A Father's Love

The Invitation

There had been a shift in the atmosphere of the Delightful Mansion. Hugh could barely remember the events that had led to him waking in the middle of the night and standing in Father's office. He could still taste the alcohol on his own breath as he stood there swallowing his pride. But he remembered what came after with absolute clarity. It was all that he could think about for the past three days.

Should he be ashamed of himself? It was hard to say; Father had not mentioned it since, but he hadn't asked Hugh to go, either. Suddenly, he seemed busier than usual. His visits were shorter now, and he did not have much to say.

But the things he did say was what kept Hugh guessing.

Very good, Mr. Test.

I'm looking forward to it.

I don't mind waiting for you.

Hugh's face flushed at the thought alone. Maybe in context, none of these things meant anything. But coupled with the vivid memory of the night he had spent on Father's desk--

He suddenly realized he had gotten a little aggressive with the pasta sauce he was stirring, and forced himself to take a break.

It had been bound to happen eventually with the way things were going, but to think he would be the one to initiate it? Even worse: he was tempted to do it again. Maybe Father was expecting him to, with the way that he had been keeping his distance and staring him down ever since.

A month ago, it might have caused him terrible anxiety. But Hugh knew better now. He knew that Father had to be enjoying some aspect of it; he seemed too pleased to just stand back and watch him fumble whatever Hugh was trying to do at the time.

But it was driving him crazy. The weight of Father's hands, the strength of his grip, the heat of his tongue; these details were too close to the forefront of his mind now. Hugh wanted more than to just remember it.

"Get a hold of yourself, Test…" he muttered to himself. He needed to hear it. There was no one to tell him not to get swept up in his fantasies this time. He had to remember what this was.

He was just something to keep his rich and frustratingly mysterious employer entertained. A plaything with a purpose. It didn't matter what he wanted, it only mattered that Father was satisfied with him enough to keep him around.

It was a sobering mantra to adopt, but it did the job; he was able to concentrate long enough to finish what he was supposed to do. A lasagna seemed much bigger now that it was only for two people, but he could only hope that Father had a taste for it like he did.

He set the timer for an hour and a half, and left his oven mitts on the counter to get started on the dishes. But as he was filling the sink, he happened to glance up just as Father was entering the kitchen.

Immediately, Hugh turned back around to hide how quickly his face had gone red. He busied himself with scrubbing a pan as he listened to his slow, measured steps along the tile, getting closer and closer.

But again, nothing. He finished cleaning with shaking hands, and even put everything away before he finally dared to look behind him. Father was leaning against the counter, arms loosely folded and openly watching his every move.

"Good evening, sir," Hugh ventured. He had taken to drying his hands on his apron instead of wringing them about.

"Don't mind me, Mr. Test," Father mused. "I don't want to interrupt."

Hugh's eyes flashed around the kitchen; it was spotless.

"I was just finishing up." Hugh's voice cracked with the struggle to maintain any sort of volume. "Dinner will be ready in….ah… soon…"