Denim Jackets and Good Intentions

Chapter Eleven

The first family dinner upon returning home was not as hectic as Eric was expecting. They got in just as the sun rose over the horizon the morning after the concert, driving for six hours straight after such a physically draining day doing such a number on the blond that he almost begged Douglas to spend the night as his place just so he wouldn't have to make a stop to his school along the way. But Douglas had responsibilities to take care of, and he reeked of weed from the thick fog of it at the venue. They parted ways with a liberal kiss, leaning into each other and so spellbind that the outside world didn't matter for those twelve seconds. After watching the other disappear into the campus gates, he sped off.

He slept most of the day, getting in while Mary was making breakfast and greeting her before heading to his bedroom. He stripped down to his underwear and curled up in the thick black blanket, blinds shut and the strand of photobooth pictures he and Douglas had taken propped up against his lamp. He only noticed them seconds after closing his eyes, the image registering in his mind within the dark. He peeked one eye open and looked over them with furrowed eyebrows, confused. Hadn't he left them on the dresser?

He woke up around four in the afternoon and pulled on pajama pants, dragging his feet along the floor until he appeared in the kitchen archway. Henry was setting the table, hair pushed back from his forehead with one of their mother's headbands. He snorted at the sight of the pale pink against mocha brown, walking closer and ruffling his hand through the young boy's hair. Henry grunted in annoyance, smacking his sibling's hand away.

"Why do you bother him so much?" Mary sighed, shaking her head as she set the tray of food on the table.

"He's easy to bother," Eric responded with a shrug.

"Your father wants to talk to you."

The blond froze, chewing on the inside of his cheek until he felt a small jolt of pain. "Why?"

Mary turned to look at her son over her shoulder, thin eyebrows raised knowingly.

"I don't wanna talk to him about that."

"Eric-"

"I shouldn't have to, it's none of his fucking business anyways."

Mary turned around and stared right up at her son, left eyebrow raised as if she was challenging him.

"Don't you dare curse at me."

"I wasn't-"

"I just spent most of yesterday arguing with Tom over what he saw, I'm not about to let you disrespect me when I fought tooth and nail to remind him what he agreed to when he held you in his arms the day you were born."

Eric squinted his eyes in uncertainty, glancing over at Henry for a brief second. The younger boy looked away, still holding a few stray pieces of silverware in his hand. He swallowed and looked back down at his mother, staying silent though he felt his throat burning with the urge to scream or cry or do anything but stand there like an moron.

"He doesn't understand, he's ignorant, I know that."

She scrubbed one dainty hand over her face and turned to face the sink again.

"What did he say?" he asked, his throat so dry that he could barely utter out the question.

There was a long pause before Mary turned back around, her features softened as if a switch had been flipped. Her juniper green eyes held a smile even if her lips didn't.

"What did he say about me?"

"He should have known. He said...that he should have known. He asked how close was he with you, really, if he didn't even know? He just wanted to know."