Page 51 of Open Water

“Rectal lubricant? Dad? Seriously? Talk about killing the mood.”

“It’s better than commercial lube. It’s the stuff we use for intricate rectal exams and extractions, and it’s good for sensitive skin. No perfumes or flavourings that could irritate the membranes.”

Max just rolls off the chair. Lies down on the floor like he has just died of embarrassment. Which he probably has, but Tom just chuckles.

“Lube is important. It protects the thin skin in your genital area, where you can easily get grazes and small hairline tears that can transmit disease through your bloodstream. Also, it can sting like fuck. So, lube. Use it. Abuse it. Then, let me know when you need more.”

“I can buy my own shit, Dad,” Max whines.

“Yes, but you don’t have access to thegoodstuff or staffdiscount,” Tom says triumphantly as Max just rolls over on the floor.

His son is lying on the kitchen floor. And Tom just steps over him to grab two cups from the shelf. The shelf that is gleaming with clean cups thanks to Matteo’s apparent housekeeping skills. He can stay. Anytime.

“Is everything good with Matteo?” he asks. Because he needs to know. Because he’s nosy, but also, because this is a big change for Max. Emotional upheaval that might push his moods into a tailspin if they don’t take things slow. Slow and steady.

“Yeah, he’s great,” Max replies into the tiled floor.

“Does he know? I mean, have you told him all the things he should know? Like the little signs to look out for in your moods, and your sleeping patterns?”

“Dad…” Max sighs.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but he is the one person who is going to be closer to you than I am. He will probably pick up on things before I do, and damn Max, you are doing so fucking well, and I just don’t want anything to happen to mess up this run we’re having. You’re stable. You’re happy. You’re bloody amazing.”

“He knows. He’s kind of googled everything, and he remembers shit. He’s so bloody clever, Dad.” Max has rolled over again. Lying flat on his back on the floor with his arms out to the sides.

“Good.” Tom sinks down on the floor handing Max the cup in his hand. The other one following from the work top as he lets his body lie down. They used to do this sometimes when Max was younger. Just lie on the floor and talk. Like kids. Like the world wasn’t such a scary place when you could just zone it out.

“It’s all gone to shit with Lukas.” He has to say it. It helps when he says it out loud. Makes it less heart-breaking.

“Sorry,” Max replies. “If it makes you feel any better, he looked like shit on Tuesday. I went to the Queer Student group, and he just sat there. We tried to make him laugh, but it was like he had a million things on his mind and just couldn’t focus. Anyway, it was a right laugh and we watched some lame movie and ate like a crate full of biscuits. I wish I had known about it before, because it’s more like The Crazy Misfit Student Society rather than a Queer Student group. Even though I think one of the girls is bi. I think.”

“Lukas?” Tom questions, because Max is talking so fast and Tom’s sleep-deprived brain is struggling to catch up. Flipping from subject to subject in each sentence.

“What about him?” Max says, leaning up on his elbow to take a sip of the coffee on the floor next to him.

“He looked like shit? Like sad or like he has partied all week or something?” Tom needs details. Max just shrugs his shoulders.

“He looked heartbroken, Dad. What the heck did you do to him?”

Tom just looks down. Takes a deep breath. He wants to cry a little. Bang his head into the wall with his own stupidity.

“I think I overwhelmed him with my fucking stupid fairy-tale shite. I basically told him he was the bloody love of my life and he ran off before I could even get myself together enough to apologise. It was just… weird. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Sounds fucking romantic to me, Dad. Did you give him his chocolate?”

“Yeah,” Tom whispers, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Shame. I really fancied one. Those Hershey bars are fucking addictive.”

Tom doesn’t reply. Sits back up and leans his back against the kitchen cabinets, letting his lips suck on the rim of his coffee cup.

“Dad. It will be okay,” Max says softly.

“It won’t,” Tom stutters out. How can it? He is going to grow old. Sit in his chair like some pensioner playing sudoku and reading the paper with his feet in some smelly, unattractive slippers until he loses his marbles. Max will move out and live happily ever after with that ridiculous boy of his.

“If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” Max sighs. “Have you tried texting him?”

“No. It’s in his court. I have nothing more to say to him. I kind of said it all.”

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