakfast. "We?" I ask with a grin. "You're the doctor." I pick up my juice to take a sip. "Plus, it's your fault I have nightmares." "MY fault?" "Yeah. You're the one with the sleep issues." My dad has had a mild sleeping disorder for years, according to my mom. Even sleepwalks. My dad says that he doesn't dream anymore, though. Ever. "Now you're just trying to make me feel bad," he says with a little smile. I laugh. "I'm not, I promise." I take a long sip of my drink before glancing at him. "Question," I say. "Now that you're a deviant, are you keeping it a secret?" "Hey," he says with a grin, playfully punching me, and I laugh before he starts to look pensive. "Hmm. I haven't really thought about that." He scratches his jaw lightly. "It's not really a secret, per se... But it's not like I need everyone knowing... You know?" "Yeah, I get that," I say. "Can I tell Brett?" He laughs a little. "I guess. How's he doing?" "Good," I say with a smile. I catch him up on my best friend. Brett is one of the strangest guys I know purely because he's incapable of doing a bad thing. Interestingly enough, he looks like he'd be the hoodlum type. Typical skater boy, but he's wicked smart (although unmotivated) and the nicest guy I've ever known. I'm practically Satan compared to him. We chat for a little longer and finish up breakfast before he has to go on about his day. We hug for a long time at the door before I take my leave, promising to keep in touch. As I head downstairs, I give Brett a call and he says he's only two minutes away, so I wait outside by the edge of the road. Brett rolls up blasting some old punk music, and I hop in once he grinds to a halt. He turns down the music as I slip in and buckle my seatbelt, but doesn't start driving. That's when I realize he's staring at me. "What?" I ask. "Well?" he says with a grin. "Anything juicy?" "Kinda," I say, biting my lip. "You gonna drive, or...?" He rolls his eyes but checks his mirrors and heads down the road. "C'mon, man, you're killing me. What'd you find out?" "He's, um... My dad's gay," I say. "Gay?" Brett squints, glancing at me. "Your dad likes dudes?" "Yup," I say, nodding. It almost sounds silly to talk about out loud. Why is that? "Damn. I would've never thought." I snort. "Same." We let that information hang in the air for a bit. I know Brett. He's not homophobic in the slightest, but you never know when your friends are going to say some wack shit. "Does that mean you're gay?" he says. When I look at him, I see that he's smirking. "They say that shit's genetic." I laugh. I know he's joking, but I still think about it. Where do I fall on the spectrum? I haven't been entirely sure since puberty hit. I'm still a virgin, and I've only kissed one person, so my experience is limited. I only know my feelings. I know I like girls -- that much is certain. But I feel like I could like guys as well, though. After all, I did have a major crush on one of the kids who was a senior when I was a freshman. I can't even explain what about him was so attractive. He wasn't abnormally handsome, didn't possess any sort of talent, wasn't out-of-this-world funny or smart or nice... He was the epitome of average. But I crushed on him. I crushed on him hard, and privately. And then he graduated and I haven't seen him since, but I haven't forgotten. Maybe I'm curious? Is that a thing? Maybe I can ask my dad. He might have experience in the curiosity department. But I decide to wait until the "divorce dust" settles. That ends up being quite the hassle. Apparently the lawyers they hired are excellent at mismanaging paperwork and the like, so what could have been a quick and easy divorce stretches out over months with still no end in sight. I can tell it frustrates the hell out of my mom because she wants nothing to do with him. But my dad? He seems great. I've even been encouraging him to date. Get himself out there. Confirm that this is what he wants. "Why do you keep bringing this up?" he asks, but he looks amused. "Because I want you to be happy," I tell him, taking a sip of my water while we wait for our plates to be taken away. "What about you, huh?" he challenges. "How come you're not dating anyone?" "Because I have time," I fire back, grinning. "You, not so much." "You little shit," he mutters, smirking. I laugh. "I'm kidding. You're not that bad. You're still kinda young and good-looking." He grins a bit. "You think I'm good-looking?" he teases. "You won't be for long," I fire back, flicking my fork towards him and splattering his face lightly with residual sauce. "Well," he starts to say, pausing mid-bite and looking at me, "you're in luck. I have uh... a date. I think." My eyebrows raise so high that my eyelids are strained. "Excuse me?" Dad laughs. "I have a date in a few days." He tells me about this guy he has worked at the hospital with for a while. He's openly gay, but had never really come on to my dad (except for innocent flirtations) until my dad mentioned the divorce. Dad says he kind of flirted back, but I can only imagine what that's like. It's probably so subtle that 97% of people would mistake it for general friendliness. But regardless, the mystery man asked him out for drinks tomorrow night. "I don't know what to do." "Say yes!" I say, laughing and slapping his arm. "This is a good thing, right? Is he handsome?" "Well, yeah," he says, blushing, "but that's not... I mean, I haven't been on a date in over two decades, Jo. Two whole decades." "So?" I say, trying not to smile. "So?" He does look nervous. "I don't know what I'm doing. And he's young. I'm gonna make a total fool of myself." "Relax, Dad. They're just drinks," I say. "Just act like you're at work but talking about, you know, things sexier than surgery." "Surgery is sexy," my dad says with a grin. "I didn't say it wasn't," I say, laughing. "But you know what I mean." My dad tilts his head back and forth while he thinks. "Okay, but what do I wear?" I snort. "Why am I suddenly the dating expert?" "Because you're all I got, kid," he says. I roll my eyes. "Why don't I just come over tomorrow?" He smiles. "Deal." We went out for a late lunch once I got out of school, so once we finish up, he drops me off back at the house, kisses my cheek, and says "See you tomorrow!" before heading back to his place. I wave and then head into the house, sighing slightly. I drop my bag by the door and see my mom's on the couch. "Hey, Mom," I say, kicking my shoes off. I hear a sniffle before she says "Hi, Jonah. How was school?" "Same old same old," I say, coming in to check on her. "How you feeling?" She's been sick the past two days, so she's been staying home from work. However, when I see her face, I notice that she's been crying. She tries to hastily wipe away the tears, but her eyes betray her. They're still damp and red. Maybe the sniffling was from crying and not her cold. "You okay?" She nods her head. "Yeah." "Mom..." I sit on the coffee table in front of her, putting my hand on her knee above the blanket that's draped over her. When's the last time I've seen her cry? And when's the last time that we really talked? About anything? I hope she's not crying about me. I haven't exactly been the best to her ever since Dad moved out. Honestly, I've kind of been a dick. Because I blamed her for her reaction. "What's wrong?" She sniffles again, glancing up at my eyes for a brief moment before saying "It's done." "What is?" I ask. "The divorce. It's official. Everything's done." "Oh." I don't entirely know how this works. I haven't even asked Dad about the process. But, legally, I suppose, they're officially no longer tied. I thought this is what my mom wanted, though? Why is she crying? "This is good, right?" She shrugs, letting out a small laugh. "I don't know. It's a lot," she says, brushing strands of hair out of her face. "I miss him." "Really?" I ask, surprised. She almost looks offended. "We were together for over twenty years, Jonah. Of course I miss him." I wince. "I'm sorry. I just thought--" "It's okay," she says quickly, sighing. "I understand." She breathes out slowly, calming down. "I know I probably seem like a bitch to you--" She's right, but I don't want her to think that. "Mom--" "It's okay, Jonah, I understand," she says, patting my hand. "But I really did love your father. I still do," she clarifies. "I'm sure he loves you still, too," I tell her. She gives me a wavering smile. "Do you want to get married ever?" she asks me suddenly. I blink. "Uh... I don't know. Haven't really thought that far," I say with a laugh. "You're right. You're young," she says distractedly. "But for me? Marriage was the best thing I ever did for myself." I can't help but smile a bit. "We have so much history, Jonah. And so much joy between us that... I don't know. This has been so hard, and sometimes I hate myself for the things I believe in." I'm surprised she's speaking candidly about this -- especially her religion. This is the most honest she's ever been with me. She looks up at me and asks "How is he?" I blink. "Oh... I, uh... I don't know. I haven't--" "I know you've been seeing him," she says frankly, but she doesn't seem angry. "I'm not mad. I just want to know how he is." I bite my lip a bit. "He's good, I think." Does that sound mean? Saying that he's good? Would it have been better if I said he's doing just okay? But she smiles, nodding. "Good." I rub her knee gently with my thumb, feeling a rush of affection towards my mom. This is a good moment for us. "You should reach out to him," I tell her. It'd be good for her to reconcile things so that there's no bad energy between them. "He'd like that. And you would too." She smiles slightly, her eyes pooling up a bit. But she holds back her tears, just sniffling slightly. "We'll see." I bite my lip. "Actually, I'm planning on seeing him tomorrow," I tell her. "You should come." She looks at me in surprise. "Me?" "Yeah. We can visit him, and you two can talk." Plus, she could drop me off. It's a win-win. She bites her lip hard, staring at some part of my face as she ponders this. Just when I think she's going to say no, she says "I'll think about it." She ends up agreeing to taking me. I feel almost giddy on the way there. I know it's not like I'm reuniting old flames, necessarily. But I wonder, even if they can't be "together" in the traditional sense, can they still be friends? Like Mom said -- they have all this history together. And Mom clearly still loves him in some capacity. If it's true, we could still technically be a family... Or is that just wishful thinking? Once we get to the hospital where my dad works, my mom immediately looks for a bathroom (most likely an excuse to privately calm her nerves). I go look for my dad. Being a trauma surgeon, he's usually pretty busy, but he's been texting me fairly regularly today so I'm sure he has some down time (whatever that means for a doctor). I head up to his floor and check in with one of the nurses. I know a lot of them, but this one, I don't recognize. She must be new. "Hi," I say. She smiles at me. She's super pretty, now that I can see her clearly. "Did you need something?" "Yeah, I'm looking for Dr. Henderson," I tell her. "For what reason?" "He's my dad," I say. Before she can even respond, I hear a voice behind me coming from down the hall. "Jo!" I turn and smile at the sight of my dad coming down the hallway with his white coat and a happy expression on his face. We meet in the middle and he pulls me into a nice, short embrace. "Got here okay, I see." "Yeah," I say. "How's work?" "Not too busy today," he says, shrugging. "Which is both a good and bad thing." I laugh a little. "At least people aren't dying." "Yeah, well..." He just shrugs again, and I hold in my laughter. "So?" I ask, looking around. "Which one's the lucky guy?" "Keep it down," he says, flicking my forehead, and I wince but laugh. "The hell?" "Not that it's any of your business, but he's busy, so you can't bother him," he says, ushering me down the hall with a smirk. "That's no fun. I wanna meet him," I say. "I don't even know if I like him yet," he tells me as we head into the break room so that we can talk semi-privately. He grabs a bottled water from the shelf. "Well when you decide you do, can I meet him?" I ask. "Of course," he says, smiling and taking a sip of his water. "God, you're annoying." "I'm just lookin' out for you." "Yeah, yeah," he says, smirking as he caps the bottle. "We all know you're a daddy's boy." I blush. "Fuck you." He laughs. "Why is that a bad thing, huh?" "You totally said it like it's a bad thing," I say with a little chuckle. "Well, I happen to think it's a good thing," he says, reaching into his pocket. "Here. Before I forget." He holds a key out for me to take. "Spare key." "To your apartment?" "Yeah," he says as I take it. "And I'll text you the code to get into my actual building." "Sweet," I say, smiling as I play with the key a bit. Now it's like it's official. Speaking of which... "So, I heard the divorce was finalized." He raises his eyebrows. "You talked to your mom?" "Shocking, right?" I say with a slight smile. "We actually had a good conversation. About, y'know, you and her." He still looks skeptical. "Okay...?" That's his way of asking "Where are you going with this?" "She actually came with me today," I tell him, biting my lip. "And wants to talk to you." "Lisa wants to talk to me?" he asks, still disbelieving. Then he squints. "What's going on?" "Nothing," I assure him. "She just has been, y'know, feeling a lot of things about this whole situation, and I think she wants to apologize to you." His face softens a bit. "It'd be good for both of you, I think." He sighs a bit, scratching his head as he thinks. "Where is she?" he asks after a moment. I get them together to let them talk, and in the meantime (after getting my bag from mom's car), I make my way to Dad's apartment. He wasn't kidding when he said it was a much closer commute. He could walk to work every day if he really felt like making the trek. After a nice half-hour walk, I let myself in, making sure to keep my phone off silent in case one of them calls or texts me. I set my bag down with a sigh and smile at the shift in atmosphere. Dad's apartment improves every time I come over. Now it's fully furnished, cozy, warm (despite the modern feel to the place), and, most importantly, stocked. I head right into the kitchen to glance around for food, finding the fridge practically loaded with fruits and veggies. I wonder if he has a blender around. I could make a smoothie. I shut the fridge to open the freezer and check for ice when I see pictures. There are a few of me and my dad taped to the freezer door, and I smile. There's one of us on our trip to Niagara Falls. One of us when I was younger and "graduated" middle school, wearing a stupid little gap and gown. And the other one is a candid one of us laughing at a family event of some sort. I wonder who took it. I've never even seen this picture, but it looks so pure and happy that I'm not surprised he hung it up. I even take my phone out to take a picture of it so that I have it for myself. After I whip myself up a smoothie, I explore a little more. His soon-to-be-office is still a mess, with a bunch of half-opened boxes littering the floor. Maybe I can help him organize things later. I check out his room too. He has an actual bed now, so his room feels complete. I do notice the empty bottles though. They're not even well-hidden -- if he was trying to hide them, that is. Does he actually have a drinking problem? If so, he's really good at keeping it under wraps. I would have never guessed. Maybe it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. They could be old bottles. Plus, he's a surgeon... He can't very well be a drunk and also practice medicine. Just as I'm wondering what that's about, my phone rings. I hasten to pull it out of my pocket and smile when I see that it's Dad. "Hello?" I ask when I answer. "Hey, did you get in okay?" "Yeah. Code took me a while to input but we're good." "Yeah, the machine is odd," he says. "So, anyway, I'm not coming home after work. Talked it over with the intern. We're just gonna go get drinks right after my shift." I smirk. "Christ, you're trying to date an intern? Seriously?" "Shut up, Jo," he says, but I can hear the grin in his voice. "There should be some cash in the kitchen somewhere if you wanna order a pizza or whatever." "Okay," I say. "I'll take a look." "Alright, I'll see you--" "Wait!" Is he serious? Is he really not about to tell me what happened? "How'd it go with Mom?" "With your mom? Went pretty well, actually," he says, sounding surprised himself. "She apologized like you said. We kinda just talked a few things out." Very vague. "Okay...? So are you guys on good terms?" "I think so," he says. "She's still sad, obviously. And has every right to be. But we made dinner plans for next week, so... That's a good sign, yeah?" I smile widely. He can kind of be a child when it comes to confrontation like this. Except at work. "That's a great sign." I bite my lip. As long as they can both get along, I'll be happy. "Yeah. We'll see. Anyway, I should get going," he says. "You gonna wait up for me?" I chuckle. "Yeah. Don't stay out too late, mister," I add in my best Dad-impression. He laughs. "Bye, Jo." I do try my best to wait up for him, but by 9 o'clock, I'm dead tired. To pass the time, I clean up around his apartment (which includes doing a few dishes) and then take a long, hot shower (which is the most incredible shower I've ever been in). I put a movie on once I'm technically ready for bed. But cuddling up under a blanket on the couch was a mistake, because halfway through the movie, I realize I can barely keep my eyes open. Surely enough, I drift off to sleep. Of course it's a nightmare. When I wake up, I'm sweating and panting, and I'm pretty sure I'm crying, but I can't move. I should be used to this by now. Often, when I have a really intense nightmare and try my best to wake myself up, I have sleep paralysis that lasts close to five minutes. But it's terrifying every time. Paired with the residual terror from the dream, I'm caught staring up at the ceiling and thinking "What if I can't move after five minutes? What if this time it doesn't wear off?" So I just cry and tremble and wait and say "Please God" over and over in my head. Finally, I slowly start to regain control of my limbs and I breathe heavily as if I was just suffocating. It doesn't help that this room is still mildly foreign to me. I have nothing to anchor me, so I feel incredibly uncomfortable and scared still. I'm sweating like fucking crazy. But I think of my dad. "Steady breaths," he always tells me. So I close my eyes and inhale slowly through my mouth and exhale slowly through my nose. I repeat this until I can feel my heart reducing to its normal rate. You're okay, Jonah. Everything's okay. But the thought of going back to sleep, alone, is horrifying. What time is it? I pick up my phone off the coffee table and see that it's just past 2am. Dad must be home by now. I head down the hallway, the blanket dragging on the floor behind me. His door is slightly ajar, so I push it open more and step into his bedroom. "Dad?" I whisper. He doesn't stir. I see his form on the bed. As my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I see that he's just in his boxers on top of all his blankets, as if he came home, took off his clothes, and plopped right into bed. I wonder how his date went. I try to crawl quietly onto the bed and drape the blanket over us, but my movements seem to be enough to cause him to stir. He murmurs something unintelligible as he rolls onto his back. "It's me, Dad," I say in response. "Hm?" I see him turn towards me, but his eyes are still closed. "You okay?" he asks sleepily. He must still be half-asleep. "Nightmare," I say, sliding next to him with a sigh. I rest on my side with my back facing him, hugging one of his pillows and closing my eyes. Already I feel a little better, but it's not enough. This nightmare was particularly horrifying. And grotesque, honestly. Like a weird torture porn. I can still faintly feel the pain on various parts of my body where I was assaulted. It's so irritating that this happens at least once a week. But at least it's not every night, right? That's what Dad would do. Look for the silver lining. "Hey Dad?" I ask after a minute. "Hm?" he says softly. "Can you...?" I don't say anything specific, but he gets the hint. He knows what I need. "Yeah," he says, grunting a bit as he rolls onto his side. I feel his body cuddle up behind me as he drapes an arm over me. I sigh comfortably. Now I feel safe. Damn, I really do need to see a therapist. I'm sixteen years old and still need my dad to hold me while I sleep. Though I guess it's partly his fault for enabling me for all this time. Thanks a lot, Dad! But it's nice. Everything about this is familiar. His soft, rhythmic breathing. The warmth from his body. The strong arm holding me. Why would anyone want to give this up? And then, after a little while, I notice something pressing against my backside. Well, more so poking than pressing. Is my dad... getting hard? My eyes snap open and I stay absolutely still as I try to figure out what that could be. It's gotta be his dick. There's no other explanation for it. He's not wearing anything stiff, unless there's a bottle or something in his bed that just happened to get lodged between us. And then, he shifts into me more, pressing his crotch more firmly into my ass and letting out a little grunt near my ear. My heart races. That's definitely a hard-on. But he's either half- or fully-asleep. And probably at least a little intoxicated if he went out for drinks. Maybe he doesn't realize it's me. This is so weird. I don't know what to do. Should I wake him up? It'd embarrass the fuck out of him, probably. I try shifting my lower body away a bit, but I can't move away far enough without straining my own back. Way to uncomfortable. Jesus Christ. I can't believe my dad has a fucking boner right now. Granted, this isn't the first time I've noticed -- I mean, guys get hard all the time in their sleep. But this is the first time it's been pressed up against me this way. I choose to ignore it. It's fine. If it's just a random nighttime erection, it'll go down on its own. So I stay still, sighing and closing my eyes a bit. I try to sleep, think of blissful dreams, happy things, but all I can think about is his dick, right up against my ass. It's driving me insane. And not in a bothersome way, now that I think about it... More in a curious kind of way. There it is again. That curiosity's coming out. I suppose it's not that weird to wonder what another dude's dick looks like. But your own dad's? Maybe that's a stretch. It feels kinda big though. Brett and I looked it up -- national average is closer to 5 inches, and I guarantee Dad's bigger than that, though obviously I can't really tell just from it behind pressed against me. I'd have to actually see it. Or maybe feel it. If I can get my hand on it I can estimate the size... Fuck, really? Why am I thinking about this? But I can't stop. The thought is consuming me. And it'd be so easy, too. I wouldn't be able to turn around without waking him up, but I could reach back. If I shimmy slightly out of his grip, I could just reach behind me and give him a little grip. Nothing crazy. I put my hand on my hip, close to his. My fingers are so close to his crotch. Holy shit. Maybe if I'm lucky I could even take it out-- Jesus fucking Christ, Jonah, stop. Stop thinking about this. Go to sleep. Leave him alone. ...But it's so tempting. I bite my lip hard, my heart racing as I debate. Should I just say fuck it and do it? Is this really about to happen? I'll have to count down. On three. One... Two... Three... I pull my hips gently forward and slide my hand in between us. I notice how fucking warm it is before I can even feel the fabric of his boxers. And then, my fingertips touch his boner. I almost gasp a bit. I take it incredibly slow, until my palm is pressed up against his dick. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I can't believe I'm doing this. Okay. Focus. You're here for one reason: to see how you stack up, right? I slide down to feel around for his balls. There we go. That's the base. And then I slowly slide my hand up until I reach the tip of his cock. Wow. I think two of my hands could fit on his dick. Is that right? Let me try again... I reach back down, but as soon as I do, I hear my dad let out a slight grunt, pushing his hips further into my palm. Out of fear, I pull my hand away quickly and stay absolutely still, my heart thudding. But he doesn't wake up. Just wraps his arm more tightly around me. I let out a shaky breath. That was close. I bite my lip slightly, forcing myself to close my eyes again. I have to sleep. I have to resist trying again. At least... just for tonight, right? In my head I'm already planning ways to get a better look or cop a better feel. I've never been this close to an adult dick before and it's literally the only thing I can think about. I can't push it out of my head. My curiosity has piqued now. Especially since my own pajamas are tenting at the crotch... God damn it. Again: thanks a lot, Dad.