Confounded: Part III - 18. Chapter 11

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

I woke up alone. Beside me, the bed was cold; it was 7 am. Guessing that his internal clock had woken him, and that Tom had gone for his run, I took my time to wake up, sauntering downstairs to make coffee.

There was no coffee.

I’m not a coffee-buff like Taylan had been, but he had turned me on to it to start the day. I must have coffee. I found Tom’s tea; of course, there was plenty of that and there was milk. Milk was good, so I got a glass and drank that and I was about to return upstairs to shower and get dressed when the door opened and Tom came in, panting heavily. He hadn’t seen me yet, so he didn’t know I was there; he was trying to be very quiet, closing the door with almost no sound.

“Morning,” I said but he didn’t react.

Then he turned and saw me, stopping dead in his tracks; he was wearing those airpods; probably had music blaring loudly in his ears, hence the no response. Producing his phone, he tapped on it and took the white things out of his ears.

“Oh hi! You’re awake!”

He came over and went on his tiptoes but kept his distance; his light gray T-shirt was soaked with sweat, back and front, his legs gleaming and his hair plastered to his head. I got a face full of hot breath and then a hard kiss on the corner of my mouth. I snickered when he apologized for his appearance.

“It’s fine; good run?” I asked, as he emptied a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Yeah, about eight miles?” Wow!

He winked. “Lot of energy. Someone left me hangin’ with a set of major blue balls.”

He looked good enough to grab and work up some more sweat. Seriously, my mind and body had no problem getting up to speed with getting back into…shape.

“I’ll have to make that up to you then. I’ll see if I can find some time for you, later this week.”

“Today,” he corrected, “later today.”

I laughed when he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows with a wicked grin on his face.

“That doesn’t leave much time then, since we still have to go back to my place; you suggesting a quickie?” My turn to wink and suggestively wiggle my eyebrows. God, I missed this. Innuendo, flirting. “I can spare five minutes.”

“Ooh, don’t threaten me with a good time. Including foreplay, right?” I growled softly. Ass! He grinned. “I’ll go up for a shower. Back in ten. You good?”

“I was looking for coffee, actually.”

He slapped his forehead, groaning. “Dammit, I totally forgot! I’m so sorry, I don’t have it in the house. Get some on the way? There’s a Starbucks not too far from here.”

I nodded.

“Aight, I’ll be right back.”

**********

I was just done buttering some toast when Tom came down, partially dressed in charcoal dress pants and a white shirt. Hanging his suit jacket and a silver tie over one of the barstools, he indicated himself. “This okay?”

He carried black shiny shoes in his hands. His hair was still wet from the shower and he’d shaved; as he came over I could smell a hint of a wonderfully subtle cologne and toothpaste.

“Perfect. All done?”

When he nodded and proceeded to put on his shoes, then kneeling to tie his laces, I waited until he was done and rose to stand, then pointed at the tea pot, which had just come off the boil. I’d already put the teabag next to it.

“Eat. I’ll go take a quick shower. I made some toast; there’s your tea.”

Rising on his tiptoes, he pressed a kiss on my lips and rubbed my back.

“Thanks! Will do.”

**********

Kit and Mischa hadn’t arrived when we got to my house and I changed quickly while Tom waited in the kitchen. It was about 8:30 am. They’d arrive soon.

When I returned, Tom was chuckling into his phone. He was sipping on another cup of tea he had apparently made.

“Mhm... yeah, okay. No, that shouldn’t be a problem... Tuesday? Yeah, I got nothing planned.” He listened for a minute. He’d already put on his tie and jacket and looked ready to go. “No, have her book me on a non-stop nightflight. It’s 10 or 11 hours; I’ll sleep on the plane. I’ll pick up the ticket at LAX and see you there.”

His eyes followed me as I hung my jacket and tie over a chair, then went to fill my mug with coffee; he’d made that as well. We’d gotten some on the way here but that stuff always tastes like… stuff, not coffee. I tried not to listen in on his conversation but couldn’t help myself.

So he was going somewhere. Soon, too. Tuesday? A myriad of questions immediately filled my brain; from demanding to be consulted before he agreed to anything, to where he was going and how long. But then I stopped myself; I had no right to demand anything. We weren’t exactly in a relationship. So where was this sort of thinking coming from?
He sniggered at something.

“Bye John,” he said in that singsong way you use when someone is digging for information and you’re not budging on giving it. “Nope…” Amusement shone in his eyes as he listened, then guffawed. “I do not! Ahuh...ahuh...yeah, you keep on dreaming. Bye John!”

Ending the conversation, he sighed. ”Sorry about that.”

“Going somewhere?” I asked, trying to bank down on my temper. I dunno why I felt so…offended?

He pulled a face.

“London. Recording session. We’re producing, we wrote it.” He named the female artist they wrote it for; she was a big star.

“For how long?”

Narrowing his eyes at my tone, he shrugged.

“Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. It’s just one song. I might even fly back the same evening; wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I thought you said you didn’t travel so much anymore…”

That caused a raised eyebrow, a searching look and then a frown.

“Right. Okay…” He went quiet and then jumped a little when the gate alarm went off, spilling some of his tea, narrowly avoiding getting any on him. “Dammit,” he muttered.

Going over to the intercom, I checked on the screen. Recognizing Mischa’s car, I pressed the button to open the gates. “They’re here,” I said unnecessarily, setting my mug in the sink, then going over to the chair where I’d hung my jacket and tie.

Tom pocketed his phone and his keys, watching me, or rather my hands, making jerky motions as I tied the knot.

“C’mere, lemme do it,” he invited, softly.

Stepping over, I looked down on him as he quickly measured the lengths and began tying the knot. I felt like a heel. I didn’t want him thinking I was mad at him for no reason other than my silly brain not knowing what to think.

“Double Windsor.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, concentrating. “Chin up.”

Obeying the request, I wanted to say something, but he beat me to the punch. “Care to tell me why you’re suddenly being a total dick to me?” He fastened the button and slipped the knot in place, then held on to the tie as he looked up.

“I’m sorry. I’m way out of line,” I apologized, making a point to look him in the eye. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, this is going a hundred miles an hour. I need a smack upside my head.”

His eyes softened and he let go of my tie, then slipped a finger between two buttons. He sighed, bowing his head but his exhale somehow sounded relieved.

“Okay. Yeah, I know what you mean. God, one date, a full day and one night and it feels like...I dunno...”

Exactly! That was exactly what I felt. No idea. What was this…

The doorbell rang but I stayed where I was and lifted his head with my finger under his chin.

“How about we talk when we get back?”

Humor reappeared in his eyes. “As opposed to what; fuck like rabbits?”

“We’ll do that later,” I winked, dipping down. I gave him a heated kiss, basically communicating; try and stop me. When I raised my head, lust flashed in his eyes and he licked his lips, then blew out a soft breath. Then the doorbell rang again. Knocking now, as well.

“You better let your son in, before he breaks the door down.”

**********

Julian practically jumped into my arms as soon as I opened the door and I barely caught him, squatting quickly to catch him.

“Grampy!!!!” He yelled, throwing his little body against me and his arms around my neck. I got a sloppy kiss right on the mouth.

“Hey buddy,” I chuckled, rising up. He always whooped when I lifted him and now was no exception.

“Woohoo!!!”

“Sorry,” Kit spoke up, smirking, obviously not sorry at all, “he wouldn’t stay in the car.” Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised up questioningly. “That Tom’s car?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” I nodded in that direction, then greeted a smiling Mischa, who had Noah by the hand. “Hi Mischa, come in. Hey squirt!” Lowering myself again, I picked up Noah as well and got another kiss while Julian whooped again as we went. “You boys ready to go to church?”
I got two enthusiastic responses and chuckled again, focusing on Julian. “Will you be quiet this time?”

“Doubt it,” Mischa’s dry response came. “Oh, Noah wants to sit with you. He’s been begging all the way here.”

“Noah can always sit with Grampy,” I said, turning my head, pressing a kiss on his forehead. The kid beamed at me. Noah was the easiest child I knew, very affectionate and open.

Julian was another story. Rambunctious to the extreme, he needed to sit between his parents or trouble would definitely ensue. More than once had he slipped away and created havoc under the benches.

Dressed in cute little suits, they only recently joined us in the main auditorium. Until then, they’d been taken to a nursery. But once Noah turned four, our church welcomed children to sit with their parents. I remembered vividly that he’d been very proud and quiet. Julian not so much; being left behind, he’d screamed his head off, wanting to be with his big brother. He kept it up until they brought him in, the caretakers completely at a loss. That first time he was quiet as a mouse. It was the only time and the reason we now usually sat near an exit, so one of his parents could take him outside and not disturb the service too much. We tried the nursery the next time; same thing so now both kids would sit with us.

Mischa closed the door behind us as we made our way inside, while the boys chatted my ear off for attention. That changed when we came into the kitchen and they noticed Tom.

“Tommy!”

Growling at the name and sending a glare Mischa’s way, who grinned downright wolfishly back at him, Tom greeted them. Julian wriggled so much, he almost fell out of my arms to get to him.

“Rodents! Get over here.”

“Rodents?” I chuckled.

As soon as I lowered them, they ran over and clutched his legs, and he wouldn’t be able to take a step. He nodded down at them.

“See? Rodents. Little rats. Vermin.”

“I’m not a rat!” Noah stomped his feet, holding up his arms.

“Yes you are. You eat cheese.” He lifted him up and set him on the counter next to him.

“Not a rat!” The boy insisted.

“Fine, you’re a mouse then.” He pinched his nose.

“Ouch! Not a mouse!”

I sniggered.

He was definitely good with kids. Julian didn’t understand it yet, not fully. He just tried to climb up Tom’s leg until he picked him up too and set him on the counter next to his brother and engaged in a group hug. Seconds later, Tom’s cheeks were wet from sloppy kisses. He didn’t seem to mind at all, just grinned at them.

“Squirt Party! Yes, I’m coming too. Unless you don’t want me to?”

Loud exclamations that he had to come. He had to promise. And Noah now wanted to sit with him. “Oh, I dunno; that might make your granddad very sad. How about you sit between us?”

Mischa cleared his throat. “We better get going or we’re gonna be late; we still need to pick up Richard as well. Boys? C’mon. In the car.”

I grabbed my jacket and keys and Mischa turned to me, raising his chin questioningly. “You driving with us or…”

I hadn’t thought about that, actually. Normally, they picked me and my father up, who lived closeby.

“I’ll follow you guys, I don’t know where it is anyway,” Tom said. “You go with them.”

“Actually,” Kit piped up, his eyes going from Tom to me, ”why don’t you go ahead and put the boys in their seats, hon.”

Ah...right.

“Awkward time,” Tom muttered, and I sniggered at that. Mischa picked up on it too; glancing at Kit and frowning but he did as asked. We waited until he’d closed the door behind him. Then Kit whirled on us.

“Explain.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Please.”

Better. “You?” I asked, turning to Tom, “or me?”

“Either one would be good,” Kit reacted but turned his attention to Tom, “what are you doing here?”

Hey! Son or not, he had no business speaking to anyone like that in my house, even if it had been his home for years. He was crossing a line and I was about to admonish him when Tom coolly replied, “What do you mean what am I doing here? We slept over at my place, then came here so we could go to church together. All of us.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way! Was a bit of a rush because we kinda turned in late but…” Tom looked up, blinking calmly, then looking at me and sending me a wink, “well...we made it in time.”

He was implying more than actually happened. Well, most of it. I glanced at Kit, to see his reaction.

“But…”

“But what?” Tom cut him off. “Why are you so shocked; you set us up, remember? Don’t be surprised it actually worked.”

Kit stared at him for a few seconds, then began laughing and drew him into a hug. “Oh, go take a hike,” he said, “you really had me going there.”

I coughed softly. “Ehr...I did spend the night at Tom’s.”

That caused him to still, looking from Tom, still in his arms, to me, then back again. “What…?” He huffed. “Nah, you didn’t spend the night together, come on…”

I’m not used to explaining myself, especially not to my son, but it was probably better to have this out in the open from the start, wherever it would lead. A glance at Tom confirmed that he was in agreement, or at least I thought so. So we let him come to that conclusion on his own.

Kit surprised me. He looked from me to Tom, stepping back and releasing him, then back to me. And then grinned wide. “Ha! You’re saying it actually worked? You two…” his fingers went back and forth between us, “...it worked?”

“Oh, it worked,” Tom answered dryly, “happy with yourself?”

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it! When Mischa…oh my god!”

“Mischa? What’s Mischa got to do with it?” Tom frowned, then sniggered.

“He’s the one who mentioned you, when I got the idea to set up a blind date for dad. What’s with the sniggering?”

‘Sorry, I just got this lyric stuck in my head now, from Tina Turner. What’s Mischa got to do, got to do with it...”

I tried to keep a straight face. Nope. “We better get going,” I smirked, sending Tom a glare. Stop that! He grinned back, that glint in his eyes. That one.

“No! I want to know about…”

“Kit,” I cut him off, “we’re really late.”

“Alright, alright, fine. But I want details.”

Like hell he would.

**********

I ended up riding in the backseat with the boys in another set of seats behind me, quickly stopping at my fathers’; he clearly had been waiting. The look on his face, as he got in from the other side told me he’d been waiting a bit too long. I should have called.

“Dad,” I said, nodding.

“Son,” he returned, tapping his cane on the back of Mischa’s seat. “Let’s go, we’re late.”
Kit stuck his arm backwards; my father grabbed it with both of his hands. Kit blew a kiss; he pretended to catch it and bring it to his mouth, then blew it back at him and let go of his hand.

“Hi grandpa! Sorry, it's my fault that we’re late.”

“That’s alright, kid. We’ll make it.”

I chuckled. Kit could do no wrong with his grandpa. He knew it too, which is probably why he took the blame so easily. I glanced in the rearview mirror and my eyes met Mischa’s; he winked. Yep, he knew exactly what that’d been. Kit distracting my dad.
My father then turned to Noah, sitting behind me.

“You’re Julian, right?”

“Pepe! Noooo! I’m Noah!”

I was Grampy, my dad was Pepe, the French version; one of Mischa’s ideas, to keep us apart and not confuse the boys. His own father they address as Pappoús, the Greek equivalent. And I was Grampy, because Noah heard Mischa say I was being a ‘ grumpy grandpa’, and Noah declared I was Grampy.

“Owwww, Noah. Of course. Where’s your ark?”

Noah held up his empty hands, making a big sigh.

“No-ahk?”

The boy laughed hysterically.

It was a game they always played; it was cute, every time. Then he greeted Julian, giving him as much attention. My father was smitten with them, feeding them candy when he thought no one was looking, pretending to be stern but always winking to let them know he wasn’t serious. He played grumpy great-granddad; he was anything but grumpy. My dad is a gentle soul. Growing up, he’d been stern and firm but always gentle, much different from my mother. I didn’t learn affection from her. That came from the old man next to me.

“How’ya doin’, son.”

“Good, dad. You?”

Turning his head to me, my father’s shrewd glance speared me. “Good?”

I realized my mistake. I always said, ‘I’m okay, Dad. Getting there.’ I didn’t want him to worry so I quickly said, “Getting there.”

**********

We arrived at church with ten minutes to spare. The boys were lively, each jumping up and down at the hand of a parent while we waited for Tom to park further down the lot and join us.

My dad, unknowing, didn’t understand the holdup. “What are we waiting for?”

“A plus-one, grandpa,” Kit said, lifting Julian up, growing tired of the constant arm-jostling, “shh...look, there he is. Uncle Tommy is coming. See?” He pointed to Tom, making his way to us at a quick pace.

“Who’s that?” Dad asked, squinting against the low sun.

Glancing over, I noted that my son, who was normally quite happy to run his mouth, chose that exact moment to keep his trap shut. I had a choice; either explain or just do. I chose the latter. As Tom joined us he greeted us as a group, nodding politely to my dad. We turned to walk to the entrance and I held out my hand. A second later, and without hesitation, his slid into mine.

“Who’s the kid?” I heard my father ask.

I closed my eyes for a second and just kept walking.

**********

We took our seats in one of the back rows, Mischa first, Julian next and then Kit. Noah uttered his preference for Tom again, eliciting a raised eyebrow from my dad, and then Dad’s hand held me back as Tom joined the line with Noah and I was about to step in. I let go of Tom’s hand.

“He seems familiar. I know that boy.”

“Taylan’s nephew,” I answered.

My dad frowned; then his eyebrows both raised in recognition. “Oooh, the crooner? Careful; them singers are heavy drinkers, son.”

Nodding, I stifled a chuckle when I heard Tom's indignant gasp in front of me; he’d overheard that.

I definitely had to find some of his music and get more acquainted; I only knew one song really and if you asked me to name his genre, which he’d called Gothic, I’d have no idea. Crooner? That implied something like Sinatra. The song I knew definitely wasn’t like that. It was more towards the ‘Rock’ end of the spectrum?

My father then motioned with his hand for me to get in so he could take the edge seat; he always preferred that seat, for easy exiting. He leaned to me as we were waiting for the service to begin.

“Wasn’t he the one with Kit? I remember, years ago...”

“Yes.”

My father was far from senile and his memory was still very much in full working condition.

“Traded up, did he?”

I felt trapped. How on earth should I respond to that?

“And why the hell is Cindy Sanders looking at us like we are her next headline? I don’t like that woman. If gossip were food, she’d be ten tons of whale blubber by now.”

Just then, the service began and the next hour was filled with sermons, music and singing. The boys, miraculously, behaved like princes; even Julian only needed one timeout. Only one, and that was due to Tom motioning to his parents to let him sit with him. Julian was quiet as a mouse then, sometimes goofing off with his brother over Tom’s lap, but quietly, and even my father leaned forward in surprise, glancing at his great-grandsons.

“Did he poison Julian?”

I smiled. “I guess he’s just good with kids, dad,” I whispered.

“That’s not good. That’s a darn miracle,” my dad returned, “that kid is a menace.”

I chuckled then. Luckily, a hymn began, signaling the end of the service and the congregation rose to exit.

Once we were outside, my father held me back once more. Then, without saying anything to me, he passed me by, his cane ticking with his stride and walked up to match his pace with Tom, who held both boys by the hand. And as I watched, Tom craned his neck and laughed out loud as we made our way to the carpark, responding to something my father said to him. He did it several times as he animatedly spoke with my dad, Noah on one side, skipping and doing his own thing, and Julian between them, holding both their hands and swinging like he was at the playground, making their arms swing back and forth.

“I knew it would work,” Mischa spoke up next to me. Kit was somewhere behind us, speaking with some friends.

Glancing beside me, I noted Mischa watching me intently.

“Mischa…”

“He’s perfect for you. I can already see a change in you. You’re more…alive. Did you know we’ve asked him to be the godfather to the boys? Seeing Tom’s willingness to come to church today, I intend to make that official as soon as possible. I hadn’t thought of asking him to join us for service. Thank you for that.”

Oh boy… “Kit has a say in that, don’t you think?”

Mischa remained quiet for a while. “My husband and I agree on these issue, Papa.” Not meant in any threatening way, nor received as such, but I got the message; butt out, nothing to do with you.

I nodded, smiling; his accent always became more prominent when his emotions came into play and some French crept in. His English was excellent; so much American crept in that I sometimes forgot he was foreign, especially when it was just the two of us.

I’d gotten to know him very well over the years and Mischa was awesome. Hands down the best father I’d ever met and yes, that included myself and my son. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and was absolutely not afraid to show them. Passionate, protective and fierce, his Southern European roots sometimes got the better of him, especially when it came to the boys and decisions regarding them. Coming from a French mother, a Greek father and Russian grandparents, he’d inherited traits from all of them; the word ‘formidable’ came to mind.

“I agree too.”

Seeing Tom interact with the boys, I couldn’t object. “May I ask why you chose him?”

Mischa pointed in front of us. ‘Thats why. Look at them. That’s what you want, as a parent. Carefree happiness.”

Seeing Noah skipping beside Tom, happy as a child can be, and Julian, swinging like a maniac between my father and him, there was no way to counter that.

“He’s great with kids. Even that damn..ehr… feline of his won’t do a single thing to them.”

“Silver?”

“Yeah, the fluffball. Noah yanks her tail? Not even a hiss. Julian tries to ride her? That beast rolls over. They can do whatever they want with that mutant.” He chuckled affectionately when Julian demanded attention, yelling for Uncle Tommy and Pepe to look as he went ‘Weehee’. “They love that feline. Which is weird, because I taught them to love the chiens.” Dogs.

Mischa adored their dobermans. The pups, well, grown now, wouldn’t let anyone near the boys unless invited in, Mischa had seen to that. The funny thing was; Noah and Julian could do whatever they wanted with them. I’d seen Noah already order them to do what he wanted. Sit. Stay. Play dead. They’d do it at his command. Julian not so much yet, he just goofed around with them, and they let him. But either kid so much as screamed, they would move away and stand guard. Anyone approaching them, except Kit, Mischa, my dad or me was gonna get a warning growl. Only we could approach them, and take the kids with us. Anyone else; you’re gonna lose a body part. Both Mischa and Kit could direct them with a snap of their fingers. No idea how they got them to do that, it was kind of scary. Joker was especially protective of Noah. Harley had no real preference I knew of, protecting both with the same loyalty.

“I want my kids to have the best I can give them. That means him.”

I took another glance at my son-in-law then, and the way he was looking at his sons was nothing short of fierce love and pride. Reaching over, I put my arm across his shoulders.

“You’re a good man, Mischa.”

Then Kit’s voice spoke up, right behind us. “Hey! Dad? Maybe you go for younger now, but that ones’ mine!”

Oh, good grief. Seriously? “He didn’t just yell that out loud, in the church car park, did he?” I asked Mischa.

“He did.”

“Mind if I kill him?”

“Nah, just send me the bill for the cleanup after.”

“Will do.”

**********

I didn’t get to have a private moment with Tom again until we were at my fathers’ house, where we would have drinks and then an extended lunch, as we did every Sunday. Kit and Mischa would be making soup (Mischa) and sandwiches (Kit), allowing my father and me some alone time with the kids. It’d become a tradition.

As soon as we came inside, jackets and ties were discarded and sleeves were rolled up. I usually ended up chasing the boys around the yard, playing hide and seek or some other game they wanted to play, while my father watched with a smirk on his face, yelling pointers to them from the deck.

“So apparently, you have a fanclub,” I said softly to Tom as I poured a drink for my father and myself. Lifting my glass, I asked, “What would you like?”

“Yeah, it’s on Facebook. I have about, oh...ten followers? White wine spritzer, please. Still gotta drive, remember?”

Adding ice to my fathers’ glass, I then mixed Tom’s.

“What did my father want?” I asked, handing him his wine.

He glanced at my dad, bouncing Julian on his knees, then feigning to drop him. The boy cackled his head off. “He just wanted to know why I was there. I told him the truth. I hope you don’t mind?” Hesitating, he touched my arm. “I-I didn’t go into details, if that’s what you're worried about. I just told him we’ve spent some time together.”

“What’d he say?” I asked, curious; my father hadn’t given me anything on the trip back to his house. All he’d said was that Tom seemed like a ‘sharp young man’.

“He asked me if I had fallen and bumped my head, spending time with some old geezer like his son.”

Yes, that sounded like my father. I made a face and Tom grinned.

“I told him I was giving you a trial run, see if you were worth spending time with, in the first place.”

“Did you now…” I took my father his drink, then returned. “I will have to think of a...proper way to thank you for giving me a trial run.”

Raising my hand, and out of view from the others, I barely touched his pierced nipple with the back of my finger, slightly guessing my aim. Seeing the nub beginning to press against the material told me my aim had been correct. He inhaled sharply, taking a sip at the same time and coughed.

“You alright?” I asked with concern, when a few heads turned our way.

“Low, man… low,” he coughed, nodding for their benefit as well. But his eyes glinted and a corner of his mouth curled up. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Accident.” I winked at him.

“Accident my ass.”

“Hey Tom, wanna help make lunch?” Kit invited, getting to his feet and speaking up in general. “He’s a better cook than all of us combined, trust me.”

“Sure,” Tom answered, finishing his glass, keeping his eyes on me as he did so with mischief in those eyes.

**********

Payback is a bitch. Especially when it comes in the form of hot tomato soup. And I mean hot. Only a few spoons into the meal, I knew something wasn’t right. By the third, my tongue was on fire. Glancing up, I checked to see if anyone else also had this problem but all I saw was the usual loud conversation and messy eating; with kids at the table, no one escaped unscathed. Dad didn’t have any problem with his soup, though. Neither did Kit or Mischa, nor Tom, sitting next to me, spooning his soup calmly and eating a sandwich, not a care in the world. But his eyes kept darting to me, as the conversation continued all around the table.

It might have been that wicked smirk of his that tipped me off. Or when he asked, quite innocently, “You alright there, Mitch?” His tone of concern was absolutely fake, mimicking mine earlier.

I narrowed my eyes on him. That little rat. He’d put something in my soup. Chili? Pepper? Holy hell, that burned.

“You look a bit hot under the collar, son,” my father commented. “Kit, get your father some water.”

“I’m fine,” I answered, inhaling sharply, trying to cool my tongue, then glancing down the table, “just a little warm; the guys were cooking in here not too long ago.”

But Kit had already gotten up and, half a minute later, set a glass of water in front of me. I would absolutely not touch water. It would make it far worse; milk would be better.

The rat barely could contain his glee; his eyes eagerly followed my hand going for the glass. He probably thought I was an idiot. And he thought he was perfectly safe. At the last second, I took the spoon and got some soup, put it in my mouth, then held his stare; what he saw I don’t know but his eyes widened a fraction and he started to scoot away.

My hand shot out and slipped behind his neck; then I yanked him closer and covered his mouth with mine; forcing my tongue between his lips and transferring the soup to him. He protested when the burn began in his mouth but I slipped in deeper, coating the inside of his mouth. Then I retreated and took the glass, sliding it over to him. His eyes were already starting to tear up.

“Hot isn’t it? Here, have some water.”

He didn’t even try to reach for the water, but humor shone in his eyes.

“Turnabout is fair play,” he shrugged, waving at his mouth. “Shit, that’s hot.”

I sniggered.

“Oooh-ho, what’d he do?” Kit inquired..

“He put pepper or something in my soup. I thought it was only fair to share. Do you have any milk?”

Laughter erupted round the table. Even my fathers’ mouth curled up.

“Careful, son. That one doesn’t seem the type to take it lying down. Kit, get them some milk.”

“You’d be surprised,” Kit muttered as he rose, earning himself a stern look from Mischa, which he ignored and went to get some milk.

Innuendo flew back and forth across the table and I think Tom was a little surprised by that because he looked at my father with some concern. He didn’t know dad actually had no problem with any of that. Never had. Love is love, was a favorite saying of his. Not that we went out of our way, shoving it in his face every chance we got, but we also didn’t hold back and he enjoyed a lively table during meals.

Getting up, Tom took my bowl and refilled it at the stove, then returned it with flourish in front of me, winking. “This one is one-hundred percent chili-free.”

When he sat down, I took him in a headlock, making him swear on his family’s life that it was, indeed, chili-free. I kept an arm around his shoulders, just in case, lifting my spoon.

“I promise!” He laughed. “Eat your soup.”

The burn had subsided by now and I tried a little, then squeezed his shoulder and let him go.

The soup, this one, was really good and both he and Mischa got their due compliments for it. The sandwiches, fresh, were equally good

“Trust me; with kids, you learn real quickly to make a good sandwich,” Kit said dryly, offering a piece to Julian. “In your mouth this time, not your ear. Julian? No… mouth. There.”
He laughed when Julian bit on the tip of his finger when he wiggled it over his lips.

“Julian! No biting!” Mischa admonished, then caught Kit’s gaze. “Stop doing that; you know he will.”

Kit shrugged; he was a bit less strict with the boys, sometimes to Mischa’s chagrin.

“You guys want more kids?” Tom asked, picking out a cucumber sandwich. I smirked. Still needed some cooling of his mouth, I guessed.

Kit glanced at Mischa, who winked. “God no. These two are more than enough.”

I smiled. They were a handful, yes, but that was a lie. A big one, too. I already knew something because Mischa hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut. But Kit didn’t know I knew, yet.

“I’ve been trying to convince him for at least a girl,” Mischa said, rubbing Kits back, “I keep trying but he just doesn’t get pregnant. I think he’s secretly on the pill.”

Kit’s face flushed a little as Mischa swiveled his head to Tom. “Don’t you want children? You’re father-material if I ever saw one.”

“I would but I can’t,” Tom answered. Frowning, I looked at him. “A friend of mine asked for my help a year ago. We talked about it a lot, actually. We came up with a solution that worked for her as well as me, because I didn’t just want to be a donor, I wanted to be involved. So we did get pretty far, in terms of what we wanted and how we would go about it, legally. But unfortunately, we found out that I’m not fertile.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered softly, rubbing his back. Under the table, he put a hand on my upper leg, squeezing.

He smiled appreciatively.

“Aww, thank you. But it’s alright. That’s why I have Silver.”

“Silver is a girl,” Noah chimed in, causing a chuckle around the table, “I want a sister.”

“Not before you finish your meal,” Mischa smiled, pointing at his plate with a half eaten sandwich still on it, “manger.” Eat.

“With our luck, we’d probably get more boys,” Kit said dryly, “he’s not gonna eat that.”

“He absolutely will. And I don’t mind,” Mischa answered, winking, “boys or girls, as long as they are healthy.”

Mischa himself came from a huge family; growing up he had two younger sisters, one older, two older brothers and a younger one. “He says no, but he’s lying. We’d love another kid. What? At least four more.”

Kit groaned at that but smiled, negating his seeming reluctance completely. Once again, ladies and gentlemen; my son, the great liar. Biggest liar of them all, really.

“Okay, fine; one more, maybe two.”

LIAR! But Mischa grinned triumphantly. They were both excellent liars. Alright; I knew I was going to be a grandfather again, in about 7 months. They were waiting a bit more before revealing that to the rest of the family. “See?”

Kit wiped Julian’s face as he was squirming in his seat, asking for his toys. “Yes, you may be excused.”

“Not you,” Mischa told Noah, hooking a finger in his little collar, as he also wanted to go. “No, not before you finish.”

Noah’s eyes were on his little brother, who stormed off to the playroom. “But papa!”

Ah, the familiar whine of kids. And as with Grampy and Pepe, Mischa was Papa and Kit was Daddy. It worked.

“Noah? You know the rules. C’mon, eat up. Make you big and strong.”

“Already strong!” Noah showed his arm, stuffing the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth.

“Stronger than Grampy?” I asked, chuckling as his little cheeks bulged. He nodded proudly. He looked ridiculous.

“Chew child, chew! Don’t swallow it whole,” Mischa said, letting him go when he was finally done; watching him take off after his little brother, “and don’t let Julian stuff toys down his shirt!”
He shook his head. “I swear; we need to start frisking that kid before he gets in the car.”

“Toys for Tots has had no shortage for the past four years,” Dad smiled.

They had made it a yearly thing, to give at least half their toys away each Christmas. It was a rule inherited from Mischa’s childhood and one I was more than happy to help out on, though I didn’t give them a present every time I saw them. My dad, though...every weekend. Ever since he had gotten acquainted with online shopping, there’d been a steady stream of toys to his house. Most weekends, there was something new. There was probably something new waiting for them, nicely packed but hidden. They’d find it.

“Amazon’s stock went up this year just because of you,” I smiled.

“Oh, I got shares in Amazon,” Tom commented. “Buy more!”

A quick check around the table revealed we pretty much all did.

Now that the boys were off playing, the more adult conversation began, and the stock market quickly became the first topic. From there it segued into state politics, a topic Tom quickly showed a lack of interest in and got up to help Kit clear the table; when they began rinsing and filling the dishwasher, my father led me outside to the deck behind the house while Mischa went to check up on the boys. My father liked to smoke a cigar every now and then and he always did on Sunday. I usually joined him, as did Mischa. Kit never did. Well, smoking that is; he did join us, of course.

The first few minutes, Dad and I sat in silence, him in his rocking chair and me sitting on the long bench, right next to him. Somewhere deep in the house, I heard Mischa’s murmuring voice and Julian’s laughter. Closer, dishes clanking and cutlery being put in a drawer. I blew a smoke ring and watched it float off. This was always nice; activity and voices in the house, in the background, and us sitting here. Sunday didn’t get much better than that.

“He seems like a decent young man.”

I slowly turned my head to find Dad look at me thoughtfully.

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know, Dad. We really only just met...”

Not wanting to shock my father, I omitted that it’d only been two days ago. God, to think about that; only two days. It was insane. Reckless.

“From what I can see, you could do worse.”

“He’s young…” I said, gauging his reaction, but dad just shrugged.

“He’ll get older over time. Flip it around. What if he were 70? Would that make you feel better? Or are you asking me if I approve?” He took a long drag on his cigar, looking into the garden. “Your choices are your own. It’s also not for me to understand but what I can say is this; if you’re ready for it, let it happen.”

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Dad had never said a word to me about my private life. Ever. And part of that was because I’d always made it clear I didn’t appreciate it. Showing concern was always, of course, fine but interference? Never. Dad risked a glance at me, took another drag from his cigar, slowly letting the smoke escape.

“I’m well aware that Taylan’s death hit you incredibly hard. You want to know something? That’s how it should be. That was real love. It should hurt when it ends. I know Kit and Mischa were worried about you, they told me. I told them you would snap out of it when you were ready.” He sent another smoke ring up. “I guess you are ready.”

“Am I supposed to say ‘thank you’?” It irked me, this conversation. It bordered on interference.

“Mind your tongue, son.”

I closed my eyes, slightly wincing. Damn it.

Advanced in years as I might be, it’d been quite a long time since I’d heard that slight chiding underneath a conversational tone; that fatherly ‘don’t forget who you’re talking to’. It’s usually me doing it to Kit or sometimes Mischa. To have it turned on me was fine, of course. Just unexpected.

“Sorry,” I returned, softly.

Reaching over, Dad squeezed my hand.

“Forgotten. I’ll see it returned in my dividends.”

Hah! I chuckled.

“Not my call, Dad. Gotta talk to that grandson of yours about that.”

“Well fiddlesticks…I guess I’ll go without meals-on-wheels for the rest of the year then.”

I rolled my eyes. Please. The man had more money than he knew what to do with, I knew that very well; he still owned a 10% share in BSL for one, which did pay dividends yearly. He owned this house, which had been paid off two decades ago (and would go to his great-grandchildren in equal shares, as would mine, with an including clause that would let my current partner live there until their own passing; I never had that changed). His stock portfolio could choke a horse. So did mine. The kids would be alright.

“Dramaqueen,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Dad asked, blowing another smoke ring.

“I said; I don’t see you dating anyone either, dad,” I answered, dragging on my own cigar.

“Not that it is any of your business, but I’m waiting for Carole Cook to ditch that husband of hers.”

I coughed and saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. I sniggered. “Isn’t she a little too old for you? She’s like what; almost a hundred?”

“So? She’s foxy. And you should talk; how old is that boy in there?”

To my memory, my father had never made me uncomfortable, but he did now; I felt my cheeks warm up but before I could respond, that boy and Kit showed up, joining us on the deck. Tom lit a cigarette and took a seat next to me, putting the pack on the bench beside him.

“You sure you wanna do that, son?” Dad asked, nodding at the cigarette in his hand

“You’re smokin’ Cuba and you’re givin’ me shit?” Tom retorted, causing my father to laugh and cough. ”Besides; it’s what gives me that ‘crooning’ voice. That, and booze; got any Scotch?”

Wow, that was a snappy comeback for the remark my father had made in church. Irked much, Tomás?

“Ha!” Dad chuckled, “I like him.”

Tom leaned back and drew up a leg, resting his foot on his knee. He relaxed into me when my hand cupped his shoulder, taking a drag from the cigarette. A couple of long seconds went by.

“Sorry,” he then said, blowing the smoke out of his nose, deeply exhaling while closing his eyes, shaking his head, “that was obnoxious.”

Dad chuckled. “No it wasn’t; it’s fair enough…teaches me not to run my mouth without checking who’s listening. So how’s the crooning business, Tom?”

That caused Tom to chuckle in turn, taking the ribbing in stride. “Croonin’s good, Richard.”

“Can’t say I remember a song of yours…”

If Dad expected him to break out in song right now, it was pretty clear Tom wasn’t going to indulge him but when Mischa joined us with the boys, and actually got them to sing a horrible rendition of one of his songs, a duet I recognized but didn’t know he’d written, Dad was actually impressed. He bounced Noah on his good knee as the boy sang an almost good version of the chorus, helped by Julian, who got every word wrong but he got the melody correct and my dad hummed along, apparently knowing it. Tom didn’t sing a word, just grinned as they did it.

“That's yours? Then I guess I did hear some; heard that one dozens of times. Nice song,” dad commented.

“Thank you. I’m actually going to London on Tuesday to record with her again.”

“London? Abbey Road?” Dad asked, to which I raised an eyebrow and when he saw it, he admitted to knowing of it because of The Beatles. “Mitch, they recorded there!”
He said it as if I was supposed to know that.

“Yep, it’s at Abbey Road,” Tom replied.

“Send me a picture of the crossing,” Dad said.

“I can do you one better,” Tom said, grinning and producing his phone. After searching amongst what looked like hundreds of pictures, he got one and leaned forward, seeking balance on my knee and showed it to my dad, who almost dropped his cigar then.

“That’s McCartney! That’s Paul McCartney!”

Seriously...

“Mhm...look in the background.”

“That’s the crossing!”

“Yep.”

Now I definitely knew he had another fan. Admiration shone in my dad’s eyes. Well, at the picture, not at Tom. But I’d never seen that. I hadn’t even known he was a fan of The Beatles. Of course I knew he’d had records, I’d seen and heard them when I was younger; but I’d never known he knew things in detail about them.

“You met him?”

Tom nodded. “Twice. He’s very kind.”

“Wow.” Dad sat back, astonished.

Kit and Mischa were grinning when I looked up, but they were watching us, not my dad. Then Kit caught me looking and his eyes went to Tom, then back to me.

With his hands, he made a heart-sign.