the wax, trying to clear the room of its musty, unused smell. He found a gram of pot in the bedside drawer that he’d left almost a year ago, at Thanksgiving. It was stale but would do the trick. He rolled a joint on the cover of an outdated issue of InStyle magazine, crumbling it on top of Drew Barrymore’s face. The candle made the room smell like a pie baking in an aura of neglect. He lit the joint from the candle and then blew it out.
It had been a long time since he’d woken up and felt a heavy presence on his chest. He used to go back to sleep for fear of having to deal with the day. It happened a lot in Avalon Hills, even when nothing out of the ordinary was going on, a sadness that rendered him semi-useless and unproductive. When he woke up in New York, it was as though the city was inside him like a coiled spring when he lifted back the covers, singing to himself, talking back to the radio, stretching up and out. His hometown made him lethargic. His father used to make him get up and go canoeing first thing in the morning when he’d visit on breaks from university. They’d pull their paddles up and float, watching the pinkish-orange glow as the sun barely crested the trees, mostly in silence until his dad told a corny joke. Something like: Why doesn’t a lobster give to charity? Why? Because he’s shellfish! Groan.
Andrew didn’t question why he reacted so strongly and immediately in his father’s defence. It was primarily a feeling of complete and utter implausibility. His father was a man very detached from his body. George also seemed relatively unconcerned with power; he was afforded the carelessness of not having to think about it because he had a lot of it.
Andrew took a second hit from the joint and coughed. He rarely smoked anymore because he was too busy at work. Plus, it seemed like a childish habit, best reserved for the holidays. He’d rolled this one too tightly and could barely get anything from it. He associated getting high with Avalon Hills, with getting through the grind of family visits. He wondered if Jared would like his vintage collection of Hardy Boys books. He took a photo with his phone and messaged him, Do you want these?
Jared responded immediately. Are u ok? I’ve been waiting to hear from u. I’m going crazy.
Jared was a one-man master class in the art of being self-aware, and did not indulge in WASP denial. He tired Andrew sometimes, as much as he knew that being in touch with one’s emotions was a better way to be in the world. Andrew operated in a kind of cut-off and highly functional fog, rarely knowing how to answer the question “How are you?” with any kind of certainty.
ANDREW HAD BEEN in the middle of watching The Great British Bake Off with Jared when he got the call from his aunt Clara. “You have to go home. Your father has been arrested.”
“Arrested?! For what?” He jumped up from the couch and muted the TV .
“I’m coming to get you right now,” she said.
“What do you mean? What on earth for?”
“One count of attempted rape, sexual misconduct with several minors.”
“Are you serious?!”
Are you serious? might be the dumbest thing people say, as a way to buy time to let very serious things sink in.
Jared got up and helped Andrew pack. He’d texted Andrew several times throughout the night and early morning.
I’m here for you, Andrew. Anything you want to talk about. I’m here. You want to take a vacation this weekend? I’ll arrange it.
Jared thought a vacation would cure any and all stress, even though Andrew often found the process of vacationing to be stressful in itself — the planning, the potential chaos of airports and delays, then all that insistence that you relax after months of constant mental and physical activity. He felt the same way about holidays — like they were a kind of work with associated stress.
Jared and Andrew had recently begun to be more intentional about their relationship. Jared had been taking
It had been a long time since he’d woken up and felt a heavy presence on his chest. He used to go back to sleep for fear of having to deal with the day. It happened a lot in Avalon Hills, even when nothing out of the ordinary was going on, a sadness that rendered him semi-useless and unproductive. When he woke up in New York, it was as though the city was inside him like a coiled spring when he lifted back the covers, singing to himself, talking back to the radio, stretching up and out. His hometown made him lethargic. His father used to make him get up and go canoeing first thing in the morning when he’d visit on breaks from university. They’d pull their paddles up and float, watching the pinkish-orange glow as the sun barely crested the trees, mostly in silence until his dad told a corny joke. Something like: Why doesn’t a lobster give to charity? Why? Because he’s shellfish! Groan.
Andrew didn’t question why he reacted so strongly and immediately in his father’s defence. It was primarily a feeling of complete and utter implausibility. His father was a man very detached from his body. George also seemed relatively unconcerned with power; he was afforded the carelessness of not having to think about it because he had a lot of it.
Andrew took a second hit from the joint and coughed. He rarely smoked anymore because he was too busy at work. Plus, it seemed like a childish habit, best reserved for the holidays. He’d rolled this one too tightly and could barely get anything from it. He associated getting high with Avalon Hills, with getting through the grind of family visits. He wondered if Jared would like his vintage collection of Hardy Boys books. He took a photo with his phone and messaged him, Do you want these?
Jared responded immediately. Are u ok? I’ve been waiting to hear from u. I’m going crazy.
Jared was a one-man master class in the art of being self-aware, and did not indulge in WASP denial. He tired Andrew sometimes, as much as he knew that being in touch with one’s emotions was a better way to be in the world. Andrew operated in a kind of cut-off and highly functional fog, rarely knowing how to answer the question “How are you?” with any kind of certainty.
ANDREW HAD BEEN in the middle of watching The Great British Bake Off with Jared when he got the call from his aunt Clara. “You have to go home. Your father has been arrested.”
“Arrested?! For what?” He jumped up from the couch and muted the TV .
“I’m coming to get you right now,” she said.
“What do you mean? What on earth for?”
“One count of attempted rape, sexual misconduct with several minors.”
“Are you serious?!”
Are you serious? might be the dumbest thing people say, as a way to buy time to let very serious things sink in.
Jared got up and helped Andrew pack. He’d texted Andrew several times throughout the night and early morning.
I’m here for you, Andrew. Anything you want to talk about. I’m here. You want to take a vacation this weekend? I’ll arrange it.
Jared thought a vacation would cure any and all stress, even though Andrew often found the process of vacationing to be stressful in itself — the planning, the potential chaos of airports and delays, then all that insistence that you relax after months of constant mental and physical activity. He felt the same way about holidays — like they were a kind of work with associated stress.
Jared and Andrew had recently begun to be more intentional about their relationship. Jared had been taking
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