Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Baltimore, November 24th

Hilary shuts the door. She peeks through the curtain until Michael gets back in his car and taps her foot impatiently when he doesn’t immediately drive away. 

“Is that Dad?” 

She takes her eyes off her brother, still parked in the driveway, to look behind her. Talan is sitting on the top step out of sight from the front door. 

“Don’t worry.” Hilary calls up.

“Is he still there?” 

Hilary moves back towards the door and peeks through the curtain on the front door window. 

“He’s in his car.” 

Talan nods like he doesn’t really know what to do with the information. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Hilary asks. She turns away from the window towards her nephew “Are you wearing two sweaters?” 

“I am.” Talan says defensively. “It’s freezing.”

“Your grandma heats this house.” Hilary laughs at him. 

“It still doesn’t make it okay.” Talan shakes his head at her, more animated now “My phone says it’s thirty-one degrees. Thirty. One. ” 

“It’s not 31 in the house.”  She encourages, “Go have breakfast.”

“Maybe.” Talan answers. 

“Birthday breakfast?” She smiles at him. “Grandma’s waiting.” 

Talan hesitates. 

Hillary doesn’t know the whole story. Talan, like Oliver, had showed up with no warning. Talan had no luggage, no coat and no boots. By the time she’d made it to her mom’s house Talan had been sleeping and Oliver hadn’t offered up any more information. 

What is clear is that neither of the boys want to be home in Florida and neither of them want to talk to Michael. 

“Tal. He’s not going to come in.” Hilary reassures him. 

“You don’t know.” Talan answers.

“Come downstairs.” Hillary repeats, “Have breakfast. It’s your birthday. I have veggie bacon.”

“Ok.” He agrees, “But I don’t wanna smoothie.”

“Oliver loves my smoothies.” Hilary defends herself. 

“Oliver loves my smoothies.” Talan mimics her. “Oliver eats  garbage.”

Laughing at his own joke, Talan stands up and slowly makes his way down the stairs. He calls back for Hoops who follows him, tiny little legs struggling down the narrow staircase.  

“Happy Birthday Tal.” Hilary hugs him as soon as he reaches her. “We’re happy you’re here.” 

Tal hugs her back before reaching for the curtain on the door’s window and peaking outside. 

“You think he drove?” He asks. “That’s our car.”

“Don’t worry about him Tal.” She repeats, “He’s not coming in.” 

“S’Dad with him?” Tal stretches his neck to try and see through the tinted windows of the SUV. 

“I don’t think so.” Hilary answers gently. “Come on, I’ll get you some coffee.” 

“I’m not allowed coffee.” Talan admits.

“It’s your birthday. You get coffee.” She offers before nudging him away from the door.

The kitchen is already full. Debbie and Oliver are sitting down eating. While Bob is at the stove flipping pancakes. The business of emergency birthday plans, the sudden arrival of two teenage boys and Thanksgiving preparations is evident by the unusual mess. A Sesame Street Happy Birthday banner they’d rummaged from the basement is strung across the cabinets. 

“This is good.” Talan smiles when he sees the banner, “You guys are great.” 

“I hung it up.” Oliver says, maybe a little nicer than he usually is to his brother, “Grandma’s too short. Happy Birthday.” 

“I love Big Bird.” Talan points to the sign, “I met him once.” 

“You didn’t meet Big Bird.” Oliver rolls his eyes, “You met some guy in a suit.” 

“Yeah, that’s Big Bird.” Talan answers back, “Like the guy in the suit is Big Bird. You think there’s actually a real one out there? That’s dumb.”
 
“You’re dumb.” Oliver answers back like he’s eight.

“It’s my birthday.” Talan points to the sign and sits down in the spot with the birthday plate and the party hat, “Be nice to me.” 

There’s already a bright green cup by his plate and Debbie nudges the coffee pot towards him. 

“Happy birthday Talan.” Debbie says, “We love you.” 

Both his grandparents had been awake when Oliver and him had finally made their way back to the house. Neither of them had asked him any questions and Talan hadn’t bothered to ask Oliver how much they knew. 

“Thanks.” Talan tells Debbie before he fills his mug, “Sugar?” 

“Pancakes?” Bob offers. 

“Yeah.” Talan agrees, “Like a hundred of them.” 

“You can start with…” 

Hillary walks into the kitchen and Debbie’s focus switches from Talan to her daughter. 

“He’s still in the driveway.” Hillary answers her mom’s look. 

“He drove I think.” Tal adds mostly for Oliver’s benefit. “Dad’s not with him.” 

“He’s not coming into the house.” Debbie says it like she’s expecting someone to argue with her.  

Oliver visibly tenses up. 


“If you just tell us what happened.” Hillary tries, looking at Oliver first. “We can do something.” 

Oliver doesn’t talk. 

“Stop.” Bob tells Hillary, pancakes balancing on his spatula. “They’re not ready.” 

Talan stares hard at his coffee cup. He’s held the truth so close to his chest for so long that letting other people know feels like betrayal.  In this moment, he wishes he’d ignored Oliver and run away to his aunt Kristin’s or his grandma’s house in Florida or gotten on a flight to his Aunt Meg’s house. He wishes he hadn’t played into his dad’s hand and flown to Baltimore. 

He wonders how long it’s going to be before he ever gets back to Florida. 

*

Michael sees the curtain in the window flicker open and catches Talan staring out at him before he sees Hilary’s hand close the curtain. He watches their shadows move away from the door. 

When it becomes clear that no one is coming out of his mom’s house to invite him in
Michael starts his car, backs out of the driveway, and makes it halfway up the street before he changes his mind. He pulls over to the side of the road, turns off the engine, and leans his head on the steering wheel. 

Logically he has every right to see his boys, talk to them and convince them to come home with him. He knows that regardless of how much truth Talan and Oliver choose to tell his mom that she can’t really hate him, can’t really exile him out of her home forever. Can’t legally keep his boys away from him. 

Talan and Oliver can refuse to see him though, they can refuse to talk to him, they can refuse to come home, and they can choose to hate him. The fear that his kids won’t want to follow him home, that both of them are better off without him and without Ryan. That he’s lost them. That fear forces him to start driving away again.

The Baltimore house has been empty for months. The smell of dust and stale air hits him as he walks up the stairs into the loft-like space. There’s an expired carton of milk in the fridge and cereal boxes left out on the counter, like Oliver and him had just stepped out after morning practice and never returned. Instead of dealing with the mess Michael climbs up to the rooftop to try and get a handle on things. 

Before Ryan and before the kids he’d spent hours on the patio thinking about life and feeling alienated from the people down below.  Now his problems are so much bigger. As much as he wants to stay in the cold air and clear his mind the wind whips hard and it’s too chilly to stay so he goes back down into the dust and the mess. 

After driving through the night he’s exhausted. He thinks of trying to call his mother and pleading his case but can’t seem to think of anything to say in his or Ryan’s defence. He walks into the master bedroom and there are still sheets on the bed. He lays down, on top of the blankets, and tries not to let memories wash over him.

He remembers living here before the kids. Before Ryan. 

He remembers the Christmas when Ryan had driven up to be with him even though they weren’t together.

He remembers living here with just Oliver after he’d made the mistake of forcing Ryan to go back to train in Florida alone.

He falls asleep. 

Baltimore, April 2014
 
Two days after Ryan leaves for Florida Michael’s life isn’t any easier. He’s figured out how to make the formula but not how to get Oliver to drink as much as he’s supposed to. He forgets to log the feedings and how to sanitize the bottles. During one night feed he doesn’t screw the top of the bottle on right and formula spills all over him and all over Oliver.

Oliver screams more than he sleeps and nothing Michael does seems to appease him. When Oliver finally does fall asleep Michael is too tired to do anything other than pass out. 

His phone battery dies without him noticing and he’s off the grid for just under ten hours before Hillary shows up. He doesn’t hear her open the door or walk up to the couch where he’d crashed. 

“You’re alive.” Hilary notes and Michael can tell she’s angry. “Baby’s alive?” 

“Oliver.” Michael corrects. “Yeah.” 

Hilary eyes the kitchen and reaches for the takeout bag near the sink. She puts it in the overflowing garbage and watches it tumble off the pile to the floor. Her silent judgement drives Michael crazy. 

“He’s not lost somewhere in here right?” She says, grabbing a bottle of curdled formula off of the counter. 

Michael sits up and rubs his face. 

“Is that your last pack of diapers?” Hilary asks pointing to a lone box propped up by the Foosball table. 

Before Michael can lie to her, Oliver starts crying from the guest room. 

“I can’t do this.” Michael blurts out. 

“It’s a little late for that.” Hilary says before heading towards Oliver’s room.

Michael doesn’t answer but he follows her.

“You’re not struggling.” Hilary points out, reaching into the crib to grab the baby. “Get a nanny. Leave him with mom. Leave him with me.”

 “Mom doesn’t think-”

“Or go to Florida.” Hilary says finally getting to her point. “Go to Florida Michael. This is the dumbest-“

“I’M NOT EVEN SURE I WANT HIM” Michael yells, “RYAN DID” 

Oliver cries louder and Hilary settles him further against her bouncing him up and down. 

“When’s the last time he ate?” Hilary asks. Ignoring his outburst.

“I don’t know.” Michael admits. 

“Go sleep.” Hilary is short. Her body is blocking the sliding barn doors to Oliver’s room. “You’re not making sense.” 

Michael thinks of arguing with her, thinks of taking his crying baby out of her arms and telling her to go fuck herself but the thought of trying to get Oliver to calm down again is too much. 

“Fine.” He says defeated, “Whatever.” 

When Michael wakes up hours later the house is quiet. The baby monitor beside his bed is silent. He glances over and sees an empty crib.  

“Hil?” He yells out from his bed. “Hillary!” 

He’s alone. 

The diaper bag, the car seat, his son and his sister have disappeared. 

It takes two minutes for his phone to charge enough to make a call. 

“You can’t just take my kid.” He yells at her while digging through the mess of his kitchen for his car keys. “It’s fucking kidnapping.” 

“You said you didn’t want him.” Hillary sounds calm. He can’t hear Oliver screaming in the background.  “We were worried.”

“BULLSHIT.” Michael yells again. Partially at Hillary but mostly at the fact that his car keys have disappeared into the abyss of the kitchen counter. “You can’t just take my kid.”

“I’m at mom’s. We’re not hiding him from you. We’re just worried you’re not taking care of him.” 

“You take my car keys too?” He accuses, “Make sure I can’t-“

“Don’t be dumb.” Hilary cuts him off, “Why would I take your keys? They’re somewhere in your mess.” 

In his frantic search, Michael pushes a pile of dishes off the kitchen island. They clatter to the ground and break with a deafening crash scattering porcelain across the floor of the open space. 

“Oliver is safe.” Hilary reminds him, “He’s with mom. Figure out what you want, clean up your house, get a nanny, talk to Ryan… Just get your shit together. A baby can’t live like this Michael.”  

He hangs up on her. 

For a second he thinks of listening to her. Thinks of calling Ryan, thinks of apologizing, thinks of calling their cleaning service and paying them extra to deal with the state of their house. He thinks of going through the short list of nannies Ryan had already vetted and hiring one of them. He thinks of doing all of this and then driving to his mom’s house to pick up their baby. The baby they’d wanted, the baby they’d paid exorbitant amounts of money to have, the baby who’s breaths he’d counted in the NICU.

He picks up his phone to call Ryan and can’t think of the words to say to admit that he’s wrong. 

He puts his phone down and goes back to bed. 

*

He walks to Starbucks the next morning and catches himself just after ordering both his and Ryan’s drink. 

“So you don’t want the mocha?” The barista asks confused she’s already written an R and a Y on the cup. 

“No mocha.” Michael confirms, “Just the venti.”

She gives him his new total and tosses the second cup in the trash beside her before handing him his drink. 

Outside the coffee shop he walks in the opposite direction from home. He knows he has to go get Oliver back and as much as he hates to think about it he knows that both his mom and Hilary are right. He has no idea what he’s doing, he has no way of dealing with a baby on his own. He can’t bring himself to concede that he’s wrong about Florida. He can’t bring himself to call Ryan and apologize, to book flights to Florida and to start the process of moving everything they own across the country. 

He can’t bring himself to admit he was wrong. 

The weekly cleaning service shows up while he’s playing video games. He vaguely apologizes for the disaster they’re facing and resumes his Call of Duty campaign. He finds himself wishing Ryan’s account would come online but then he realizes it wont. Ryan’s training for the Olympics, he isn’t at home playing Xbox. 

Once the house is clean, groceries have been delivered and most of the laundry has been done Michael feels enough shame about abandoning Oliver to grab his keys and drive to his mom’s house. 

He finds a rental car parked behind his mom’s SUV and Ryan sitting in her living room eating dinner. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks surprised, the last person he’d expected had been Ryan. 

“It’s a four hour flight.” Ryan says, “Hil called me. I came for Oliver.” 

Oliver. Not him. 

“You called Ryan?” Michael turns to Hilary while pointing to Ryan. “Ryan?!” 

“Yes.” Hilary’s tone is still condescending, “For Oliver.” 

“Where is Oliver?” Michael asked, “I didn’t ask anyone to bring him here.” 

“Oliver’s upstairs.” Debbie explains, “Bob is with him. Sit Mike, have dinner.” 

The mood in the room is tense. Neither Ryan or him move to greet each other. Instead, Michael finds himself calculating if he can make it to the stairs before Ryan does. If he can get to Oliver first. 

“We’re all going back to Florida MP.” Ryan says slowly, “This is dumb.”

“I’ll come until you’re settled.” Debbie offers. 

“I came for Oliver.” Michael ignores them all. “Oliver and I need to go home.”  

He turns away from them and makes a beeline for the stairs. He hears Ryan follow him. 

“No.” He turns back around to Ryan, “You’re not supposed to be here”

“You-“ 

“YOU LEFT” Michael yells, “YOU LEFT.” 

“YOU KICKED HIM OUT.” Hillary yells from downstairs. “YOU DECIDED NOT TO GO WITH HIM.”

“OH MY GOD STOP.” Michael is momentarily distracted from Ryan. “HE’S NOT YOUR BABY. YOU’RE NOT HIS MOM. STOP.” 

“Everyone stop.” Debbie says in her best principal voice. “The baby is sleeping.” 

“The baby’s going home.” Michael tells everyone before he walks up another step, “This is insane.” 

“Mike.” Ryan doesn’t yell,  he grabs onto the sleeve of Michael’s hoodie. “We’re all going to go back to Florida. This is-“

“We don’t need you.” Michael goes up one step, “We don’t need you. We’re doing…”

“You’re not.” Ryan cuts him off, “Hil told me what you said. So you’re both going to come to…” 

“No fucking way.” Michael laughs, “No.”

“Then Oliver’s coming with me.” Ryan conditions, “If you can’t swing it, I’m bringing him with me.” 

“You can’t take him away from my family.” 

“They can come.” Ryan says exasperated, “Everyone can come.” 

“You…”

“Nah.” Ryan manages to fit himself on the same step as Michael, “You never wanna say you’re wrong.” 

In the quiet that follows Ryan’s last sentence, Michael hears Oliver’s little noises from his old bedroom. Michael deflates a little. He takes a step down. 

“Your mom’s flying up with us.” Ryan says, “Bob too. We got my mom, we got Kristen-“ 

“Nothing’s packed.” Michael tries. 

“We get a moving company.” Ryan dismisses, “Maybe the one you cancelled. We figured all this out months ago Mike. Jesus.” 

The last place Michael wants to hash out his relationship issues is in his mother’s staircase in front of his family. 

“Last I checked.” Ryan keeps going like maybe he rehearsed this speech. “We’re still a family. So go pack your shit. We’re leaving together. I’m tired of this shit.” 

Before Michael can answer, Ryan squeezes past him, up the rest of the stairs and knocks on Oliver’s door. A few minutes later he walks back down past Michael with Oliver in his arms. 

“We’re a family dumbass.” Ryan rolls his eyes at him,  “We stay together.” 

Baltimore, November 25th, Present Time

Michael wakes up freezing. Without blankets and no heat the house isn’t exactly habitable. He rubs a hand over his face before getting up to rummage through half empty drawers in search of a sweater. Years of living in Florida have definitely made him soft to the cold.

He can’t remember the last Thanksgiving he’s spent alone. Thanksgiving is always big with Tal’s birthday and all of their family. It’s usually too busy and too loud with too many teenagers running around 

It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no food in the house. He opens cupboards until he finds a box of pop-tarts with one package left unopened. He stands at the kitchen island and eats them while formulating a plan of attack. 

He decides to shower first and when his phone ring halfway through, it doesn’t automatically connect to the speaker system. Cursing his new phone, he gets out dripping wet into the cold air, with shampoo still in his hair, and answers before he checks the screen. If the boys are calling him, he doesn’t want to miss them.
 
“Ry said yes to rehab.”  Devon says straight to the point, “We’re going tomorrow morning.” 

“Ok.” Michael doesn’t know what else to say. 

“He wants to talk to the kids.”

“No.” Michael refuses, like the kids are with him.  He grabs a towel and turns off the shower getting ready to argue his point.   “Absolutely not. He can’t call them.” 

“I figured.” Devon admits, “I said I’d try.” 

Neither of them hang up. 

“We have the dogs.” Devon offers, “Tal took Hoops?” 

“Yeah, he flew with him.” Michael says.

“Charlie’s worried about Tal.” Devon says in a quieter voice and Michael can only assume Devon is moving out of Ryan’s earshot. “She wants to know what’s going to happen.” 

Michael moves too, out of the bathroom and into the living room to the table behind the couch where they’ve stacked the frames his mom always gifts them. Years of Christmases and birthdays displayed before him. The boys getting younger and younger with each row of frames until at the very back there’s a Christmas picture where neither of them exist. Just Ryan and him sitting next to each other at his mom’s dining room table.  

“I-“ Michael falters, reaching for the frame and then deciding not to pick it up after all “Yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Mike.” Devon says, “If you need us to take Tal… We can come get him. We can-“ 

“No.” Michael is firm, “No one’s taking Tal. Tell Ryan he can’t decide-“ 

“This ain’t Ryan.” Devon defends himself, “This is me and Charlie. If Tal wants to-“ 

There’s a pause.

“No shit he wants to.” Michael’s voice breaks. He knows what Talan wants. “But he’s staying with me."

On the right hand side of the table he spots a photo of a newborn Talan, swaddled in a Christmas blanket, carefully balanced on Oliver’s lap. A hand reaches into the frame to steady his little head while Oliver grins at the person taking the picture.

“Let me know where Ry’s going.” Michael says once he’s swallowed the knot in his throat. “Let me know what happens." 

“Do you want to talk to him?” Devon offers. 

“Um no.” Michael answers fast because he doesn’t trust himself to not just say yes. “I can’t.” 

“Ok.” Devon says, “I’m gonna go.” 

“Yeah.” Michael grabs the newborn Talan frame from the table, “Thanks for-“ 

“Not doing it for you man.” Devon reminds him. “Bye.” 

Michael hangs up and stands staring at the frame before he puts it down, stretches his hands and decides to get his kids back. 

He turns on the heat, finds sheets for the beds, throws out the stale food in the cupboards and orders some groceries. He gets his hastily packed bag from the car, showers and changes into warmer clothes. He finds his and Talan’s winter coats packed in the storage closet next to the garage. 

Once he’s done, the condo looks somewhat habitable.

A car drives by and slows down. For a second he thinks the kids are home. When he hears the car drive away, his heart sinks. 

He ignores his email. 

He tries not to think of Ryan. 

He rehearses what to say as he drives the twenty minutes to his childhood home. He doesn’t know how to get his kids to talk to him if his family won’t even let him through the door. He doesn’t know how to face his family and tell them the truth. He doesn’t know where he would even start.

In the end he knocks on the door again and when Hillary just pushes the curtain aside instead of opening the door he only feels defeat. 

“I have keys.” Michael repeats, dangling his old set of keys like it matters. “They’re my kids.” 

There’s less anger in Michael’s voice than there was last time.

Hillary opens the door a smidge, her hand firmly on the door knob like she’s afraid he’s going to force his way past her. 

“Where are they?” Michael asks. 

“No.” Hillary refuses.

“I just want to know they’re okay.” Michael pleads, “I put Tal on the plane because this seemed like the safest place for him to be. I had to stay and deal with-“ 

“Why?” Hilary still sounds like she wants to scream, “Neither of them will talk about anything. They’re both staying here until-“ 

Hilary put a hand square on his chest and pushes him backwards through the still open front door. She’s considerably smaller than him but he’s caught off guard and forced to take a step back instead of falling. Once they’re on the front steps, she closes the door behind her. 

“I called Ryan.” She admits, “I talked to his sister. You didn’t put Tal on a plane, he ran away.” 

Michael knew Ryan’s problems wouldn’t stop with Devon. Knew that things would escalate once the truth about Tal got to the rest of Ryan’s family. He wonders how long he has before Talan runs to them. Before they have his Baby. 

“That’s why Tal’s here.” Michael explains, trying to get one member of his family on his side. “I found him, I was at the airport and I put him on the plane. I didn’t bring him home I sent him here.” 

“They deserve better than this Mike.” 

“I know.” He agrees instead of yelling at her for digging into his life. “Trust me.” 

“Neither of them wants…”

“Dad?” 

Michael hears Talan’s voice from just behind the door. Without waiting for Hilary to move or to finish talking he walks around her and heads into the house. Everything smells like his mom’s turkey stuffing and her apple pie. 

Both of his kids are standing in the living room near the kitchen. Oliver is further back, like he’d followed Talan when Talan had decided to call out. Oliver’s holding a cup of coffee and his grandmother is right behind him still holding the coffee pot. 

The relief he feels when he sees Oliver is immeasurable. 

“Ols.” Michael takes a step towards his oldest, “I’m sorry.” 

Oliver doesn’t even meet Michael’s eye. He stares at the ground. Michael can tell he’s on edge. His shoulders are squared and his grip tightens around his coffee cup. 

“Talan.” Talan says in a flat disappointed voice. “Happy Birthday.” 

Michael who had been so sure of his right to see his kids a few minutes ago now balks. He’s done the wrong thing again and he knows it. 

“Michael.” His mom puts the coffee pot down on a side table next to a plant and walks in front of both her grandkids, “You need to leave.” 

“Tal. I’m sorry Baby.” Michael tries, not sure of which of the hundreds of reason he’s apologizing for. 

Instead of looking at him, Talan looks straight back at Oliver who just shakes his head.

“Please just come home.” Michael pleads to both of them but he knows he’s speaking to a united front, “We can talk.” 

“Michael Fred.” His mom says again. 

“Can I talk to my kids?” Michael snaps.

“You can stay here.” Hillary offers, standing right behind Oliver.

“Don’t tell him…” Michael feels his temper flare but stops himself. “Ols. Just talk to me.” 

Oliver steps forward and for a brief second Michael thinks his son is walking towards him.

“Hey.” Bob puts a hand on Oliver’s back. “Relax. You don’t have to go anywhere.” 

“No.” Michael interrupts, “Don’t tell him-“ 

“I don’t think he wants you here.” Talan answers for his brother, “He’s mad.”

“Are you mad?” Michael asks. 

The sound of a ceramic hitting the floor interrupts Talan’s answer. In protest or anger, Oliver’s thrown his mug down on the floor. 

“Oliver!” Bob admonishes, the lower half of his pant legs soaked with coffee. 

“Don’t talk to Tal.” Oliver snaps at Micheal, ignoring his grandfather, “Shut up." 

“Let’s go Oliver!” Bob tries in vain to guide Oliver back to the kitchen but Oliver refuses to move. 

“Dad hit Tal.” Oliver blurts out instead. “He pushed him down. Talan has a bruise.”

All the air seems to leave the room and everyone stands frozen. The shards of Oliver’s mug rest at his feet amidst the puddle of still steaming coffee.

“Not me.” Michael flounders when all eyes turn to him, “Ryan…”

“Ryan hit Talan?” Debbie says incredulous. 

“Ok woah.” Talan turns to look at Oliver before he starts to ramble, “Like not… Just not like that… It…He…” 

It’s a surreal moment and while Michael can map out how they’ve gotten here it still doesn’t feel like their real life. He knows there are a million different ways life could have turned out and the heaviness of it makes it hard to breathe. He should have come home, he should have trusted his instincts about Ryan’s drinking, he should have listened to Oliver, he should have focussed more on Talan, he shouldn’t have said yes to the dinner invite in New York. 

“Yeah.” Oliver answers, taking advantage of Michael’s silence. “So do we understand how fucked up this is? Like why I don’t wanna go. Why Tal shouldn’t go? I was in New York and I caught Dad with…” 

“Oliver.” Michael’s voice isn’t quite a warning, but an edge definitely creeps into his tone. 

“I’m done keeping secrets.” Oliver cries out, “I’m…”

“You caught dad with what?” Talan asks, “What happened?”
 
Oliver falters. 

“Oliver. Go in the kitchen.” Debbie points to the room in question. “Watch where you’re walking.”

For a second Oliver looks like he’s going to keep arguing but he chooses to listen. Bob follows him never letting go of his shoulder. They both leave wet coffee footsteps behind them. 

“Michael.” His mom uses the same tone she’d just used with Oliver, “You need to leave.” 

“No.” Unlike Oliver, Michael has a life time of experience arguing with his mom under his belt. 

“What do you want then?” She challenges. 

“To talk to my kids.” Michael reminds them, “To bring them home.” 

“No.” She refuses. 

Michael knows he’s not going anywhere and short of bulldozing past his mom into the kitchen there’s nothing he can do. Even if he did push past his mom he doubts Oliver would talk to him. 

“Can I talk to Tal?” Michael pleads. 

Both Debbie and Hillary turn to stare at Tal who shrugs. 

“I guess yeah.” He says, “Not outside though.” 

“Wherever you want.” Michael offers he’d take Tal to Fiji if that’s where Tal wanted to talk. “You choose.” 

*

Talan leads Michael into Hillary’s old bedroom. A room Michael had been banned from entering for years and as he climbs up the stairs he starts to feel like maybe his presence there still isn’t welcome. Talan hesitates when he first opens the door, like he’s rethinking his decision to talk, before he walks around the bed and leans against the window.  

Michael doesn’t know if he should stand or sit. He decides to sit down on the bed to try and not tower over Talan. The contents of Talan’s backpack are spread across the bed next to him along with two Target bags. There’s an open toothbrush package, a six pack of boxer shorts, an uncapped deodorant stick, face wash, a knit beanie and lip balm. 

“Oh yeah,” Talan points to the stuff when he catches Michael looking at them, “I needed stuff. Didn’t pack a lot.” 

It hurts to think Talan had been so desperate to get away from them he hadn’t even bothered to pack extra underwear or a toothbrush. 

“I got your coat at the house.” Michael offers looking at the winter hat on the bed and thinking of the closet full of winter clothes, “I should have brought it.” 

“Oh it’s okay. I ain’t going outside.” Talan assures quickly. “Who lives like this? It’s freezing all the time.” 

They both stare out the window instead of each other. Talan presses his fingers against the ice that’s formed on the edge of the glass where it meets the frame. He picks at it with his finger nails chipping more and more of it away.

“Tal.” Michael starts but he doesn’t know what to lead with. 

Now that they’re alone Michael has no idea what to say to make things better. He doesn’t even know if he has the right to try and convince Talan to come back with him.  He doesn’t even know which apology to repeat first. 

“I wanna have Thanksgiving.” Talan blurts out.

The truth is Michael wants to have Thanksgiving too. Wants to be in the dining room they almost never use hearing Oliver talk about Harvard and Talan ramble about the intelligence of turkeys. 

“I want to stay here and have Thanksgiving.” Talan specifies. 

The words come out like they’ve been rehearsed and Michael starts to think that maybe his family’s prepped the boys on what to say.

“I’m not taking you anywhere you don’t want to go.” Michael reassures, happy that Talan’s first request hadn’t been to go back to Florida. “We can have Thanksgiving.” 

“No.” Talan refuses, “Not with you.” 

Talan’s words fell like punches but Michael can tell saying them has hurt Talan more. 

“It’s okay.” Michael reassures.

“Like none of this is okay?” Talan looks up at him uncharacteristically angry, “Nothing’s okay.”

“Yeah. It’s not.” Michael agrees, “I’m sorry Tal.” 

Talan shrugs to dismiss the apology.

“Your birthday present is in Florida.”  Michael says even though he knows Talan doesn’t care. 

Talan shrugs again. 

“I love you.” It’s the only other thing Michael can think to say.

Talan stays silent. He plays with the string of his hoodie and chews on the plastic cap at the end until it splits apart. He doesn’t say anything back and he doesn’t even look up. Michael’s not even sure he’s listening. 

“Are you okay?” Michael asks uselessly, knowing the questions is dumb before he’s even done saying the words. 

“Um… No.” Talan answers honestly, after another long pause. “Like… I ain’t” 

He looks even sadder and Michael’s heart sinks. He can’t imagine how he begins to make things better for him. 

“If you want to go home…” Michael decides to put Florida on the table himself, before Charlie and Devon reach out, before Ryan’s mom or his sisters reach out. As relieved as he’d been that Talan had chosen Baltimore over Florida, it’s becoming increasingly clear Talan had mostly just chosen to be as far away from him as possible. “We just fly back.”

Talan still doesn’t talk and his silence feels like defeat. Michael can only hope that his son is considering his offer and agrees to go back. 

“You still just came here for Ols.” Talan says finally. “I don’t wanna go with you."  

“I made a mistake.” Michael tries to explain, “Tal… I didn’t know Ols was here. I came for you. I drove here for you.” 

“What am I even suppose to do?” Talan asks getting more upset, “I can’t go back to Dad because he’s in rehab… I don’t wanna go with you… Ols goes back to Harvard… Where the fuck do I go?” 

“Tal.” Michael says softly,  “I’m sorry. I’m here. We can…”

“I missed you.” Talan blurts out, “Before and you never came home. Like… That hurts worse than Dad pushing me… He was just drunk.” 

Michael’s the one who’s silent now, shattered by Talan’s words and his loyalty to Ryan.  

"I think maybe I want you to go?” Talan looks up at him, “I don’t wanna talk anymore. I’m staying here.”

“Okay.” Michael agrees.

Michael waits but Talan stays silent. 

“I love you.” It’s still the only thing Michael can think to say, “When you want to go home just call me.” 

Michael waits a few more seconds to give Talan a chance to speak but Talan just stares at his own feet. It’s becoming clear that Talan may never want to go home with him. 

“Call.” Michael repeats before standing up, he tries to think of something comforting to say, “I’ll come get you. We’ll go wherever you want.” 

*

In the kitchen Oliver can’t stand still. He paces and thinks of how he can escape the house. His coat and his grandmother’s car keys are by the front door and Bob is blocking the kitchen door, like he can guess what Oliver’s about to do next.

“Oliver sit down.” Bob says tired of watching his grandson walk laps in the kitchen. 

Oliver ignores him. 

“Your dad’s not coming in here. Calm down.” 

“No one likes when someone tells them to calm down” Oliver argues from near the stove. 

“No one likes having hot coffee thrown on their pants.” Bob retorts. “Sit.” 

Oliver hesitates. 

“I will stop your dad from coming into the kitchen.” Bob says again, “Sit.” 

“You’re gonna stop dad?” Oliver challenges. 

“Well, he’ll have to get through your grandma first.” Bob retorts. 

They stare at each other until Oliver relents and sits on the chair furthest away from the kitchen door. 

“I’m sorry about the cup.” Oliver says once he’s sitting, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry.” Bob brushes it off, “Are you okay?” 

“Don’t worry.” Oliver tries to joke but it doesn’t work. 

“I don’t believe you Oliver.” Bob challenges, “I don’t think you’ve been okay since this summer and maybe you’re fooling your aunt and your grandma and your dads because you don’t talk to them but you’re not fooling me.” 

Oliver is quiet. 

“You can talk to me Oliver.” 

Oliver regrets not going to Vermont with Jake. He regrets getting out of bed with Lauren. He regrets leaving Phillip’s house. He wants to leave Baltimore and go back to the guest bedroom with Lauren’s legs rubbing against his in bed. He thinks of the text messages she’s sent since then, asking him how his weekend is going. Asking him how Talan is. Asking him if he’s okay. 

He’s only answered a few times, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how truthful he should be. Doesn’t know if after weeks of flirting with each other Saturday had meant anything. That when he goes back to Harvard he can kiss her again and wake up with his pillow smelling like her shampoo. 

“Want to go somewhere else” Bob  offers. “The pool?”  

The question causes Oliver physical pain. 

“We both know I can’t swim.” Oliver looks embarrassed, “I can’t even get in the water.”

Oliver hasn’t told anyone this. He’s said over and over that he doesn’t want to swim but he’s never fully admitted the full truth to anyone.

“I walk into the building and I feel like I’m gonna puke.” He keeps talking. “I tried playing water polo with my roommate. I forced myself to do it. I just wanted to be able to have fun you know…” 

Harvard, Early October 

Oliver lets Jake talk him into joining his intramural water polo team. The weather is cold as they make their way from the parking lot to the pool for their first game after a full day of class. It smells like dead leaves and Oliver pulls the drawstring of his hoodie tighter across his face to shield himself against the wind. 

It had seemed like a good idea when Jake had brought it up. Jake had played water polo in high school and together they’d laughed at the absurdity of Oliver refusing to swim for Harvard but choosing to play intramural sports. 

Oliver thought the idea of playing a sport for no reason would piss Michael off.

What Oliver hadn’t thought of was how much he didn’t want to swim. 

The smell of chlorine really hits him outside the change rooms.  It reminds him of 5am winter practices in Baltimore and walking out of the ready room in Rotterdam. The smell unsettles something in his stomach. It makes his hands sweaty. 

“Smells like home?” Jake jokes

“Yeah man no.” Oliver laughs. “Smells like fucking pain.” 

“When’s the last time you even swam?” Jake asks. 

“Um… warm down after my last race.” Oliver chooses not to count anything after it. Desperately tries to keep Costa Rica out of his mind, “Felt like I was going to die.” 

Oliver had been assigned a locker before even getting to school. The number had come in a package with some Harvard athletic gear that Ryan had packed for him. Oliver had frantically searched through all of his things for the box that morning and found it at the back of his closet. 

They walk down row after row of lockers looking for the number on the scrap of paper Oliver is holding. The sounds of the showers, the echo of voices against tile and the smell of standard locker room pink soap twists Oliver’s stomach even more. 

“You remember how?” Jake jokes. 

Oliver forces himself to laugh but considers telling the truth. 

“I don’t know man.” He chooses to say instead, “I said I wouldn’t.” 

The locker is in the middle of the row and they both jam their stuff in it before starting to change. Months out from the brutal training schedule and without a nutritional coach’s advice on how to maximize all of his calories Oliver knows he’s lost muscle mass. Definitely self conscious that he’s not looking as great as he had been in Rotterdam. 

“Dude.” A guy standing opposite their locker points directly at Oliver, not bothering with subtlety,  “That’s just not fair.” 

Oliver looks up from folding his pants and isn’t immediately aware the comment is directed at him. 

“I know.” Jake retorts, “It’s his first game, he doesn’t know the rules. Doesn’t get the stroke. We’re taking a hit.”

Oliver snickers. 

“Jesus.” The guy from the opposite team shakes his head. 

“He didn’t even have a suit.” Jake keeps talking while he pulls his shirt over his head. “Totally new at this.”

Oliver is sure there’s something in one of the contracts he signed about having to wear a Speedo logo every time he touches water but all his suits are in Florida. Either in boxes in the garage or jammed into his locker at the Speed Club. He’s been forced to use the Harvard issues one he’d found in the same box as the locker number. 

He has his own Olympic issued swim cap and he watches Jake pull it over his head. 

“This.” Jake points to the cap, “Is our lucky charm.” 

Oliver pulls on his own swamp cap, one from Jake’s high school and sits down on the bench to find his goggles. 

“I’m outta shape too.” Oliver reminds Jake. 

“And he’s out of shape.” Jake gestures back towards him. “Letting him play with us is really charity.” 

“Good luck.” the other guy says, “No hard feelings but this is wild” 

“He’s probably total garbage.” Jake warns the other guys around them, “He wouldn’t even practice with me.”

Oliver is grateful for Jake and his non-stop talking. Grateful for his friendship and for his laid back attitude. Oliver hadn’t been completely honest, pretending he’d been too busy to practice when in reality he hadn’t wanted to face the pool until he had to. 

As they walk out of the locker rooms Oliver fiddles with his goggles, with his new helmet, with the drawstring of his suit and anything else he can to keep himself distracted. 

“Look, you always wanna know where the ball is.” Jake rattles on his last minute water polo coaching tips, “You gotta have power. You always have to know what you’re gonna do with the ball before you get it.” 

“I don’t even know one thing I’d do with the ball.” Oliver starts to wish maybe he’d practiced once. 

“You gotta thread water the whole time, don’t touch bottom. Work your angles. Did you watch the videos?” 

“No.” Oliver admits,  “I don’t even know what position I’m playing. We didn’t practice.” 

“You didn’t want to practice but no one practiced.” Jake levels, “There’s not even a point to this… Maybe there’s a trophy?”

The closer they get to the pool the more Oliver realizes that he really doesn’t want to get in the water. That he may not be able to get into the water.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” Oliver finally admits. “I can’t like-“ 

“Ok so just watch.” Jake says, “Learn, figure it out.” 

“Yeah.” Oliver agrees reluctantly realizing he’s been misunderstood, “I’ll watch.” 

They walk towards the pool to the benches and Oliver sits instead of getting in the water.

“You’re benching Phelps?” Someone yells and Oliver doesn’t know if it’s from his team or not. 

“Yeah he sucks.” Jake yells back quickly, “I really want to win.” 

“Fans are going to be disappointed.” Someone walking by them points out, gesturing towards the stands.  

“Woah.” Jake exclaims looking up, “I didn’t think people showed up to watch.”

Oliver glances up at the stands and guesses that intramural water polo doesn’t usually gather a crowd but today it has. 

“Your princess is here.” He points out to Jake. 

“Oh yeah.” Jake pauses to wave in her general direction, “I told her to come. She’s here for me.” 

“Nice man.” 

“Phil’s here.” Jake points up, “With her roommates.” 

Jake grins at Oliver and pats him on the back. 

Oliver likes Phil’s roommate Lauren. Likes how smart she is and how her hair smells like vanilla. He likes that she’d spent the summer on a volunteer trip and hadn’t watched the Olympics. Knows that she had no idea who he was until the third time they’d met. 

He tries to awkwardly flirt with her and she usually doesn’t laugh at him. He reminds himself to breathe when she puts a hand on his leg or leans against him. He really wishes he knew what to do. He really wants to kiss her. Really wants to take advantage of having a place without parents to take someone back to. 

“That’s good.” Oliver says sarcastically, “Really love when people I like watch me suck. This is really going to help my chances”

“Dude, she never saw you do well.” Jake sees right through his sarcasm, “She didn’t know who you were. Anyways, she’s here. Probably better things to do than watch intramural water polo on a Friday night.” 

Oliver waves at his friends and his stomach lurches. 

“Look. I don’t know if I can swim.” Oliver tries honesty again this time a little more urgently, grabbing Jake’s elbow. “It’s a thing I’m working through. I mean like I know how still… but I shower and I feel like I’m going to puke.” 

Jake looks a little taken aback. 

“I haven’t told anyone… I wasn’t.”

“Dude.” Jake turns around to face Oliver, “That’s a lot. What was your plan?” 

“I didn’t know people were gonna show up.” Oliver’s panic starts to rise, he sits down because it feels like he’s less exposed that way. “I was just gonna try it out and now…. I didn’t think it out. I was kinda wishing I’d be fine.” 

“You know.” Jake sits down next to Oliver on the bench, “When you ask a guy with nine gold medals in swimming to play water polo with you you don’t really think you’re going to have to make sure he doesn’t drown.” 

Oliver laughs nervously. 

“You don’t have to play.” Jake reassures, “But I’m gonna play.” 

More than anything Oliver wants to be able to play. Doesn’t want an entire audience of people to watch him panic as soon as he gets into the water. Wants to just have fun. 

“I want to play.” Oliver insists, thinking of the semi full stands but mostly of Lauren “I’m gonna play.” 

It’s mind over body, Oliver tries to spend the next few minutes building up the mental fortitude he had in Rotterdam. It doesn’t matter if you’re tired, it doesn’t matter if you’re hurt, it doesn’t matter if you’re terrified. 

He slides into the water instead of jumping in and since his face is above the surface he manages to start. 
 
In the pool, Oliver mostly feels like he’s in the way. He blocks the ball once and is willing to settle for a mediocre start to his water polo career when a hand lands on his shoulder and pushes him under the water. 
 
“What the fuck?” Oliver comes back up quick but his heart beats fast. 

“Dude.” Jake grabs his shoulder, “That’s a foul. They can’t sink you if you’re not holding the ball.” 

“What?” Oliver fails to understand anything Jake says. 

“That was a bullshit move.” His other teammate simplifies.

“No idea why they’d pick on me.” Oliver tries to joke between coughs in order to hide his panic. 

Jake keeps a tight grip on his shoulder like he anticipates Oliver might just go under again on his own. 

“You good?” Jake gives him a shake, “You’re going to get a free throw.” 

“Yeah. Gonna nail that.” Oliver coughs again, “Let’s do it.” 

There’s a small cheer from the crowd as Oliver swims away from Jake and catches the ball someone throws to him. He feels dumb with the ball in his hand and really wishes he’d taken some of Jake’s lessons. 

He unsurprisingly doesn’t make the goal and tries to drown out what sounds like pity clapping. Team mates pat his shoulder as he swims away to his position. It feels like as soon as the whistle blows another hand is on his shoulder pushing him back under water. 

“Hey!” Oliver manages to say when he surfaces and he’s definitely not as okay as he was the first time, “What the fuck?” 

“You good?” Jake 

“No.” Oliver doesn’t wait to start swimming to the edge of the pool. “Fuck. I’m out.” 

Someone jumps in as he pulls himself up and Oliver doesn’t bother to sit on the bench. He beelines for the change rooms and forces himself to take deep breaths. 

Part of him is still trained to think about how this will play out. Surely someone in the crowd has already posted a video of him leaving the pool. Something about him being a sore loser or about being out of shape.

He showers quick, desperate to not smell like chlorine. He throws his jammers out in a trash can on his way back to his locker.  

He tells himself he’s done for real. 

He feels better later that night when he’s in the common room of his dorm room watching a movie with all his friends. When Lauren is sitting next to him and it feels like she’s sitting closer than a person normally would. When she puts her hand on his thigh and he works up the courage to hold it.  

“Was that your first time playing?” She asks. 

“Yeah.” Oliver says, “It was.” 

“You could tell.” She laughs. 

He laughs along with her and it feels less life ending to have failed. 

“I was better last summer.” He defends himself. 

“At water polo?” Jake turns around from his spot on the floor, “You weren’t.” 

“I looked better in the suit.” Oliver offers instead. 

“You look good now.” Lauren answers and her voice is quieter. 

“No. He looked a lot better last summer.” Phillip jokes from the armchair, “You know, we’ve googled it.” 

Oliver laughs and he stops thinking about the pool. 

Baltimore, Present Day

“Do you want to?” 
 
Bob’s question takes Oliver out of his daydream. Suddenly he’s back in the kitchen and not in his dorm room surrounded by his friends. 

“Sorry?” Oliver asks mostly to buy himself time to formulate an answer. 

“Do you want to swim?” Bob repeats 

 Oliver isn’t sure if he’s dealing with Bob his coach or Bob his grandfather. 

“No.” Oliver’s truth comes out quick, he doesn’t bother to make up a fake answer, “No.” 

It’s the first time he’s given such a definitive answer to someone who isn’t just one of his friends. The first time it seems for sure that he won’t be at Nationals in January, that he won’t go to Worlds and that he absolutely will not swim for Harvard. 

He can tell it’s not news that makes his grandfather’s day.

“Oliver.” Bob reaches across to grab his arm regardless, “I don’t care if you swim.” 

Oliver hangs his head and then lowers it further to rest against his grandfather’s arm. He swallows against the knot in his throat and tries his hardest not to cry. 

“Hey Pal.” Bob’s other hand rests against Oliver’s back, “It’s rough right now.” 

Oliver’s chest hurts and his face feels hot. This seems like the furthest away he can humanly be from how happy he’d felt in New York. How happy he’d felt when he’d been just a college kid getting drunk with his friends. The crushing responsibility of his career, of being an older brother, of being a son and of carrying family secrets feels like too much. 

“No one in this family cares if you swim.” Bob adds, “It’s not important.” 

Oliver’s heard this sentence from his parents for years and he’d never quite believed them. It always felt like they couldn’t mean it, that after years of spending time and money on his swimming they’d be okay if he just stopped. He’d wanted to stop, he’d wanted to feel normal and have more friends and figure out if he really liked Evan or if Evan was just always there. He’d wanted to go on dates. He’d wanted to figure himself out before getting to Harvard. 

Oliver doesn’t know why but this time he believes his grandfather. 

“I don’t want to swim.” Oliver repeats and his chest hurts a little less “I’m not doing Nationals.” 
 
Oliver’s studies his grandfather’s face, waiting to see anger or disappointment but he just sees the same concerned look that’s haunted Bob’s face since Oliver’s cab had stopped in front of the house. 

“Do you need help?” Bob asks and it’s easy to believe it’s a question he’s wanted to ask since Oliver walked out of the cab.

Oliver knows he probably needs help.

“I’m not doing great.” He answers honestly. 

It feels so stupid to summarize everything that’s wrong with such a dumb sentence but he doesn’t think his grandfather wants a break down of his life.  

Before Bob can answer. Oliver hears footsteps coming down the stairs and straightens up, he stares at the kitchen door. 

“Your dad isn’t coming in.” Bob repeats, “Your grandma will stop him. Relax. Keep talking.”

Oliver considers his next words, how he can explain to his grandfather exactly what’s going on. How he still looks at his phone hoping his ex-boyfriend calls even though he’d slept with a girl. How he stays up at night with his thoughts racing and then zones out during lectures and falls asleep in the library studying or hanging out watching movies with his friends. 

“I…” He starts. 

The front door open then closes shut and outside a car starts and drives away. Then in a moment, Talan is running down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

“You okay?” Oliver asks Talan. 

“Yup.” Talan answers, “You okay?”
 
“Um yeah.” Oliver brushes it off, choosing not to look at his grandfather. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

“I’m glad you’re both here.” Debbie declares, walking back in with the coffee pot “Let’s just have breakfast. Have Thanksgiving. We’ll have a nice day.” 

Coming to Baltimore had made so much sense when he’d made the decision. It had felt like somewhere he could relax and be taken care of. Now it feels the same as going back to Florida. Everything he’d wanted to avoid had made its way to him. All he wants to do is leave. 

*

Talan can’t sleep. He tosses and turns until Hoops gets so fed up the dog jumps off the bed and goes to sleep on the floor. 

Talan feels guilty and he’s not quite sure what he feels worst about. He replays his conversation with his dad over and over again. He replays the fight in Florida and the fight in the living room earlier in the day. 

He’s talked to his uncle and all his aunts and he knows he has his choice of places to go. He can’t help but feel guilty for the things he’d said to Michael earlier in the day. Can’t help but feel guilty about considering his aunts’ offers to fly him back to Florida. 

He doesn’t want to stay in Baltimore. He doesn’t want to leave with his dad. He doesn’t want to go home to a house that’s only half full. 

Everything feels broken. 

“Fuck.” He says to himself before he sits up and kicks his blankets off. “Fuck.”

He walks as quietly as he can down the hallway and gingerly turns the doorknob to Oliver’s room to avoid making it click. 

Oliver isn’t even in bed. He’s sitting at the desk, laptop on with a textbook open beside him. 

“Oh.” Talan says, caught off guard. “Thought I’d wake you up.”
 
“Um no,” Oliver takes his headphones off and moves his phone slightly out of Talan’s view, “Just give me a sec.” 

Talan walks in and sits on the bed. Watches Oliver wave to his phone and end a FaceTime call. Talan strains forward but can’t make out who he’s talking to. 

“Who’s that?” Talan asks, “It’s like 3am.” 

“Just studying.” Oliver points to the book. “I needed help.” 

“It’s Thanksgiving break.” Talan reminds him. 

“It’s college.” Oliver answers back, “It’s a friend, whatever.” 

“What’s their name?” Talan asks. “Why are you doing homework with no shirt on?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Oliver shrugs it off. 

“You don’t want to tell me?” 

“Lauren.” Oliver answers, “That’s her name.”

“Lauren.” Talan repeats, “A girl?”

“Dude it’s 3am.” Oliver changes the subject, “What’s up?”  

“Couldn’t sleep… Look.” Talan hesitates, he instinctively reaches up to tug on his hair which is still too short to tug on, “I think we should go home with Dad.” 

“No.” Oliver says shortly.

Oliver turns the desk chair back around, reopens his textbook and grabs the highlighter he’d used as a bookmark. He chews on the cap and stops paying attention to Talan. 

It’s the answer Talan expected but it’s still hard to take. He’s not used to Oliver being like this. Oliver doesn’t usually stay mad for long, Oliver doesn’t usually go against the plan. Oliver always keeps the peace. Oliver always does what people expect him to do. Oliver always tries to make things better.

“Dude you gotta.” Talan argues weakly, “Come on.” 

Oliver ignores him, he taps the highlighter against his thigh and stares at his phone. 

“Tell me why you’re so mad.” Talan gets up from the bed and walks up to the desk. “What happened?” 

“No man I can’t.” Oliver puts down the highlighter. “It’s between me and Dad.”

“Then come with me and talk it out.” Talan almost begs, “Please.”

Oliver’s phone lights up with a call. Quickly, before his brother can reach it Talan hits the screen to ignore the call.

“What the fuck Talan.” Oliver says exasperated, “I don’t want to go see Dad.” 

“Why?” Talan challenges. 

“Okay, why?” Oliver challenges back. “Why do you want to go?”

“Dad needs us.” 

“Yeah? When you needed Dad where was he?” Oliver argues back, “when he walked in and he didn’t say happy birthday to you or hi to you… Do you think he cared it made you sad? Do you think Dad gives a fuck about how any of us feel? No Dad only cares about himself and what people think about him. He let Dad hit you. He didn’t even care you made it here okay.” 

“He said sorry.” Talan’s  voice is quiet and he can’t hide the hurt. “He said he just didn’t know you were here. He was with me at the airport.”

“He always has an excuse and you always buy it.”

“It’s not…" Talan tries to argue.

“The whole point of coming here.” Oliver slams his highlighter down on his book, “Was to not see dad. I help you and now Dad’s here and you want me to go see him?” 

“Yes.” Talan answers, “Because…”

“Because he’s sad?” Oliver interrupts him again, “You know why he’s sad Tal? Because of his own fuck ups. I don’t give a shit. I’m not going. Go back to bed. 

Talan stands stunned. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Go back to your room Talan.”

“You can hate dad all you want.” Talan argues back, “but you fucking sound just like him.”

“Go back to bed Talan.” 

Talan stares at Oliver for a second. Thinks of shitty things he could say back to hurt him before he decides to leave. 

He storms off less quiet than before. Not caring who wakes up. Maybe his grandparents can ask Oliver why he’s FaceTiming girls in the middle of the night.

He’s too furious to go back to sleep. He grabs the sheets off his bed and angrily  throws them to the ground before kicking them. He kicks his pillow again for good measure and sits down on the floor. He feels lost and out of options.

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes trying to stop hot tears from flowing out. He refuses to let himself cry. He stares up at the ceiling covered in old glow in the dark stars that don’t glow anymore and wills the tears away.

He’s counting the stars, trying to stop a panic attack when he hears his door open.

“Get the fuck out.” He says knowing it’s Oliver before he even sees him. 

“Dude I feel like shit.” Oliver admits. 

“You should.” Talan informs, “You suck.” 

Oliver doesn’t answer but he also doesn’t walk out. Talan is up to 130 stars, if he squints hard enough he can see the dried glue leftover from the stars that have already fallen down. He doesn’t know if he should count the dried glue or not.

“If you want to go see Dad I’ll take you.” Oliver finally offers. 

“Okay.” Talan accepts, “you’re still an asshole.” 

“Baby I’m trying.” Oliver pleads. “What do you want me to do?” 

Talan stops counting the stars for a second. He tips his head forward to look at Oliver. 

“I wanna know what you said today.” Talan chooses, “What d’you see dad do in New York?” 

He sees Oliver flinch. 

“Tal, I don’t want to say.” Oliver hesitates like he’s struggling for a way out of answering the question. “You shouldn’t worry.”  

“Yo like how can I not?” Talan goes back to the stars, “My whole life’s fucked.” 

He lets out a laugh that he hopes doesn’t sound too tear choked. The lump in his throat is getting bigger. 

“I’ll take you tomorrow.” Oliver says again, “before grandma wakes up I don’t want to answer questions.” 

“Okay.” Talan answers shortly, “I’ll be ready.” 

Oliver doesn’t elaborate on the time or say anything else. He walks out of Talan’s room without fully closing his door. 

Talan throws his pillow hard at the door to get it to shut. 

He still can’t sleep. 

 Baltimore, November 26th

Oliver doesn’t sleep. At six am he hears Talan’s bedroom door open. He listens to him and his dog walk down the stairs before he gets up from his desk chair. He takes his grandmother’s car keys from the hook by the door and his coat from the hallway closet.

Thad is waiting outside with his bag. He silently follows Oliver to the car. 

The drive from the suburbs to Fells Point is just as silent. Oliver drives without using the GPS retracing the trip he’d taken hundreds of time while training for Rotterdam. He has to force himself to not go into autopilot and driving to Meadowbrooks. 

Oliver parks his grandmother’s SUV on the street close to their house. 

“You can’t park here.” Talan tells him, finally speaking “You’re gonna get a ticket.” 

“I’m not parking.” Oliver rolls his eyes. 

“This is grandma’s car.” Talan points out, “Grandma’s going to get a ticket.”

“I know.” Oliver snaps, his eyes scanning their front door for any signs of life. “I just told you I wasn’t…”

“Are you not coming in?” Talan clues in, “You’re just dropping me off?” 

Oliver avoids making eye contact with his brother. 

“Dude.” Talan sounds alarmed, “I can’t go in there alone.” 

“The whole point of not going home was to not see Dad.” Oliver tries to remind his brother,

Talan is quiet. He stares at the front door too. 

“I ain’t going in there alone.” Talan insists, “No way.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to come here.” Oliver reminds him, “This is your idea.”

“Yeah with you.” Talan argues back. 

“My deal is not seeing dad. I don’t want to see Dad. I never said I’d go see Dad.” 

“I’m not going in there without you.” Talan doesn’t budge. 

“Ok so we go back to Grandma’s.” Oliver rationalizes. 

“No.” Talan refuses, “No. Like you go back to Harvard and I go where?” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Oliver says without much thought.
   
“You won’t figure out shit.” Talan says, “You’re going to go back to school and you leave me and what? Christmas you come home?”

“Tal. I’m not going to Florida.”

“Ever?” 

“That’s not…” Oliver balks. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know nothing.” Talan rolls his eyes, “You just care about yourself and that’s…”

“You’re not making me want to go up there with you.” Oliver cuts him off. 

“You’re in this family.” Talan reminds him. “You’re suppose to help, you gotta help me.” 

“Don’t you think this is too much for me?” Oliver snaps, “Like eventually I can’t fucking take anymore?” 

“You can’t fucking take it?” Talan yells back. “You have it so fucking easy! Everything is always about you.” 

Talan punctuates his last words by punching the dash in front of him Oliver can’t remember ever seeing Talan this angry. 

His silence just upsets Talan more. 

“I have fucking no one.” Talan cries out. He punches the dash again.

“I can’t keep fixing everyone’s shit.” Oliver screams back at him tired of the accusations, “I can’t keep-”

“Go fuck yourself.” Talan flips him off, “Asshole.” 

“Tal.” Oliver says.

It’s too late. Talan is already out of the car. He slams the passenger side door and walks away with Hoops. His backpack is still on the backseat. He crosses the street without looking and almost crashes into a woman on a bicycle. 

“Talan.” Oliver hurries out of the car and yells out after him. “Come back to the car."

“I thought I had you.” Talan yells from across the street, “Go back to school. I hate you.”

Uselessly, Oliver watches Talan punch in the garage code for the house. He stands frozen beside the car unable to follow his brother into a house that had once been his home. 

Unable to follow his brother back to their family. 

*

Michael spends most of the night pacing the first floor of the house. Walking from the top of the stairs, through the kitchen to the end of the master bedroom and back. He avoids looking  at the pictures on the table behind the couch. He refuses to let himself stare at Ryan’s drawings framed on the walls.  

He can’t sleep because he can’t think of a way out. Can’t think of a plan of action. Can’t think of one fucking way to solve his own life. Every scenario he comes up with leaves one member of his family out. 

He feels lost. Without his kids and without Ryan his life feels entirely empty. He tries not to think that faced with the same scenario in New York he’d just felt free. 

Oliver has school, Oliver had a place to go back to. As angry as Oliver might be with them Michael finds comfort knowing that at least Oliver is taken care of. 

Talan is where he draws a blank. He has no idea what to offer him, where to take him. It feels wrong to bring him back to the empty house in Florida. It feels wrong to keep him in Baltimore and it feels even worse to think of bringing him to New York. The only solution that seems to make any sense is to send Talan back to Devon and Charlie. 

Oliver’s Thanksgiving break is almost over. He’ll have to go back to Harvard and Michael doubts Talan will want to stay in Baltimore without him. 

He’s making his way out of the bedroom and back through the kitchen when he hears the garage door violently slam shut. Stumbling footsteps and clicks dog nails make their way up the stairs.

“Talan?” Michael calls out hurrying to the living room, “Tal?” 

Hoops runs to him first.

“Hi.” Talan says when he finally makes it up the stairs, “I wanted to come back last night. No one would drive me.”

Talan’s face is flushed and his voice sounds choked up. 

“You could have called me Baby.” Michael says before reaching out for his youngest, “I would have picked you up. I’ll always pick you up” 

Talan lets himself be hugged. He hugs Michael back tightly, his fists balled in Michael’s sweatshirt.
 
“My stuff’s outside.” He says his face against Michael’s chest, “I left it.” 

“I’ll go get it.” Michael says, “Did you have breakfast?” 

“No.” Talan answers. 

“There’s bagels on the counter, I’ll be right back.” He promises, “I’ll go get your stuff.” 

He lets go of Talan slowly, making sure he’s steady on his feet before he takes a step back. 

“There’s juice in the fridge.” He says as he heads towards the stairs, “Don’t drink coffee.” 

He barrels down the stairs two at a time, desperate to get back up to Talan as quickly as possible. Desperate to get him to talk, to get him to say what he wants to do, and desperate to make sure he doesn’t leave again. 

He sees his mom’s white Escalade illegally parked across the street. He looks for her in the driver’s seat but the car is empty. Instead he finds Oliver standing by the car, Talan’s backpack on his shoulder. 

“Ols.” Michael runs across the street, “Wait.”

He’s surprised when Oliver does. 

“Talan felt bad you were alone.” Oliver explains, “I had to drive him.” 

“Come in.” Michael offers, “Please.” 

“It’s not fair.” Oliver pretends he doesn’t hear his dad’s words, “What you guys are putting him through. I’m just making sure he’s okay.” 

“I have to make sure you’re okay too Ols.” Michael tells him

“Jesus no.” Oliver holds up a hand, “This is fucked. Go talk to Tal. Go apologize. Go tell him it’s gonna be okay. Go be his fucking parent. Go back in the house.” 

“Ols.” 

“I don’t want to be here.” Oliver points out. “I don’t need to be here.”  

“I get you’re mad.” Michael validates, trying to diffuse the situation. “What you saw in New York… I tried going after you…"

“You let Dad hit Tal before or after he found out you were cheating?” Oliver challenges. 

“Ols that’s none of your…”

“It’s my business when I have to keep shit together.” Oliver yells.

“Ols it’s not up to you to…” Michael

“Then who else does it?.” Oliver says. “You said I could leave and things would be okay and they weren’t. You left.” 
 
“Ols, I’ve tried calling and you don’t answer.” Michael tries again to get Oliver to just talk, “I’m worried.” 

“You ain’t worried.” Oliver shakes his head, “You’re worried I’m making you look bad.”

“Just tell me what’s going on Ols.” Michael pleads.

Oliver is silent.

“Your aunt told me you can’t swim.” Michael volunteers.

“I’m not talking about swimming.” Oliver half laughs, “What the fuck’s wrong with you?!”

“Let me help.”

“Help me what?” Oliver laughs bitterly, “Are you having a hard time selling tickets to talk about me after I quit swimming?”

“When did you make that decision?” Michael asks without thinking.

Michael regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. At team trials Michael had told Oliver he didn’t need to swim, that they’d be proud of him no matter what and that his life was his to live. Ryan had been there to smooth things out between them.

“Yeah.” Oliver shakes his head, “That’s what I thought.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Too late.” Oliver snaps.

“Why were you in New York and not at school?” Michael decides to change his line of questioning, desperate to know something about Oliver’s life. “Please, Ols, just talk to me.” 

“Do you even know where Dad is?” Oliver questions back.

“Ols.” Michael doesn’t know what else to say.

“He’s gonna come for Tal.” Oliver says like Michael is dumb, “Or he’s gonna send grandma or Aunt Kristin. No way he’s leaving Tal with you. No way Baby stays with you. I ain’t staying here.”

“Come on Ols.” Michael can’t hide how much Oliver’s words hurt. 

Oliver checks his phone. 

“Ols just stay here.” Michael pleads, “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” Oliver repeats. “No.” 

“Bud...” For a second Michael flashes back to the blood covered Oliver who’d found him after Talan’s accident, “If you’re not okay. Who’s helping you? 

“No one.” Oliver yells, “No one is helping me.”

“If you didn’t want to come to Florida. We would have had Thanksgiving in Baltimore. You just needed to call. Just answer your phone.” Michael continues to plead with his son.  

“That really ain’t it.” Oliver argues, “You never understand.”

“Ols, if you just tell me what’s wrong.” Michael asks again, “I can help.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Oliver is fed up, “I’m fucking pissed at you. I want you to leave me alone. Go see Talan. Go worry about Talan. Talan felt so guilty for not going back with you he didn’t sleep. Talan worries about you all the time and you don’t even think about him. You don’t care about him and he knows.” 

Michael can tell he’s not going to win this one. He remembers being as angry as Oliver is. Remembers spewing hurtful words that felt like the truth at Bob because he couldn’t say them to his own dad. 

“I know you’re angry.” He tries to empathize. 

“You know why I’m fucking angry?” Oliver yells back. 

Michael can’t think of a way to have Oliver listen to him and he knows there’s no way he can have Oliver follow him inside the house. 

“You’re mad at me.” Michael guesses, “Because I let you down. You’re angry because you love your dad and you love your brother and you don’t think I’m good enough.” 

Oliver doesn’t say anything. 

“I made mistakes. I’m trying to fix them.” Michael tells his oldest, “I want to help you Ols.” 
 
Oliver is quiet. He doesn’t move to get in the car. He wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Michael wishes he could hug him instead he stays silent. 
 
“Bud?” Michael risks asking. 

“I want to talk to Dad.” Oliver admits, “I miss Dad.” 

Michael can’t bring himself to admit that he misses Ryan too. 

“You can’t talk to Dad.” Michael struggles to get the words out, “But he’s getting help.”

“I have to go.” Oliver says before handing over Talan’s backpack. “My flight back’s tonight.”

“I love you Ols.” Michael grabs his arm and squeezes, “I’ll make things okay.” 

Michael desperately wants more time with Oliver but he lets go of his arm and lets his son take a step back.

“I want to help you Oliver.” Michael repeats.

Oliver lets out a sigh that might be a sob and reaches into his pockets for the keys. 

“Call me when you get to school.” Michael says even though he’s sure Oliver won’t. 

Oliver doesn’t say anything else. He unlocks the car, pulls away from Michael and gets in. He drives off without looking back and Michael stays until Oliver makes a right turn at the end of the street and the car disappears out of his sight. 

*

Oliver makes it two blocks before he’s crying too hard to keep driving. He pulls over and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. He grabs his phone from his pocket but doesn’t know who to call. 

He dials for Evan because Evan’s known him the longest and even though they don’t really talk anymore Evan will still need less backstory. Evan will understand.

“Hey.” Oliver says talking before he can think of who he’s talking to, “It’s me.” 

“Did Thad make it?” Evan asks, “Neither of you sent me anything.” 

“He got here.” Oliver confirms. “Thanks for that.”

“Okay.” Evan’s answer is short, “Thanks for calling?” 

 “Wanna go somewhere?” Oliver blurts out before Evan can hang up, “Before you said we could go somewhere.” 

“We have to go back to school.” Evan points out. “We can’t go anywhere."

“I want to go somewhere.” Oliver insists, “I want to leave.”

“Harvard? You want to leave Harvard?” 

“No… I mean like yes.” Oliver stumbles through his thoughts, “I want to…” 

“Not with me Ols.” Evan interrupts, “Not anymore.” 
 
“I slept with a girl.” Oliver blurts out. 

“Are you trying to hurt me?”

“No just…” Oliver isn’t sure why he said it, “I don’t know.” 

“Ols like what I know.” Evan says and he sounds more fed up than hurt, “It when it was time you didn’t wanna be with me and you didn’t want to be queer. When you need someone though like I’m the first person you call. You wanna help your brother, you wanna fucking run away. That’s fucked. I don’t like being used.” 

“I don’t use you.” Oliver argues, “I couldn’t be with you.” 

“Dude.” Evan just sounds exasperated, “You didn’t want to be. You don’t want to be. I run away with you now what? It’s dumb man just stop calling.” 

“Ev-“ 

“Stop calling me.” Evan repeats, “I won’t answer.” 

Evan hangs up on him and Oliver lets his phone slide out of his hand and onto his lap. His throat and his chest feel tight and there isn’t enough air in the car for him to breathe. 

He doesn’t know what to do next and for a second he thinks of just driving back to their house. To park the car outside and let Michael take over, let his dad make him breakfast and drive him to the airport with Talan in the backseat. He thinks of being honest about how he can’t sleep at night and how it always feels like he’s seconds away from panic. 

He picks up his phone and calls Ryan’s cellphone, it rings and rings with no answer and no voicemail. He calls their house in Florida and the voicemail is full. 

He calls his grandfather next. Before he starts driving again and crashes his grandma’s car into the harbour and not have to make more decisions. He thinks of the ice cold water seeping into the car, fading slowly away and for the first time it doesn’t feel like the worst thing. 

“Oliver.” Bob picks up right away, “Where are you?”

“In the car.” Oliver answers, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“You’re going to drive back.” Bob answers like it’s obvious, “Right now.” 

“I feel like…” Oliver hesitates, “I don’t feel like I can and not…” 

“Step one.” Bob interrupts, “Out of the car. Do you see a coffee shop? A library? A restaurant? Anywhere you can go and wait for me?”

“There’s a dinner?” Oliver whips his head around to check his surroundings. 

“Get out of the car.” Bob’s instructions are short, like he’s dictating sets, “Go in the diner, get a coffee, and wait for me.” 

“I don’t think the car’s legally parked.” Oliver says. 

“No cop in Baltimore is going to ticket Debbie Phelps' car.” Bob brushes off. “Get out."

“Okay.” Oliver agrees scared that he’s given away too much, “I’m out of the car.” 

“Good.” Bob encourages, “Go in the restaurant.” 

“I am walking to the restaurant.” Oliver confirms, “I’m sorry if I….” 

“Don’t apologize Oliver just get somewhere safe.” Bob brushes off. 

Oliver runs across the street and pushes the door of the restaurant open. 

“I’m in.” He tells his grandfather, “I’m waiting to be seated.” 

He reads the sign off as a joke but his grandfather doesn’t laugh and Oliver knows that they’re too far for jokes.  

“Pass your phone to the host.” Bob demands. 

“Really?” Oliver rolls his eyes, “I can…” 

“Pass it over.” Bob insists. 

Oliver groans embarrassed.

“Hi.” He tells the middle aged woman who puts down a pot of coffee before coming to greet him, “My grandpa wants to talk to you.” 

Oliver stands awkwardly watching the woman talk on his phone, as she talks he tries not to notice the stares from the other customers. 

“Here’s your phone.” The woman says handing it back and she’s already hung up the call. “Follow me to a table.” 

It’s a booth in the back and Oliver slumps down on the cracked green leather bench. 

“I’ll have coffee in a minute. Your grandpa’s on his way.” 

It takes his grandfather less than half an hour to get to the dinner. He sits down in front of Oliver and waits until he has a coffee cup before he starts to talk. 

“I know you.” Bob says stirring milk into his coffee cup, “I know you’re not okay. It’s just us now so you’re going to talk.” 

Oliver stares at his still untouched plate of food. 

“I feel panicked all the time.” Oliver admits, “I can’t sleep at night and then I can’t focus in class. I…” 

“Keep talking.” Bob encourages, “I’m here to listen.”

“I see Talan hurt all the fucking time.” Oliver presses his fingers against his eyes, “I try to study to not think about it. I try to… If I could swim I’d do that but I can’t get in the water, I can barely put my face under the shower spray without feeling like I’m going to throw up. I can’t sleep.”

“Who knows?” 

“No one.” Oliver admits looking up, “You now.”  

“You’re allowed to have a hard time.” Bob tells him, “You’re not allowed to do it on your own. You’re not allowed to just let yourself get worse.” 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“Let me help you?” Bob asks and he reaches across the table to rub his arm. 

Oliver nods. 

“First you’re going to go back to school.” Bob tells him. “You’re going to call the student health centre and ask to make an appointment with a counsellor.”

His grandfather lists the steps like he’d made up the bullet points in the cab ride on the way over to the diner. Like maybe he’s been thinking about it since Oliver had shown up in Baltimore. 

“If they don’t have anyone or it takes too long. Tell me and we’ll find someone else.” 

Oliver nods. 

“You’re going to come home from school next weekend.” Bob says, “and the week after that. When you’re doing better we can make it every two weeks. I’ll send you the plane tickets.”

Oliver thinks of protesting. 

“You don’t have to swim but you have to find something else to do. Go to the gym, join the photography club.” Bob keeps listing things off quickly like he’s trying to prevent Oliver from answering back. 

“Photography?” Oliver laughs. 

“A fraternity, a cooking class, a book club, you can fight against using plastic forks in the cafeteria. I don’t care what you do Oliver but you have to do something.” 

“I like the plastic forks one.” Oliver shakes his head. 

“Date.” His grandfather takes a sip of coffee, “Figure out what your life should be like. You have friends?”

 “Yes.” Oliver speaks up for the first time, “I have friends.” 

“Good friends?” Bob questions, “Or friends who…” 

“Good friends.” Oliver interrupts him.

“Let them know you’re having a hard time.” 

Oliver nods. 

“You’re not alone.” Bob comforts, “You are a whole person outside of swimming.” 

Oliver is exhausted. He follows his grandfather out of the diner, and back into the car.  He settles into the heated seat and answers texts from his friends. Lets them know he’s heading back to school. Lets them know his weekend was awful. 

Later that afternoon, both his grandparents drop him off at the airport with his backpack filled with home made cookies and freshly washed clothes. They hover over him by security and Oliver understands that he’s worried them both. He doesn’t know how much his grandfather has let his grandmother know but he does know that she won’t let go of his arm. That she keeps tugging on the sleeves of his sweatshirt like she can will the fabric to cover the last inch of his wrist.  

“I will call you tomorrow night to check in.” Bob says as he hugs him, “We’ll see you next weekend.” 

“Call us when you get to your dorm.” Debbie assures him when it’s her turn to hug him. “Come back anytime.” 

“I’ll call.” He says hugging her back. “Thank you.” 

He walks away and forces himself to just think about getting back to school. Not about what he’s leaving behind. Not the mess of his family, not about Talan’s desperate pleas for help, no about t his dad’s drinking problem. Not about his anger. 

If he can be a whole person outside of swimming maybe he can be a whole person outside of his family. 

Maybe he can be a whole person on his own.

*

Talan acts normal and Michael feels like he’s walking on eggshells. 

Talan eats, Talan takes the dogs on a slow walk, Talan watches tv and Talan decides to order burrito bowls for dinner. 

Talan sticks to his side like glue and Michael doesn’t know how to reassure him. Doesn’t know how to make sure he knows things are going to be okay. 

After dinner, Talan falls asleep on the couch still holding the Xbox controller. Michael pauses the game, covers him with a blanket and sits down on the floor in front of him.

He also doesn’t want to let Talan out of his sight. Afraid that if he blinks or spends too long in another room Talan will call his aunts and get a one way ticket back to Florida. 

Talan is sleeping though so Michael starts to clean up their dinner. Tries to think about the next steps for them. 

He uses his phone to quickly look up flights. Flights to New York, flights to Mexico, flights to Florida, flights to Australia. Flights to any place where he can imagine Talan happier than he is right now. 

A number he doesn’t recognize flashes on caller ID. His finger hovers over the ignore call button before he decides to answer. He doesn’t want to miss a call from Oliver. 

“Hello?” He says too hopeful to maybe hear Oliver’s voice answer back. 

“Hi. I know you don’t wanna talk to me.” Ryan immediately says, “I get that… I just had to call. I have to know our guys are good.”

“Do you get to ask that?” Michael answers guarded. 

“Yeah no.” Ryan concedes, “Dev told me I…”

“You hurt Tal.” 

“I know.” Ryan says, “That’s why I’m here.” 

“You’re there because you have a drinking problem.” Michael corrects, “You lied about it.” 

“I know.” Ryan agrees, “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry Mike.” 

“How are you going to fix it?” Michael challenges, “I don’t really care how sorry you are.” 

It’s hard to talk to Ryan. It’s hard to hear his voice. It’s hard to feel alone again with the responsibility of their family resting on his shoulders only.  

“This is really fucking heavy to carry.” Michael adds because he wants Ryan to know.

“I’m here.” Ryan offers, “For six weeks.” 

“You can’t be around them.” Michael conditions, “If you don’t get help.” 

“Yeah.” Ryan is a little shorter, “I’m here. There’s nothing else I can do.” 

“There’s a lot more you can fucking do.” Michael snaps back. 

“There’s a lot more you could have fucking done.” Ryan replies his anger quieter, like he’s trying not to be overheard. 

There’s a beat of silence between them, like they’re both aware of the repercussions of the conversations. Like both of them can feel their thirty years together hanging by a thread. 

“This it?” Michael calls out defeated. “This really it?”

“You don’t love me.” Ryan says, “Think all this shit’s my fault.”

“No.” Michael says quieter, “I love you. I love you so much.” 

“I got a lawyer.” Ryan sounds deflated, exhausted. “I’m not gonna make it hard, I just want it to be easy on Tal.”

“I don’t want lawyers.” Michael admits and he wishes he could show him all the unanswered emails in his inbox “I want you.” 

“You think we can get through this?” Ryan questions instead of validating Michael’s feelings, like he doesn’t really believe them, like he’s too guarded to give in. 

“I’m not quitting.” Michael echoes the promise he’d made in New York a few months ago. “We’ll get help.”

“I don’t want to quit either.” Ryan says so quietly Michael guesses he’s trying not to cry. 

They’re quiet on the phone for minutes. 

“You’re not your dad Ry.” Michael says gently because he can’t think of another way to comfort Ryan , “Something fucked up happened and it was hard.” 

“No I fucked up.” Ryan insists. 

“I…” Michael balks. 

It’s easy to let Ryan take the blame. To not admit fault.

“I cheated.” He forces himself to keep going, “I cheated. I was in New York and it didn’t go anywhere, I told him to leave before anything… Oliver snuck up with some friends, he saw it… He’s angry.” 

“I know.” Ryan says, “He told me.” 

Oliver’s loyalty to Ryan is painful to think about.  

“I had Oliver here and I let him leave.” Michael admits. 

“He’s mad.” Ryan says simply, “He’s having a hard time. He needs help.” 

“Tal’s here with me.” Michael reveals, “I don’t know where to take him.”

“I don’t think I get to tell you what to do.” Ryan admits, “I’d just bring him home. He needs his life normal.” 

Michael hears Talan move in the living room. 

“I have to go.” Michael tells Ryan, “Tal’s up.” 

“Right.” Ryan answers, “I um… I won’t email my lawyer.” 

“Don’t email.” Michael agrees trying to keep his answers vague, “We’ll talk later.” 

He hangs up on Ryan fast, faster than he knows is okay. Without saying I love you, without letting him know he’d keep checking in, and without asking when he can visit. 

“Was that Dad?” Talan asks walking into the kitchen. 

Tal hobbles a bit, hanging onto the back of the couch, then a chair, and then the counter. He winces when he has to take a full step by himself. 

“You need to use a cane.” Michael remembers, “Where’s your cane?” 

“Florida.” Talan shrugs, “In the kitchen?” 

“You have medication.” Michael tries desperately to think, “Pain killers.” 

“I don’t want them.” Talan refuses, “They make me drowsy.” 

“If you’re in pain you should…” Michael argues. 

“Was that Dad?” Talan interrupts, “It sounded like you were talking to Dad.” 

Talan sits on one of the low counter stools and looks at him expectantly.

“I talked to Dad.” Michael admits because what Talan needs is to know Ryan is okay. 

Talan closes his eyes and the facade he’s been putting on all afternoon quickly crumples. Michael walks out of the kitchen, grabs a box of tissues from the counter and sits next to him. 

“Dad’s getting help. ” 

Talan nods. 

“He’s going to be gone for a few weeks.” Michael says gently, “It’s just you and me for a bit.” 

“Are you gonna get a divorce?” Tal asks and his voice so sad and serious he doesn’t even sound like himself. 

“We’re going to try not to.” Michael chooses the truth. “But that’s not your problem.” 

“It is though.” Thad says frustrated, his hands balled in fists hitting the table, “No one gets it. It is my problem.” 

“You feel like it is, but it isn’t.” Michael empathizes. 

Talan groans in frustration before he hits the table again. 

Michael tries to stop his hands from hitting the table again. He cushion’s Tal’s fists with his open palms.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Michael tells him softly, “Take a deep breath.” 

“What did Ols see in New York?” Talan challenges instead of breathing, “Why’s no one telling me anything?” 

Michael balks. In the moment, alone with the other man in New York he hadn’t been thinking of his family, hadn’t been thinking about his kids and what destroying his relationship with Ryan would do to them. Had never expected Talan and Oliver to hold a  mirror up to his actions. 

“I let you down.” Michael chooses to say instead of answer Talan’s question, “I let Dad down.” 

Talan nods. 

“Dad let me down.” Talan’s voice is strained.

Parenting has never come easy to Michael. He’s always felt his patience was too short and his temper too quick. He got too used to walking away when things got difficult to let Ryan take the lead. Leaving Ryan to handle tantrums, big emotions, and difficult conversations. Falling back on Ryan to help smooth things over when he was too strict or too blunt.

Michael almost hands Talan the box of tissues but instead he reaches over and wipes tears off his face with his fingers. He lets Talan turn his face against his hand and keep sobbing. Lets him lean against his chest. 

“Your grandpa had a drinking problem and Dad…” Michael takes a second to think about what he wants to say, “Dad worried about his family a lot. It’s not your job to make things better for anyone. I’m sorry you felt like it was.” 

Talan nods again. 

“Dad and me are going to fix this.” Michael promises, “Things are going to get better starting now.” 

He waits for Tal to move or to say something but Talan keeps his face hidden against Michael’s hand. 

“Where d’you want to go?” Michael asks his way too quiet son. “We don’t have to stay here.”

“What?” Talan answers slow like it’s a trick question.

“It’s you and me.” Michael says, “Where d’you want to go?” 

The question gets Talan to sit back up in his chair. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and considers Michael carefully for a minute. 

“Do you feel guilty so you’ll get me anything I want?” Talan asks bluntly. 

“Pretty much.” Michael admits. “What will make you happy?” 

“I can go anywhere?” Tal asks. 

“Yes.” Michael answers simply. “Where do you want to go?”

 “Uh… home?” Talan says, “just home.”