A Father's Love

The Dinner

Dinner was served on time, which was frankly impressive. Father had almost expected Hugh to go into hiding with as tongue tied as he had been. But he placed the plate on the table in front of him with a fresh change of clothes and something sweet smelling on his skin.

But it had been such a last minute decision. Father realized when he was taking his own shower that he hadn't thought much further beyond the invitation. Now that they were both there, what was there to say? How are you? What was your day like? Was it good for you too?

So he said nothing. They ate in relative silence, though he caught Hugh looking at him on more than one occasion. But he couldn't comment on it; the only reason he knew was because he was looking too.

Honestly, Father didn't know why he had suggested this in the first place. It had been damn near involuntary, like an itch at the back of his mind that he had to scratch. Things had been simple before, but now?

Hugh cleared his throat. Father met his pensive gaze of a glass of Merlot. He seemed to promptly regret it with the way that he flushed, but he only glanced away again for a second.

"How is it?" he asked.

Father blinked. He set down his wine glass and sat up straighter as he took interest in one of the paintings on the wall.

"It's fine."

There was a pause. Father knew that didn't sound right, so he squared his shoulders and tried again.

"One of my favorites, actually," he managed to say.

Hugh's fork clinked off the side of his plate. "Really?"

Father busied himself by wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "What part of that surprises you?"

Hugh borrowed a moment by taking a sip of water. "Ah... all of it, really."

Father finally fixed him with a look. "I don't follow."

Hugh's mouth twisted to one side, as he searched the ceiling instead. "It's just... I'm not used to anyone liking the things I make for them. Or at least acting like it." He paused, then waved a hand. "I'm glad that you do, though."

Father snorted. "I can't tell if you're being modest or trying to insult me."

"N-no!" Hugh's eyes were suddenly very wide. "Of course not--"

"I am paying you, you realize."

Hugh's face was pink as he laughed nervously. "Yes, and very generously."

Father leaned into his propped up hand. "Are you implying I have bad taste?"

"No!"

"Then I'm not sure where your question is coming from." He eyed Hugh expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Effectively put on the spot, Hugh's hands needed somewhere to fidget, and end up in his lap to smooth napkin back in his lap.

"I guess my family never really appreciated it," he said quietly.

Father blinked. He sat up again and took up his fork to stab at another bite. "You have a family," he murmured, though that much should have been obvious.

"I did."

The next question could be treacherous, but Father still asked: "Where are they?"

A slight shrug was not the typical response. "The kids went with their mother more than a year ago. She was the one with the six-figure salary."

Only six? Father had to cover a scoff with a cough. "I see." He took another bite, then went on to say, "Kids?"

"Three of them." There was a sadness to his smile. "Twin girls and a little boy."