Page 158 of Something Like Winter
Ben grinned sheepishly. “These days I can drive anywhere I want without anyone to stop me. I guess the lack of freedom back then made even the simplest thing seem special.”
“It was more than just that,” Tim said. “Sneak over to my house in Austin one night and I’ll prove it.” He stopped on the sidewalk as they reached a driveway and stared. “There it is. Home, sweet home. It looks the same.”
“You sound surprised,” Ben said.
“It’s been a while.”
How long exactly? More than a year, that was certain. Two, maybe? His mother called occasionally, and so did Tim, sometimes, but they didn’t want him to share much about his life. Anytime he mentioned a guy, even just Marcello, she got quiet, no doubt wondering if that person meant something more to him.
At least the locks hadn’t been changed. Tim entered the house with Ben in tow, and after a few murmured jokes, they toured the downstairs in silence. Like in a museum, they walked carefully, not touching any of the exhibits, stopping and staring in silence at some of the same places. The corner of the living room where the Christmas tree had been. The dining room table where they had their candlelight dinner, or the den, which had been their whole world together for the first few weeks. Then they crept up the stairs as if it were another of winter’s midnights, but behind the bedroom door was now just an anonymous guestroom. Only the dresser against the wall was the same.
“Too bad,” Ben said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping you had obsessive parents that keep the room a time capsule after their kid leaves.”
“It’s not like I died,” Tim said, even though sometimes it felt that way. He sat on the bed next to Ben. Their backs were to the window that looked out on the back lawn, for which he was grateful. “Ever wish you had a time machine?”
“For what?” Ben laughed, already guessing the answer. “What would you do, travel back here and lock teenage Tim in the closet?”
“Yup. Literally this time. Then I’d wait in bed like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.”
“I think teenage Ben would notice you were older.”
Tim leaned against him. “But would he complain? That’s the question.”
“I don’t remember you being this weird,” Ben said, changing subjects.
“Yeah, well, that’s what living the life of a secluded millionaire will do to you.”
Ben’s response was cut short by the sound of the garage door rumbling. Tim tensed.
“Want to sneak out?” Ben offered.
“No. Come on. Let’s go meet them.”
His parents were already in the kitchen when they entered. His father yelped in shock, and his mother pressed a palm to her chest, but when they recognized him they relaxed. Somewhat.
“¡Gordito!What are you doing here? Your car isn’t out front!”
“I just thought I would stop by.” His parents’ full attention was already focused on Ben. “Uh, this is Ben. Ben Bentley. Do you remember him? He had dinner with us when—”
Tim’s father tossed his car keys on the kitchen table. “I’m going up to my office.”
“Why?” Tim said, stepping in his way. “It’s been ages since you saw me, and you’re going to walk away just because I brought my boyfriend along? Seriously?”
His father scowled. “This is my house, young man, and I’ll do as I please!”
Tim stepped aside, sparing a glance for Ben who had moved out of the way. He had his arms crossed defensively over his chest and appeared exceedingly uncomfortable. This made Tim all the more angry. His parents could at least act civil.
“Why do you even care?” Tim shouted after him. “You never wanted a kid, so why do you care that I turned out different than you expected? You couldn’t give a shit about anything good I’ve ever done, but you’ve always been there to make me feel bad when I do wrong.”
His father spun around, face red with barely contained rage. “Maybe if you weren’t such a disappointment I would have cared more!”
“What did you want me to be?” Tim retorted. “Like you? Get a wife, run a boring business, and treat my kids to icy silence? If that’s what I was supposed to be, then I’m glad I disappoint you so much.” Tim glanced at his mother. “And thanks for the few times a year you remembered to pay attention to me. That was real generous of you.”
Tim headed for the door, catching Ben’s eye to make sure he’d follow. Time to get out of here. Tim couldn’t imagine ever coming back. On his way out of the kitchen, he pushed past his father, wanting to shove him, knock him up against the wall—anything to make him hurt half as much as he did. But instead he kept moving, turning his back on him.
Ben followed him through the house, nearly running to keep up. Tim’s hand was on the front door when a voice called after him.
“¡Gordito!”
