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“I didn’t see that.” I get regular reports from his teachers about his academic progress, as well as samples of his work. Not everything, though. I’d have to call the dean and change that.
He lifts his hand to the distant horizon like a Shakespearean poet and speaks.
I saw a world, in my head
And on the TV screen
It sang a song of violence—
Blood no one had to clean
“You wrote that? It’s actually good. And insightful.”
“Always with the note of surprise,” he says with an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m mostly surprised you have a PlayStation. Didn’t you lose your electronics privileges after the last time you were expelled?”
“I didn’t come here to be interrogated,” he says. “I came here to interrogate you. What’s this about you and Eva Morelli? You’re engaged?”
Christ. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about it.”
“Ya think? I’m not even sure the engagement is legal if I haven’t met her. Isn’t she supposed to ask for your father’s hand in marriage? Since Dad can’t do it, I’ll stand in. I have lots of questions to ask her.”
“Very funny. And engagements aren’t legal.”
“Engagements are the path to legality, my friend. Marriage is forever.”
Marriage is not forever. It’s until I turn into a pumpkin. Then there’s just an intelligent, generous, loving woman trapped with me. “My relationship with Eva is…complicated.”
“That’s what you call fuck buddies, Finn. Not your fiancée.”
I groan at the reminder that I need to have an apparently very late talk about the birds and the bees with him. Since when does he use the term fuck buddies? He’s growing up too fast at that boarding school. He didn’t want to go, but Mom thought it would be best. She said that growing up around my dad would be too depressing.
She doesn’t think I should live with him either.
The nurses handle his main care. The bathing and feeding. The daily walks for exercise. Sometimes they read to him or help with puzzles. Maybe it doesn’t matter that I’m here most evenings. Or that I come home early and soothe him when he’s in distress. But I can’t help but think that if there’s a chance that he’s in there, if there’s a part of him that’s glad I’m here, then it’s worth it. It doesn’t escape my notice that I’m denying myself the same comfort I give him. There’s some irony in that, I suppose.
“You know my feelings about marriage,” I say.
Hemingway nods.
“And my feelings on children.”
“Mhmmm,” he says, drawing out the sound. Waiting for an explanation.
“My ideas about those things haven’t changed.”
“This is going to be a real surprise to the woman you proposed to.”
It’s impossible to explain what came over me at the Morelli family dinner. She was standing in the intersection of their lives, keeping them each from imploding. And I couldn’t take it. I needed them to leave her the fuck alone. Or better yet, focus on what they could do for her. So I’d made up the lie. It was impulsive. Stupid. And strangely addictive.
Some perverse impulse inside me likes the lie.
“It’s fake,” I admit, blowing out a breath. “A fake relationship. A fake engagement. A way to get her family off her back. We enjoy each other’s company. We respect each other. But we aren’t really dating. And the truth is we aren’t really engaged.”
“Wow.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.”
