Issues
I came home early one day to the repeated sound of a word I’d never heard my daughter use before, not in her first two years of life and not since she’d started living with me during her semester. She was at that moment, I imagined—or tried not to imagine—spread out beneath that older boy she’d been seeing, his awkward youthful movements giving her reason to moan over and over that one word like a syllabic heartbeat. I looked down and Roger was brushing past my suit pants and shedding hair over them, meowing at me before I’d even walked in the door. He was also disturbed. Based on this omen and on the general circumstance, I decided the best plan of attack was to not enter the house at all, and to instead put an arm around Roger, pick him up, and leave without even putting down my bags.
We went for a beer or three. Evan at the bar and I have an understanding, and he puts out a small dish of eggnog for Roger when I bring him along for company. He’s not a cat who causes much trouble, and he earns his keep whenever there’s a rat around.
That night I was drinking quickly—Roger too, come to think of it—and after the third beer and second dish of eggnog, Evan asked me what had me going at it like a depressed fish, and Roger like a depressed cat, and I said Roger’s not depressed; he’s very contented because of how well I treat him and how strong our bond is, and then after talking about Roger for a while I came clean and told Evan it had to do with my daughter and her boyfriend and I didn’t want to talk about it.
He hitting her? Evan asked, and I said I didn’t hear any hitting but maybe, maybe he was hitting her; it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, and Evan said we could organise some of the late-night regulars to go rough this guy up if I wanted, and I said No, Evan, you misunderstand me. He said that he only misunderstood me because I wasn’t doing a good job of imparting understanding and I admitted that was true and I paid my tab and went home.
Jane greeted me with a Hey Dad, and I tried to act like that was fine and normal still, and then she said Hey Roger, you spoiled cat, and I said Hey Jane, and I finally put my stuff down, and the cat down too, though he remained at my feet, keeping me warm, meowing at Jane. I asked her if she wanted dinner and, laughing at me, she said she was sick of my casserole and she’d eaten with Brian already anyway and so I just reheated leftovers and then Jane’s mother called and I took that call upstairs.
Sandy wanted to know how Jane was doing. I chose the easy option and said she was doing well. I told Sandy that I hadn’t fed Jane anything with gluten in it this time round, and that she actually quite liked my cooking now, even though she made little digs at me which I was pretty sure were just youthful jokes. I told Sandy how I’d been helping our daughter with her assignments when I could, and how I’d been giving her advice on fitting into this town, and how I’d been asking her about her childhood, all the things I’d missed out on and so on, and how Roger hadn’t scratched her even once this semester, and how when we played Scrabble together she mostly won.
Sandy interrupted my bulletin by announcing that she would be coming to the city to meet this boy Brian whom Jane talked about all semester break. I bit my tongue then and nodded, which doesn’t communicate much through the phone, but Sandy went right ahead as if she’d seen it and asked me if bloody Lucia would be here, and I said for her not to talk about my wife like that, but also that if she came this weekend Lucia would still be on her business trip, and Sandy said I’ll see you Friday, and then she asked to speak to Jane and so I went downstairs where she was watching TV with Roger on her lap. She held him close and mouthed Mine at me and poked her tongue out, and I muted the phone before going to snatch the cat from her.
Dad, let me have him. He’s keeping me warm, she said, and I said Don’t you have Brian for that? and that made her blush and say Not right now and I said Okay and shrugged. He’ll come join me in bed anyway.
We’ll see, Jane said, smiling, and then I handed her the phone. She was still talking to her mother half an hour later when I signalled I was going to sleep and Jane mouthed Love you, and I said Love you, and then I went up and into bed, but did not go to sleep.
I didn’t go to sleep because I was thinking about the thing from earlier, the thing I’d heard, and about how maybe it didn’t have to do with Jane at all, maybe it was Brian’s thing, what with him being a couple years older, showing her the university ropes—though hopefully no other ropes—as in maybe he asked her to do it, to call him that word she’d never called me, that strangely corruptible term. Yes, that made sense. That made sense that it would be Brian, that kind-seeming and, now that I thought about it, somewhat paternalistic guy, what with his full beard and that way he had of holding her. But then I thought—isn’t it a sort of weird thing for a guy to be into at twenty-one? He couldn’t have even considered fathering a child, unless maybe his desire to be called that word came from some kind of desire to emulate and manifest his own father’s most authoritarian attributes within a bedroom setting. Before I could think about all this for too long, Roger was scratching at my door, and I got up to let him in and held up the doona so he could tunnel down and ball up at my feet under the blankets. I knew you’d come, I said. And with him there at my feet I fell asleep trying not to overthink things, trying instead to focus on the hardcore porn on my phone.
Over breakfast Jane asked if I’d like to join Mum, Brian, and her out for dinner on Friday. I asked her if that was a good idea, and she said it was a very good idea, especially since Lucia wasn’t around, and I asked What’s wrong with Lucia? and Jane raised her hands and said Don’t get me wrong; I really like Lucia, Dad, but you know how Mum gets. And I said Yeah, Mum. Okay.
Jane hugged me and said Thanks, and I put out a can of tuna for Roger and stroked his soft fur and then I was on the bus and then I was at work.
After a few hours straight at my desk I went over to question the bludgers at the watercooler. I wanted to know about the kind of young man who liked being called that word, about the kind of young woman who’d oblige. A couple people laughed. They asked if I was looking for a sugarbaby and I said Are you kidding? I’ve already got my hands full with Lucia and my daughter and my ex-wife.
After a bit of silence someone said somewhat quieter that Steve from finance had a sugarbaby, and that he brought her along to an office Christmas party once. And I said How old’s Steve from finance? and people shrugged and someone said Fifties? and I said Well that’s no use at all.
Someone asked if this had to do with the casefiles I was handling, and I said No, no, just curious, and then I went back to work via Steve from finance’s office window, and I felt glad for a moment that at the very least Brian had a full head of hair.
On Friday we were all set to meet for dinner at seven thirty, though for various reasons, most of them Roger-related, I showed up at seven thirty-five. Straight away Sandy said As usual, and I said Where’s Brian? and Jane said He’s late too, and I went over and hugged Sandy just as she rolled her eyes, and at seven-forty Brian showed up and we all went inside this medium-expensive Italian place called Artimino and were shown to our seats. All four of us on different sides of a too-small square table. Brian sat across from me as he called Sandy and me Mrs and Mr Walsh more than twice before she corrected him. Mr Walsh and Ms Ellen, she said. But please, call me Sandy. Lucia is Mrs Walsh now, and she’s got far fewer wrinkles than me.
You look very lovely yourself, Ms Ellen, Brian said without missing a beat.
Sandy, she said.
The poor guy looked down and fiddled with his food for a bit looking embarrassed, and Jane took a moment to grab his hand and speak to him quietly. I listened carefully—but never once as she reassured him did she call him that word, and midway through the meal when Jane said Can you pass the salt, Dad? Brian didn’t even flinch. The guy kept his cool, kept his cool so well that by the end of the meal I was thinking maybe I’d imagined the other night, or that maybe what I’d heard hadn’t been Jane at all but had instead just been some pornography they were watching together to learn some new positions.
I was thinking about all this when the bill came and Brian tried to pay, and I guess all that thinking is why I said to him No, no. This is a father’s duty, which again garnered no reaction, and when he didn’t offer to split— I would have still paid in full, but it would have been polite—I went and handled the bill and then Jane and Brian went one way and Sandy and I went the other.
We made our way down the concrete mall that streamed with young and old people in both directions, and we didn’t speak much till we reached Benson’s on the corner to order digestifs.
You seemed in your head tonight, Sandy said between sips of limoncello. I think he seems nice. I said I thought so too; it’d just been a long week, and she said she thought I was testing the poor boy, and I said I was just doing my due diligence—Dad’s due diligence, as it were. Then she ordered more limoncello and we talked about her for a bit, about her job and about the men she’d been seeing and so on, trying to make me jealous maybe, before turning back to the subject of our daughter and her boyfriend. Do you let him stay over? Sandy asked. I said I hadn’t been asked, and thank god for that, and Sandy asked if I’d let him and I asked if I should and Sandy shrugged. They probably have sex anyway. Hell, they’re probably going somewhere to have sex right now, and I screwed up my face and said Don’t remind me, and she said What do you mean don’t remind you; did you walk in on them or something? and I went red in the face and she said Oh fuck, and started laughing, and I said No, no. No. I just heard them. Sandy asked if Jane was loud like her and I told her to stop flirting with me and then for no good reason I also told her what I’d heard Jane call Brian, and that’s when Sandy looked at me cold. Oh, she said. It’s probably fine, I said. It’s kind of funny, really. But Sandy didn’t think so. She said for me not to ever dare tell her that it’s funny. Don’t you dare, goddammit. Like this is something that’s funny and something for you to be happy about. Like the consequences of your not being around are something to be proud of. And I said I don’t think it’s a Jane thing; I think it’s a Brian thing.
Sandy got up from the table then, shaking her head. She said she was going home, but what she meant was that she was going back to hang around in my spare room. And that’s what she did, leaving me to pick up the bill, again, all that limoncello, and then I went home too. I went home and Roger greeted me at the door, thank god, purring at my leg all the way to the bathroom where I showered until the pit in my stomach felt like it was about to swallow me whole.
The doorbell rang out. I walked out frowning, still dripping in my dressing gown, Sandy on the couch hunched over her tea, and I opened the door and it was Lucia.
Lucia.
I smiled at her. And she smiled at me, and she said Hey there Sandra, and Sandy said Hello Lucia, and then Sandy called Roger over so he’d scuttle off with her to the spare room, and when they were gone Lucia kissed me with force and passion and whispered how she got an early flight to surprise me, because she’d missed me so much, she’d needed me, and I picked up her soft body and carried her upstairs and tossed her onto our bed. She gasped, and then she got on all fours to look up at me as I moved toward her, looking over those wide and wanting eyes, those parted lips.
Your kitten’s come back to play with you, she said, and I told her to keep it down—not because of Sandy or anything, but because I’d just realised that oh my god, the cat might be listening.