Chapter 8
Henry
Istruggled to keep my expression neutral. None of the reports mentioned the dichotomy. It couldn’t have gone unnoticed, so why wasn’t something this significant noted somewhere?
“Yeah. That or Mom had an affair. Dad even took a paternity test because he couldn’t believe his ‘great Fenton genes’ could’ve produced such a weird kid.”
With each new detail, my estimation of Nick’s family dropped impossibly lower.
None of it surprised me. Bullies with low self-esteem picked on anyone they perceived as weaker than them.
Outnumbered and alone, as strong as Nick was, he didn’t stand a chance in his family.
“Would it be out of line to say I don’t like your father. ”
“That makes two of us. But to return to the question, I turned running away from Jacob into running cross-country and track in junior high and high school. Luckily, I was good enough to get a scholarship so I could escape.”
Given Nick was an angel, his strength and endurance was superior to humans even before he grew into his full powers. “From what Trevor said and the medals in your room, you were quite a bit better than good enough.”
“I did well, yes, but that’s in the past. I don’t want to be that guy in Springsteen’s Glory Days song who can only talk about his big days in high school. It’s not like I was a world champion.”
The fact he wasn’t surprised me. Had Uriel meddled enough to make him good, but not too good? Angels weren’t allowed to be professional athletes because it would draw too much attention to our kind. “It’s okay to brag a little. You won’t turn into Al Bundy.”
“Al who?”
The problem with being over a hundred, was remembering to weed out pop culture references from prior generations.
“He was that guy on the sitcom who always talked about scoring four touchdowns in one game in high school because he’d grown up to be a shoe salesman.
I used to watch reruns as a kid with my dad. ”
‘Oh right. My dad hated that show, so we didn’t watch it.”
Probably because Al Bundy was too close to home for his father. “Trevor said you were an All-American three times?”
“It’s not as big a deal as it sounds. It means I finished in the top forty at Nationals. The highest I ever placed was ninth.”
I wouldn’t call Nick broken, but he was beaten down if he didn’t think he’d done something momentous. “Jeez, Nick. Top ten in the entire country? That is a big deal.”
“I know, but no one remembers who came in second. If you didn’t win, you lost.”
Something his father no doubt told him to knock him down a few pegs. “It’s not about who remembers, it’s about doing your best and being proud of it. Don’t listen to the jealous bullshit your family spouted. It’s quite an achievement.”
Nick snorted. “The most fucked up part is Dad would brag to anyone who’d listen about how great I did, but around me, it wasn’t worth spit. It made Jacob hate me even more hearing Dad tell others about what I’d done.”
In a twisted way it made total sense. Nick’s father couldn’t maintain his air of superiority over his son if he acknowledged the success, but anything that made him look better, he’d run into the ground.
“I’m impressed. And I’m not going to race you, but I wouldn’t mind coming along when you run.
I need to up my exercise level given my new desk job. ”
“That’d be awesome. I’d love to have someone to run with. And I promise I won’t try to race you. If I go too fast, let me know and I’ll dial it down.”
I hoped my acting skills were up to the challenge, because if I gave it my full effort, I’d almost certainly beat him. “Sounds good. Just remember to go easy on the old.”
“Right. Three years makes you so much older than me.”
The lies were starting to compound. My age varied with my task. Guarding Nick required I be about twenty-eight. Hardly an old man, even in his eyes. “They are three very hard years, let me tell you.”
“Okay, Grandpa.” Nick smiled and it made him glow.
Nick didn’t shy away from the past, but like anyone, he preferred to stay away from negative topics.
The hard part about getting to know someone was their past was an important part of who they were now.
I reached for something I hoped would keep the smiles coming. “Favorite sport other than running?”
“Oh, we’re going with safe topics for $100, are we?”
I knew Nick was smart, but he was also perceptive.
Several times he’d caught on when I subtly tried to steer things to something less upsetting.
Vicky had been right trying to keep me away from dating Nick.
Unfortunately, having started down this road, if I turned around, it would make it harder to guard him.
“It was that or work. Personally? My work is boring, so I’d rather not go there on my day off. ”
“Fair enough. Baseball.”
Interesting. I wonder how he’d react if he knew I’d met Babe Ruth, Cy Young, Willie Mays, and almost every other superstar in the sport. “Being from New York, are you a Yankee fan?”
“Hell no!” Nick frowned as he shook his head. “The Mets, of course.”
He said it like it was so obvious. The Mets had been second fiddle in New York since they were founded. “How could you choose them over a team with twenty-seven world titles?”
“Please, they bought every one of them. Besides, I was born and raised on Long Island.”
I knew what he meant, but I wanted to hear his answer. “What does that mean?”
“Back to family for a moment, but this ends well, I promise.” Nick made a face and blew out a breath.
“When I was a kid, I used to love playing catch with my granddad. Dad and Jacob were football fans and said baseball was for pussies who couldn’t take a hit.
Which was in part a dig at my grandfather who played college baseball.
“Me and Grandpa bonded over baseball and his team was the Mets. He used to take me to games every month in the summer. It was easier to get to Shea Stadium, since it was on the Island. Yankee Stadium’s in the Bronx, which is way harder to get to.
My grandmother would pack us a lunch. Grandpa would sneak in peanuts, and we take the train to Jamaica then hop on the subway. Just me and him. It was our thing.”
The smile on Nick’s face said how much these memories meant to him. “Sounds like a good time.”
“The best. For the last two years, now that I have a job, my Father’s Day gift to Grandpa is a trip to Citi Field. I think he looks forward to it as much as I do. My grandmother still makes our lunch, and we still sneak in the peanuts.”
I wanted to make it so Nick could live in moments like this forever. He’d taken everything his shitty family threw at him and didn’t let it change who he was at his core. “I might need to let you take me to a Met’s game if it makes you this happy.”
“Careful what you promise. You won’t be allowed to wear a Yankees hat if you want to sit with me.”
There was no question who I’d sit with. “Deal.”
Nick:
Frederick was a charming little town with a mixture of old and new buildings interspersed with green spaces and sidewalks. It wasn’t New York City, or even Washington, but it exceeded my admittedly low expectations. Although, visiting with Henry probably influenced my opinion more than a little.
The day was perfect for exploring a new place. Blue cloudless sky, little humidity, and temperatures in the mid-sixties; I couldn’t have ordered better weather.
Our first stop was a small café we’d seen on the way to the parking garage.
It was a quaint brick building with outdoor seating shaded by an overhang.
New York had some great bakeries, but the chocolate croissants were as good or better than any I’d had in college.
The coffee was good and the atmosphere very relaxed.
The antique shops were an eclectic mix of junk, reproductions, and the real deal. Henry breezed through the knick-knack sellers, avoided the boutiques selling new stuff, and got excited entering the ones selling true antiques.
Name a high-end brand and Henry seemed to know it intimately. The way he talked, he sounded like he'd owned many of the things offered for sale. It was humbling that someone barely three years older than me, had crammed so much more living into his life.
We left the last shop without either of us buying anything. For someone who loved antiques, he didn't seem too serious about buying.
"Nothing interesting?" I asked when we made it to the sidewalk.
"Not really. I don't need anything, and most items weren't worth the price."
Another of my prejudices hit the skids. I always assumed rich people spent money because they could, not because they needed things. "How could you tell?"
"Other than the woman who owned the first shop we visited, the others don't really know what they're doing. Most of the things offered were mass produced in the first half of the last century. They’re old, so they're antiques, but they're not especially valuable."
That sounded like a con. "So, they're fake?"
"Not at all. They're exactly what they claim to be.”
If Henry meant to confuse me, he succeeded. “Can you break that down for me?”
“I didn’t mean to be cryptic.” He stopped by a bench and we sat. “There are two basic reasons to buy an antique; you like it, or it's valuable. For example, if you see a table you like, you’d ask is the price worth it to you, or should you look for a cheaper table.
“Some items, like a limited edition 1965 Maserati Quattroporte Series 1, are rare and inherently valuable. The asking price reflects their worth. That’s a huge oversimplification, because you could want the car so badly, you’ll way overpay, or you might like the table, but you don’t want to pay what it’s worth.
“Most of what we saw wasn’t inherently valuable, so the worth was determined by what someone would pay.”
To me, all we saw were thrift store items with outrageous price tags, but Henry saw much more. “What made you say the shop owners didn’t know their business?”
“The first shop, the owner clearly knew what she’d bought.
The older, more valuable pieces were priced higher than similar mass-produced items. In the other three shops, I saw things worth more being priced the same as similar items with lower value.
It felt like those owners saw every old table as old and worth the same.
Again, I’m generalizing and have zero evidence to support my theory. ”
Henry flashed me a grin that would’ve made my knees weak if I’d been standing. “What I do know for sure, is there was nothing in those shops I wanted or had inherent value worth collecting.”
Either I was completely whipped or Henry was a great storyteller because he’d made antiquing interesting to me, and I hated shopping. “I didn’t see anything either.”
“That’s good because I’d hate to embarrass the proprietor by pointing out why their merchandize wasn’t worth buying.”
I doubted Henry would do something that mean. Which could be another symptom of being really into him. “Is now a good time to suggest we get lunch?”
“Bored you that much did I?”
He said it with a laugh, but I wondered if I’d insulted him. “Not at all, I’m such a doofus when it comes to this stuff, I’d need a full-time tutor to keep me from making an expensive mistake.”
“I was teasing, but if you ever need it, I’d be happy to volunteer for the job.”
The thought of Henry as my personal guide almost made me interested in antique shopping. “I’ll keep that in mind, but for now, I want to take you to lunch.”
“Lunch sounds good, but you don’t have to pay.”
Anticipating this reaction, I had a response at the ready. “Fair enough. Let me know what dinner and the room cost and I’ll give you the cash for my half.”
“You think that’s going to happen?”
Henry’s “whatever” face was adorable. It was also useless. “Are you suggesting I can’t afford to pay for myself?”
He started to answer, snapped his mouth shut, and smiled. I didn’t expect the last bit, or when Henry took my hand in his. “How long have you been working on your comeback?”
I heard the question, but my brain focused on our hands.
Henry's touch was like a drug. I got lightheaded from the surge of good feels it gave me.
No one had held my hand in public in a long time.
The small act sent a big signal. Henry liked me enough to let others know I was with him.
"Since you said you were going to take me to dinner tonight. "
"Is this okay?" He squeezed my hand gently.
He looked worried like he’d upset me. As if holding my hand would ever offend me. Clearly he couldn’t read my body language. "Better than okay. I like it."
Henry smiled so wide, it enveloped his whole face. “Good, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Seeing him this happy and knowing I was the reason, erased most of my hesitation about pushing further. A part of me worried he’d come to his senses and realize I wasn’t as good as he thought, but I tried not to let my fears control my actions. “You don’t. Not even a little.”
“Great.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of hand. “Now, about lunch.”
Part of this issue was of my making, given my reaction to wealth, but the truth was, we needed to deal with it now, or it would forever be a problem.
“I’m buying lunch, and that’s settled. I’m not broke or even poor.
I have a good job, I’m a good saver, and I can afford to go out and still pay my bills.
I promise not to try and keep up with you—because I know I can’t—but I do want to be able to pay for us to go out sometimes.
If you let me pay for what I can afford, I won’t feel too guilty I can’t do more. ”
I watched him as I spoke, hoping I didn’t offend him. He didn’t react much, and that worried me. I wasn’t expecting penitent Henry, but I thought he’d show some emotions. When I finished, he bowed his head a little.
“I’m sorry, Nick. You’re right. It’s part of my nature to take care of people, but that’s not how this is supposed to work. I’ll promise not to fuss if you want to pay for some things, so long as you promise not to pay for more than you can afford.”
It wasn’t perfect, and we’d need to talk about this again, but it would get us past lunch. “It’s a start.”