Page 88 of Just Past Two

He only stopped when the program started to blur in his eyes and he couldn’t stare at the screen any longer, and then he got to his feet and made another lap around the house. He could call Dee and she would be comforting and kind, but that wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now. Instead, he dialed Matthew. He’d still be at work, but Silas could leave him a voice mail.

Instead, Matthew picked up. “Silas? What’s up?” It was like he already knew that something was wrong, because Silas could hear the concern in Matthew’s voice.

“Hey.” Silas’s original plan was just to talk about the adaptive equipment he was designing, but at the warmth in Matthew’s tone, everything came tumbling out. “Listen. I just got put on a four-week leave of absence from work. I’ve spent the whole afternoon designing things for your cat and I could really use a drink. I thought maybe you could help me out.”

Long silence.

“I know it’s still work, and you’re still at work. I just . . . needed to check in with someone.” Silas heard his voice catch and felt a hot rush of embarrassment. His eyes were unexpectedly blurry with unshed tears. He rubbed at his face to dispel them. He would not cry. He was not a person who cried.

“No, that’s cool, man. I’m here.” He heard some noises on the other end of the line, shuffling papers. “I’ve got a bit more to do, but I’ll bet I can cut out of here a few minutes early. Want me to pick you up so you don’t have to drive?”

Silas exhaled slowly, willing his voice to remain steady. It took all his focus to sound normal, but soon the numbness took over again. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “No, I’m fine to drive. I can meet you at your place.” Silas wasn’t sure he’d be fine to drive afterward, but he could always take a cab home. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Come by at five. I’ll see you then.” Matthew hung up.

Matthew walked at a healthy clip, one hand gently swinging the take-out bag from the little mom-and-pop Italian place around the corner where he’d ordered two heaping servings of fresh lasagna for him and Silas. He figured it was a comfort food kind of night.

Matthew still couldn’t believe Silas had reached out to him in a moment of what seemed like real struggle. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the guy’s tone. He’d been distant, a bit distracted, not sounding nearly as distraught as Matthew felt he probably was. His tone hid all of that behind a calm, placid demeanor. Silas sounded almost numb. Definitely detached. Matthew hoped he could give Silas what he needed—generally, he was the type of guy to offer a few empty platitudes but tell people the absolute truth, even if it was harsh. He wasn’t sure Silas was the kind of guy for empty platitudes, but he was definitely sure he was a guy who would appreciate absolute truth. He wouldn’t need to sugarcoat things with Silas. And while he hated that the guy was so obviously hurting, he couldn’t help but be a little bit flattered that Silas had sought him out when he was at his most vulnerable.

Just then Matthew’s phone buzzed, and he picked up to hear Silas’s voice. “Are you almost here? I’m in the parking garage.”

“Sure, man, I’ll come down and meet you. I just went to get some food.” He went through the building and down the stairs to find Silas, who was just getting out of his car. His expression was wild, eyes large and desperate, jaw set. He looked like a man on the verge of losing his shit. So much for numb.

“Hey. Come on in.” Matthew let him in and guided him to the elevator, one hand resting on Silas’s elbow, the other holding the bag of food. “I got Italian. Thought you could use a good meal.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel much like eating, but I skipped lunch so I probably should. Dee says I tend to forget to eat too often.” He smiled, but it was an empty grin. “I don’t even know what she’s going to say to this. I haven’t told her yet.”

“You can tell her later tonight, after you eat and settle down a bit.” Matthew heard himself being soothing, like he’d talk to a wild animal too skittish to trust. “Come on. Red Rose has the best Italian. I even got garlic bread, because it’s a sin not to get their garlic bread.”

Silas followed him robotically from the elevator into his apartment and then sat down at the table. “I was hoping you could get me drunk, too.”

Matthew stopped the laugh in his throat. Silas probably wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at, even though his delivery was pretty funny. “Let’s take it one step at a time. Being drunk is fun in the moment and not fun at all afterward. Let’s get food into you first. Alcohol later.” He scooped the lasagna onto plates and set one in front of Silas along with silverware and a glass of water.

“Water?” Silas raised an eyebrow.

“In case you want to get drunk later, you’ll want to stay hydrated now.” Matthew nodded solemnly to encourage Silas to yield, which he did after a moment. Silas dug into his lasagna without comment. Matthew watched him for signs of life, but he didn’t give many. The rate at which he was putting away the food was encouraging, though. He started eating his own portion, using the garlic bread to mop up the leftover sauce, and settled into the silence. Silas would talk when he was ready. Until then, Matthew would provide food and, when the time came, alcohol.

Silas started talking when he’d finished his lasagna and garlic bread and moved on to the cannoli that Matthew had also brought home, because sometimes sugar helped. “I’m not much of a guy for idle indulgences,” he said between bites. “I suppose you’ve figured that out by now.”

“I’ve got a sense of it, yeah. The cannoli’s good, though, right?” He picked up his own cannoli and gestured with it, a few flakes of shaved chocolate drifting off into the Styrofoam container in which the pastries had been packaged.

“Yes. I’ve never had one before.”

“No shit. You’ve never had a cannoli? Dude, you had a deprived upbringing.” Matthew shook his head in sadness for all the cannolis that had gone untried in Silas’s lifetime.

“Not deprived, just . . . austere.” Silas chewed a bite of his cannoli thoughtfully, his expression more settled than before, less wild. “My parents were both believers in hard work and discipline. I grew up in an environment that prized achievement and didn’t coddle weakness. It was good. It made me understand the value of my accomplishments. No participation trophies at my house.” He smiled bitterly. “They were proud of me when I made something of myself. I suppose I grew to accept nothing less.”

“And you still feel that way.” Matthew could tell these values had not diminished despite Silas’s parents having died a few years ago.

Silas nodded as he crunched his cannoli, the pastry shell crumbling around his fingers and falling in pieces onto the napkin. He finished his bite, then began picking up the delicate shards and eating them one by one. “I don’t know, maybe. It’s easy to blame them and say that they’re the reason I’m committed to my job like I am, but I think after you turn twenty, you can’t keep blaming your parents for the way you are, right?” Silas shrugged. He was looking a little more relaxed now after a full meal and midway through his dessert. The last bits of cannoli disappeared into his mouth. A bit of sweetened ricotta filling stuck to his upper lip, and he licked it away. Matthew found himself watching Silas’s tongue with interest, wanting to reach out a finger and trace the path it had just traveled. Matthew shook himself free of that thought—Silas had come to him for conversation and comfort, not a booty call. He needed to get hold of himself.

He realized he’d been asked a question. “I suppose you’re right.” He admired Silas for not trying to place blame. “But they had an impact.”

“Of course they did. As a kid, I wanted all the gaming systems and junk food that other kids wanted. I never wanted to do work. I wanted to goof off and make nothing of myself. My parents taught me discipline.” He said the last sentence with determination, but to Matthew it sounded more like a rehearsed line than something he believed. After a moment, Silas tipped his head to the side. “I don’t know. Maybe they taught me too much discipline.” He brushed his hands off on his napkin. “I’m ready for that drink now.”

Matthew got to his feet, bringing the dishes into the kitchen. Silas followed him with his own plates, but Matthew tried to shoo him away. “I’ll get that. Don’t worry about it.”

“Please let me do something.” Silas’s tone had a rough edge to it, some kind of desperation like when he’d first arrived, so Matthew acquiesced and let him put the plates into the dishwasher.