Chapter 5 Mark
MARK
The orderly facade of my parents’ house was a stark contrast to the nerves rattling through me as I pulled into the circular drive.
Coming home used to feel more like a respite, even if my dad had always been hard-nosed.
But ever since the end of summer, when my dad and I had had a tense showdown over my relationship with Chet, it had just unsettled me.
I showed up for my mom and Marta, though. Not for my dad.
The shoulder strap of Chet’s homemade toga kept slipping, and watching him slide it back into place with a frustrated growl as I parked made me smile, a brief reprieve from the anxiety crawling just under my skin.
“How do women deal with this shit on a daily basis?” he groused, fiddling with the strap again.
“For one, they’re usually not wearing cut-up bedsheets, but someone had to be fucking stubborn about it. I told you five million times we should get a better one. Two, after you refused, and right before we walked out the door fifteen minutes ago, I told you to tape it.”
Chet aimed a flat stare in my direction, and I bit back a laugh.
“Yeah, and you handed me duct tape. Duct tape. Sorry if I’m committed to keeping the top layer of my skin intact.
” He narrowed his eyes at my grin. “You should’ve been Patroclus and I should’ve been Achilles.
” He gestured at the faux leather tunic I was wearing.
It was unexpectedly flattering if I did say so myself, stayed securely where it was supposed to, and was definitely more comfortable than his sheet.
Very freeing for the legs and undercarriage.
Chet was as stubborn as I’d accused, though, not wanting to spring for a legit costume because he was saving up for law school, yet refusing to let me help. I should’ve just done it, regardless.
“You’re textbook Patroclus, though. Tragic, loyal, and way smarter than me,” I reminded him.
He shot me a gimlet-eyed look. “You’d better be just as loyal as Patroclus or there’ll be hell to pay. I already feel like a side piece right now. And do I need to remind you Patroclus was murdered?”
“I’m more loyal than Patroclus could ever dream of.
They were all banging anything and everything anyway.
” At least I was pretty sure they were. Greeks and hedonism weren’t associated for nothing.
Joke was on Chet, though, because I was crazy about him.
Even pawing at his armpit like he was just then, still messing with the toga.
I pushed his hand gently away and fixed the folds.
“Could be worse. You could’ve been Hector.
” I shrugged. “Plus, Achilles was notoriously bad at feelings, so that tracks.” I meant it as a joke, but as I turned the engine off and glanced over at the house, it came out way more somber.
The house looked like it was watching us. Hell, for all I knew, my dad was in his study right now, staring out the window at us and hoping the power of his fury would incinerate Chet on the spot.
For that reason, and so many others, I leaned over, nosing my way along Chet’s jaw to his lips, where I kissed him.
He sighed into the kiss, then pulled back, flicking a studious gaze over me as he brushed his fingers along the tops of my thighs, grounding me. “You good?”
I looked beyond his shoulder at the cement lion statues guarding the sweeping steps up to the double front doors. I’d given a lot of thought recently to the meaning of home. It’d shifted for me since Chet and I had gotten together, less a physical place now and more a feeling.
I sucked in another breath and exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I’m good.”
It was my mom who’d asked us to stop by so she could see our costumes.
Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. I might’ve blown it off in the past, too, but fall and winter were tough seasons for her, and I could hear in her voice that she was toeing the line.
I didn’t love being around my dad these days, but I’d do anything for her.
“We don’t have to stay long, remember, and if or when you give me the bat signal, we’re out of there. I’ll break windows if I have to,” Chet said.
I sucked my lower lip and nodded. I was being a baby.
Plenty of folks struggled with their parents.
I wasn’t special. Chet had to deal with far shittier circumstances on a daily basis, on top of knowing my dad didn’t like him, and he still seemed completely unbothered by his condescending stares.
His resilience was something I admired. That was why he was Patroclus.
It wasn’t just his IQ that was probably higher, it was his emotional intelligence, too. “Alright, let’s do this.”
The white gleam of his smile put me at ease. Goddamn, he’d have been devastating on a battlefield, I just knew it. “Troy awaits.”
Which was what it felt like walking up to the door. Chet fell in step beside me, matching my stride.
The door opened before we were up the steps, and my mom waved.
She wore an orange cardigan, a black pearl necklace, and a smile that widened as she took us in.
“You both look so handsome.” She sounded cheerful, but there was effort in it, and I could tell she was relieved we’d shown.
I gave her a hug and kissed her cheek, then released her so she could sweep Chet into a hug, saying, “Come in and eat something. Marta made appetizers.”
“We can’t stay too long,” I warned her. “I pulled jump scare duty in the haunted maze this year.” I made a face, though I was secretly glad it gave us an excuse to bail if shit turned sour. “Is Dad here?”
“He’s working in his office. I’m sure he’ll come out and say hello.
He’ll be glad you came.” The way she said ‘glad’ did a shitty job at hiding the truth, but I gave her points for effort.
She’d spent the last six months walking a tightrope of tension between my dad and me.
The least I could do was make this visit as painless as possible.
She led us toward the kitchen, one arm threaded through Chet’s as she peppered him with questions about his classes.
We turned into the kitchen and found Marta at the marble island, arranging cut-up veggies on a platter.
She glanced at us and dropped the knife in her hand in favor of clutching her chest. It was so damn dramatic I couldn’t tell if she was feigning a heart attack or pretending to be awestruck.
Either was likely. “My god, is there a Hellenic porn star convention in town?” She peered closer at us, particularly Chet, fanning herself while Chet cracked up and my mom let out a laughing admonishment.
Then, her gaze turned scrutinizing. “That toga better not be from the set of sheets I gave you. Those are your mom’s Egyptian cotton and—”
I cut her off before she could get more specific and make Chet feel bad, because they were, in fact, the Egyptian cotton sheets.
Marta had a thing about sheets. “It’s not.
We grabbed a cheap set at Walmart.” She didn’t need to know that the sheet had sustained enough liquid damage over the last several months that it seemed like a natural sacrifice.
Satisfied, Marta went back to her board of veggies, fiddling with a garnish before she nudged it toward us, along with a Halloween-themed charcuterie.
Mom took a few pictures of us in our costumes, and then Marta took some of my mom and us.
The longer we were there without my dad appearing, the more I relaxed, deciding maybe he was planning to avoid us altogether.
Fine by me. Chet and I dove into some kind of salami and cheese thing Marta had arranged in the shape of a skull, and my mom poured herself a glass of wine.
And then came his footsteps down the hall, measured as an executioner. He appeared in the doorway, still wearing his suit. Cufflinks, silk tie, every hair in place and as controlled as ever. I’d looked up to him once. Now that seemed so far away.
He hesitated in the doorway for a beat, which was enough time for me to steel my jaw against the adrenaline that shot through me.
Then he gave us a nod, all business. “Your mother said you’d be coming by.
” He came fully into the kitchen, his gaze diverting to the spread on the counter, before skipping aside and lingering on the arm I’d slung around Chet’s shoulders out of protective instinct. Not that he needed it.
“Chet,” my dad said next. It came out as stiff as his shellacked hair.
I tensed, ready to step in if he got ugly. It’d happened before.
And then my dad stuck out his hand for a handshake.
I blinked, caught completely off-guard. Chet was much smoother, taking my dad’s hand and meeting his eyes evenly.
My dad’s handshake was the kind of vice grip that had broken lesser men, forged by bankers, golf club rivals, and the numerous people he’d fired over the years.
“Mr. Farrow.” Chet held steady, not flexing a muscle, even when I could tell my dad cranked his grip a little tighter. And fuck, the grip, the eye contact, the subtle swagger, the fearlessness... If I wasn’t already in love with the guy, this moment would’ve tipped me headlong into it.
A muscle in my dad’s jaw jumped, like he was fighting the urge to say something and then thought the better of it.
He released Chet’s hand and took a backward step, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
I imagined he wasn’t used to getting psychically pantsed by a guy half his age wearing a bedsheet.
Chet was gonna be killer in a courtroom.
Dad gave my leather tunic a once-over, and then Chet’s toga a longer look. “You’re not cold in that?”
He was actually making conversation on top of the handshake? Were we in the Twilight Zone? I shot a look at my mom, then Marta, who stood just outside of my dad’s visual field and offered a clueless shrug. Maybe my dad was high.
“Nah, it gets pretty hot at the Sigma house. I’m sure you remember,” Chet said, smiling.