25. Rowan
CHAPTER 25
ROWAN
F isher had been gone for an awful long time. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except that he was supposed to have chosen a paint color so we could start on his room this weekend. Every time I turned around this week, he was on his bike, or tinkering with his bike. That was definitely Gil’s influence.
Ever since Fisher met him, he’d been borderline obsessed. Gil was the kind of cool guy that any kid would love to have as a dad. Whereas I was a nerdy mortgage broker who wore bowties and whose idea of working on a car was driving it to the mechanic.
It wasn’t that Fisher and I didn’t have anything in common. We shared a love of the same kind of movies. We had the same sense of humor and enjoyed the same books for the most part. But Fisher’s new interest in wrenches and bike parts was definitely not my doing.
I’d told Fisher not to bother Gil. It didn’t seem right to let my kid go over there all the time and be a nuisance if Gil and I weren’t… whatever. We hadn’t been anything before and we weren’t anything now. It was definitely rude for me to let my kid go over there and stalk Gil in his garage. Because I knew without going down the street that Fisher was there and he wasn’t happy with me.
I sent Fisher a text telling him that I needed him home. I stared at my phone waiting to see if he’d even looked at it or not before sending another one.
Fisher answered after the second text, promising to be home soon.
How soon was soon, I asked. Fisher sent a shrugging emoji.
Theoretically, I could go down the street and drag him home. But that would mean seeing Gil, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. I’d staunchly avoided him since the last weekend because I knew I’d gotten in over my head with him and it was my own fault. Gil had been honest from the outset that we were sex and not a single thing more. It was my own greedy heart that had latched on to the idea of him. If only he’d been terrible to Fisher, I’d have a reason to cut him out without a second thought. But Gil was good to him, and good with him. He was patient and kind and he’d cared about my input.
Yeah, I’d gone off at the fact that he took Fisher on his bike, but I’d been looking for a reason to be mad at him because then I couldn’t be mad at myself. My desire to have more with him had been foolish, but I’d let myself daydream about it anyway. Even on the date with Brian, all I’d thought about was Gil. And it would seem that my kid also thought highly of him.
Fisher came inside a half an hour later, by which point my nerves were frayed.
“You weren’t bothering Gil, were you?”
Fisher had barely walked in the door before the words were out of my mouth.
He shrugged. “He said I wasn’t.”
“I asked you not to go over there.” The last thing I wanted was for Fisher to have his feelings hurt if Gil decided one day that he didn’t want his former fuck buddy’s kid hanging out in his garage.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me. I asked you not to do something and you did it anyway.”
“Because you’re being stupid. Gil likes me. He’s nice to me.”
“I know you like Gil, but I’d rather you didn’t bother him anymore. If I find out you’ve been over there again, I’ll ground you.”
“That’s stupid,” Fisher snapped. “It’s not fair.”
No, it wasn’t fair. In a perfect world, Gil would care for me the way I’d come to care for him. In a perfect world, he’d spend the night here and wake up in the morning and we’d eat breakfast, the three of us. We’d go on dates and hold hands in public. Silly things that couples did.
“No, it’s not fair. But it’s the rule.”
“It’s a stupid rule,” Fisher spat. Suddenly, he was the old Fisher. The angry pre-move Fisher who’d railed at anything and everything because of the emotional turmoil he’d been put under at school.
“I know you’re not happy, Fish,” I started to say, but he cut me off.
“I was happy, though. You dragged me all the way out here and yeah, no one picks on me because I don’t know anyone. But Gil took me on his bike and he teaches me shit, and he’s cool. He’s my friend.”
“I know you don’t understand, and I’m sorry, but what I say goes.”
Fisher’s expression was thunderous. Murder glinted in his gaze and, for the first time in his life, his temper flared hot enough to justify the stereotype of the angry redhead.
“What you say is stupid!” Fisher flung the door open and glared back at me. “You don’t want me to have any friends.”
“Fisher, that’s not true.” I started for the door, but he was off like a shot. My heart clenched in my chest, squeezing tight, not beating.
“I hate you!” Fisher tore out of the driveway on his bike, peddling for all he was worth. His helmet dangled from the handlebars as he sped away. I tried to chase after him, but he was too fast.
“Fisher! Fisher, come back!” I knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t turn around and come back. He hated me. I’d fucked everything up and now Fisher hated me.
Gil hated me.
Everyone hated me.
I went inside and tried to keep busy, but mostly I paced back and forth and looked out the window every two minutes, waiting for my son to return. I hated fighting with him, and he knew what it did to me when we left things unresolved. The worst of it was that I only had myself to blame.
One hour into Fisher’s vanishing act and the fear really started to set in. I’d tried to play it cool at first, telling myself that he’d be home any minute. But when an hour turned into an hour and a half, worry turned to panic. I’d tried his phone, but it kept going to voicemail. He’d clearly switched it off.
My chest squeezed so tight it was hard to draw a full breath. I thought about getting into my car to look for him, but I was halfway down the street before I realized what I was doing. Stopping for a breath, I put my hands on my knees and tried to calm myself. I could see Gil’s house from where I was. The garage door was open and it felt like an omen. An invitation.
I ran toward that door, my heart in my throat. My brain didn’t want to be reasonable. I knew that the likelihood of history repeating itself were slim to none, but I was irrationally terrified that something horrible was going to happen. Fear climbed into my veins and made my body tremble.
I stumbled up Gil’s driveway and hurled myself into his garage.
“Gil! Gil! He’s gone. Fisher. Gil, I can’t.” It was like I was having an out-of-body experience at this point. I was looking down on myself, knowing that I was being irrational and emotional, but unable to put the brakes on myself.
Gil appeared from under the hood of the car that never left the garage. “What do you mean, gone? He was just here.”
“We fought. Oh, God. We fought and he hates me and he left angry, and we’re not supposed to do that. We can’t leave angry.”
Gil came to me and put his hands on my arms. Gripping me by the shoulders, he stared into my eyes. “Rowan, deep breath.”
Right. Oxygen. I followed his lead and sucked a deep breath in. He had me let it out slowly. After the third one, I was slightly calmer, though still frantic, just more composed.
“Gil, we fought. He hates me. He’s so mad at me.”
“Kids get mad at their parents. It’s the law.”
“His mother. His mother… the night she died. We fought. We fought so bad and she left, and we never got a chance to put things right or say we were sorry. Gil, I can’t… I can’t lose him. I’ve lost everyone I care about. I lost my parents, and his mom, and now you. I can’t lose him too. He’s been gone for over an hour and he’s not answering texts or calls. I go straight to voicemail.”
Gil guided me to a five-gallon bucket that he’d overturned. I’d seen Fisher use it for a stool before and Gil plonked my ass down on it.
“Sit here. I’ll go look for him.” Gil was already on his bike and was shoving his helmet on before it registered that he was going to jump in and look for Fisher for me. On another day, I might have been more equipped to deal with Fisher’s rebellion, but it had been a long week with no sleep. I worked my day job, then came home and did renovations until nearly midnight some nights. Only to tumble into bed and toss and turn half the night.
Physically, I was exhausted, but emotionally, I was eviscerated. I’d already been hanging on by a thread when Fisher came home covered in dirt from tinkering in Gil’s garage with him. Not only had Fisher done the one thing I asked him not to, but he’d been right about me being stupid. His friendship with Gil should have been more important than my feelings.
When I realized that I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting on the bucket in Gil’s garage, I got to my feet and searched the garage and found an old envelope. I scrawled a note on the back telling Gil I’d gone home to wait for Fisher there and left it on the bucket I’d been perched on. I pulled the garage door shut as I left. For all I knew, Fisher might have gone home while I sat in a fog in Gil’s garage. The short walk felt like it was ten miles and when I got there, Fisher was still nowhere to be seen. His bike was still gone, but I checked the whole house and the back yard anyway.
It hit me how big and empty my house was without Fisher in it. Even when he was hibernating in his room, being anti-social, his presence offered comfort. I fled the house in favor of standing at the end of the driveway, looking up and down the street. I squinted, trying to make out if any mopey teenagers were making their way back to me. I strained to hear the familiar rumble of Gil’s bike, but I was met with nothing but the wind rustling and the odd car horn off in the distance.
I pulled out my phone and sent a flurry of text messages to Fisher.
I love you
I’m sorry
Come home and we’ll talk about this
I’m not mad
Fisher, please come home
Fisher, I’m worried
I love you
After I sent the last one, I sank down and sat on the curb. Part of me wanted to go look for him, but the other part of me knew that I shouldn’t get behind the wheel when I was one wrong move away from a full-blown anxiety attack. The familiar band of stress had wrapped around my chest the minute Fisher stormed out and I knew it wouldn’t let go until he came home.
Because he would come home. I refused to catastrophize.
He had to come home.