Ten minutes into their lesson, and Jem has to call it quits. He's exhausted, his student is miserable, and no progress is going to be made like this. With a sigh, he lowers his violin, knowing it won't be played again for at least another half hour. "Would you like a cup of cocoa?"
Jamie makes a funny face that betrays nothing at all. Jem had been a shy kid too, and it'd taken some especially caring adults to open him up. Jem rises, closing the music book on the stand. "Come on, I'll let you scoop the chocolate yourself."
His kitchen is small, but clean, and Jamie himself looks like a tiny centerpiece, sitting on a too-big chair and stirring his cocoa with a fist wrapped around his spoon. Jem takes the seat across from him. It's a little strange, sharing the same name with a five year old. He'd caused himself a headache one night, imagining Jamie growing up and teaching violin lessons to another James, and the ongoing cycle continuing.
"I'm sorry I kept messing up," Jamie mumbles. He sticks the spoon in his mouth and it bulges out through his cheeks.
Jem smiles. "It's alright. I know how well you can play when you're in the right mood. But you seemed distracted today."
Jamie nods, fixated on his mug.
"Is there something bothering you?" Jem prods.
At first, Jem doesn't think he's going to get an answer. Then: "Can I have a marshmallow?"
"Um." Jem glances over the cabinets. "I might have some peeps from Easter."
"Please?" Jamie's honey eyes widen a fraction, and Jem has a feeling this kid is used to getting what he wants.
"How about I make it a reward?" Jem says. "But you have to tell me what's bugging you first."
Jamie's tiny mouth screws up. His nose scrunches, and it might just be one of the cutest things Jem has ever seen. "Kay…" Jamie fidgets in his seat. His hands jam under his thighs. "It's my mommy."
Gravity tightens its hold and the air flow in the room halts. "Did she do anything to hurt you?" Jem's tone is neutral and oh so carefully soft.
Jamie shakes his head, making an unhappy noise. "It's her birthday today."
"Oh." Jem's shoulders relax for a moment, before he realizes he may have stepped onto even thinner ice. "Is there going to be a party to celebrate?"
"That's what we always do. 'Cept not this year."
"Why not?"
"Cause she's not here!" Jamie blurts out. It's the first time he's risen above mumbles, and there's something inexplicably painful about the high-pitched anguish of a child. A fat tear rolls down Jamie's flushed cheek, though he quickly scrubs it away. "No one's ever missed their own party before. Not even when Lucie broked her wrist, cause Mommy fed her cake with a spoon."
Jem is maybe considering he shouldn't have started this in the first place, because it's really none of his business. But for all he knows, Jamie doesn't have a single responsible adult in his life. "Is there an important reason why your mommy can't be here?"
"Daddy says she's gone. Gone and she can't come back and 'that's that young man.'" The real crying starts kicking in and Jem slides the tissue box across the table, helping to dab his face dry.
It takes a good few minutes to calm him down, but it's completely worth it, to see evidence of Jamie's tension uncoil from his face, his shoulders, his slumped chest. Jem ruffles Jamie's messy hair and offers a gentle smile. "You know, your mommy might not be here for this birthday, but the good memories you have of her will always stay with you. I bet you had a lot of fun at her last birthday?"
Jamie makes a wobbly, sniffly noise. There's snot bubbling from his nose, and Jem wipes that off too, glad for his experience with Max. "Yeah, I guess," Jamie squeaks.
"Can you tell me what you remember? I'd love to know."
And that's how Jem spends the rest of his Monday evening lesson. With his chin propped in his hand and listening intently to some (heavily embellished) accounts of a stranger's last two birthdays, as seen through the eyes of child. Jamie's mood improves more and more, the edge of his shyness evaporating just like it always does as they progress through a regular lesson. Jem can't stifle his smile whenever Jamie explodes into giggles. The sound is pure, genuine delight.
By the time the doorbell rings, they've already moved back into the living room. Jem is gathering up all of Jamie's music books and Jamie is standing there, watching, one hand clutching his violin case and the other suffocating a pastel marshmallow rabbit.
Usually, Jem stays in the doorway to ensure his younger students make it to their parents' cars safe and sound. This time is different. He walks Jamie down to the Hyundai Sonata waiting by the curb and knocks on its passenger's side window. It's tinted, so Jem can't see a thing inside. His stomach is churning, but what needs to be done is hardly ever easy.
The driver's door opens and a tall man steps out. Black curls, Jem notes, just like his son. "Get inside," he orders, and Jamie obeys without a word.
The man has to walk around his car to join Jem on the sidewalk, and in those short few seconds, Jem comes to the conclusion that he's very attractive. And that he's never seen eyes so blue in his life.
"You want to speak with me about something?" Mr. Herondale adjusts his tie and collar like it's second nature.
"Yes, it's about your son. He was having a hard time concentrating today."
Mr. Herondale eyes Jamie in the backseat of his car. The boy is staring at the floor and hugging his books to his chest.
"He told me it's his mother's birthday."
"Did he now? I'll have a talk with him, I'm sorry he bothered you."
"There's no need to apologize," Jem says quickly. "I was just going to suggest that you go over the topic with him. Jamie needs emotional support right now. He should understand why exactly his mother can't be there." Only foggily can Jem picture the woman from Jamie's first lesson. Some brunette and a name beginning with 't'.
Mr. Herondale's expression hardens and sends chills snaking down Jem's back. "His mother isn't a part of his life anymore. There is no other reason worth going over."
"So you're going to pretend she never existed?" Jem effectively muffles his incredulity. It simmers though, just below the surface. "And Jamie is supposed to go along with that?"
"I'll thank you to let me decide how to raise my own kids. If I wanted advice, the last person I would ask is a childless college student getting his music degree."
Jem's nails dig into his palms. The music thing is a low blow, too contrite to be hurtful, and they look about the same age anyway. It's Jamie Jem's angry for. How an adult could be so pretentious as to ignore their child's welfare for the sake of their ego.
"From someone who lost their parents when they were very young," Jem calls out after Mr. Herondale, who's already rounded his car. The man pauses, hand on the door handle, probably waiting for Jem to shut up so Jamie doesn't overhear any of it. "I speak from experience," Jem continues. "When people censored their names in conversation or ignored them in stories, it didn't give me space or help me heal. It made me cling tighter. Because I thought everyone else in the world had forgotten them."
Mr. Herondale climbs into his expensive car. Slams the door. His tires screech on the pavement and Jem is left alone on the sidewalk.
Asshole, he thinks. Then he sighs, feeling the sharp sting of worry as he heads back into his house.
"So call child protective services."
"Alec, for godsakes." Jem drops the milk carton at the bottom of their shopping cart. It rumbles the metal and makes Max gurgle. "He's not abusing his kid."
"Then stop whining about him and help me find the bread section."
"We passed it five minutes ago. It's not an aisle, it's on a bunch of tables."
"Jam," Max coos, waving a chubby fist at Jem. He offers his pinkie finger up for sacrifice, smiling and letting Max grapple it with his tiny fingers.
"Whoever designed this place needs to be fired. Ugh! All I ask for is some common sense. They might as well put the ice cream at the checkout stand."
"Get enough sleep lately?" Jem asks, perfectly meek and pushing the cart after Alec's angry strides.
"Maybe I would. If Magnus' business trips were a little less frequent."
Jem wants to ask, but Alec gets annoyed when his passive aggressive comments get taken too seriously. He just stares as Alec loads one loaf too many into the cart-or maybe four or five. Even Max looks skeptical.
"I don't need your judgement," Alec says. "You've never tasted Magnus' french toast before. I guess we still need eggs, huh?"
"Wasn't the guy such a jerk though?"
Alec looks thoughtful as he threads his fingers through Max's wooly hair. "What's his name?"
"William," Jem replies immediately. He'd reread the cursive on the check Jamie had handed him. "Or...Bill? Liam?"
"Wiley?" Alec suggests.
"Just-no."
"You started it."
"I'd take it all back if I could."
"I mean yeah, this Wiley guy is pretty dense. But that's no reason to get so worked up over it." Alec hijacks the cart from him and spins it in place, leading them in an all new direction. This is received with some happy bouncing from Max. Alec grins. "Dada's gonna get you some diapers now, okay?"
"Dada!" Max shrieks with delight.
"Because you sure do stink sometimes, Maxi-taxi."
Jem can't help but silently agree. They're entering the baby aisle when his hand darts out and he grips Alec's arm with a vengeance.
"If you would kindly release me, I need that to carry my infant for a few more years-"
"That's him."
Alec straightens. "Who?"
"Wiley. Don't act like...yourself."
"Thanks for the self-esteem boost," Alec mutters as the cart rolls forward. He stops in the area with diaper brands, but openly gawks over his shoulder. Jem would elbow Alec's side if he wasn't looking too. William is at the other end of the aisle, browsing the bottles while the little girl in his cart kicks up her legs. Jamie trails after his father, looking about as bored as any kid forced to grocery shop.
"Oh," Alec breathes. "I see now why you're so obsessed. The guy is hot."
"Not really," Jem says, not meaning it at all.
"He looks a disconcerting amount like me. Do you have any lovesick confessions to make, Carstairs?"
"You first, since Magnus and I both have black hair and brown eyes. Isn't that where the similarities end?"
"A fair point."
"And I'm not obsessed," Jem says. "With his looks. It's something else."
"His personality? Douchebag child-neglecter. You really know how to pick 'em."
Will isn't that bad. He'd been rude, yes, and condescending. But Jem can see how much he cares about his kids, in the gentle way he tucks his daughter's curls behind her ear. It's hard to blame a single parent for having issues with their spouse. And Jem realizes it's not Will he's been lingering over.
"I think...Jamie reminds me of myself when I was younger."
Jamie has his head tilted back toward the ceiling. He's staring. At the fan or the harsh fluorescents, Jem doesn't know, and either way, he won't find a escape rope to climb out.
It's quiet without any of Alec's snide comments. A pack of diapers joins the pile in the cart and they head for the checkout lines. "So what're you going to do about it?" Alec finally says.
"Nothing. I don't have the influence."
"You still have lessons with the kid, don't you?"
He's still wondering if he has an answer to that when a cart rumbles in behind them. Jem's peripherals are enough to make an educated guess about who it is. Will no doubt recognizes him too, and they're both content to pretend they haven't noticed. Jem's heart taps insistently in his chest. He's going to get out of this. It's no problem.
Something tugs on the hem of his shirt, and Jem glances down to find a dewy-eyed little boy with a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head.
"Hi," Jamie mumbles.
Jem's eyes automatically flick to Will, who puts on a surprisingly pleasant facade. "Hey, you're his violin tutor aren't you?"
Jem chooses to ignore him in lieu of lightly bopping Jamie on the head. "I like your hat."
"Thanks, daddy got it for me." For some reason, Jamie keeps his fingers curled in Jem's shirt.
"Sorry, I'm bad with names." Will scrubs at the back of his curls. He looks...normal. In a crewcut sweater and faded jeans and no evidence of barbed-wire. It's weird. "Can you refresh me?"
"Mine shouldn't be hard to remember. It's the same as your son's." Jem finds himself smiling back, unironically.
"James." It crystallizes on Will's lips.
"William," Jem says.
"I'm surprised you shop so far from home."
"I wouldn't usually." Jem tickles under Max's chin, causing a few impish giggles. "It's not for me. They sell the best applesauce here."
Alec leans against their cart. "And besides, I need Jem for his navigation skills. He's a regular Columbus."
"That's rich Lightwood. You couldn't even find the bread by yourself."
"Oh crap, that reminds me. We never got eggs."
"So what's your son's name?" Will asks, although he's looking at Jem, which doesn't make sense because Max doesn't look even a little bit asian. But Alec doesn't have Max's dark skin either, so Will must've reached the correct conclusion that Max is adopted.
Oh. Oh.
"We're not," Jem gestures between him and Alec, forgetting how to form words. "Um, together."
"But we were last night," Alec chuckles, loading their items on the conveyor belt and not helping at all.
"He's married to another man. Max is theirs, they adopted."
Alec is paying. Will's eyebrows are sky high and his cheeks are a shade red. That didn't come out right. Now he's made himself out to be the bit on the side.
"Wait," Jem says.
"Next." The cashier tears off the receipt.
"Coming stud muffin?" Alec places his hand on Jem's forearm, smirk hidden in his shoulder.
"Are we still scheduled for Monday next week?" Will changes the subject without a hitch. "Jamie's been practicing a lot and he can't wait." Jamie consequently buries his face in his dad's thigh.
"Yeah of course, just like always."
"It's been nice seeing you around. Hasn't it Jamie?"
Jem gives up on trying to clear his name and returns Jamie's shy wave. Once they're through the automatic doors and out in the parking lot, Jem has to whisper his profanity in Alec's ear or else Max will repeat it at daycare.
"Genius is always misunderstood," Alec shakes his head. "At least my son was there to witness it."
"Would you want a homewrecker tutoring your kid?"
"He does, apparently. And the only reason he acted nice was because his kids were there. I have encountered this breed before."
"I really don't want to lose this job." What Jem means is, he doesn't want to abandon Jamie when he might be needed.
"You won't. His kid likes you too much."
Jem mulls it over in his head, picking apart Alec's sweet reassurance until there's only dry, unappetizing crumbs left. Getting involved, falling deeper into the rabbit hole, carries more than a few dangers.
Jamie shows up right on time the following Monday. Aside from a few interruptions where Jamie stutters out his burning questions- Am I allowed to talk about her? and Do you think she would like my playing? (Jem smoothly answers 'yes' to both) -everything plays out by the books. Jem proudly notes how much Jamie's 'Ode to Joy' has improved.
At the close of the hour Jem checks the window in the foyer. His gaze sweeps the street, once, twice, then he returns to the living room. "It doesn't look like your dad is here yet."
Jamie plops back down on the armchair, his violin case thunking to the ground.
"Do you think we should keep practicing or do you just want to relax?"
Jamie's cheeks balloon like a blowfish. "Lax."
"Okay. Do you want anything to drink?"
"Juice."
"What kind?"
"Chocolate."
Huffing a breath of laughter, Jem translates that to mean orange and heads for the kitchen.
Jem's original assumption that Will would be a few minutes late is plain wrong, and that's fine. But absurdity starts bleeding in at the two hour mark. By then, the bronze sky outside has wilted, replaced by brooding blues, and all the curtains in his house have been drawn. The dim sources of illumination stem from the television and the reading light propped on Jem's elbow.
Behind him, Jamie has made himself at home on the couch. He's curled up like a roly-poly, cheek squished on the armrest and curls tousled every which way. Jem had turned down the TV volume after he fell asleep. The coffee table is covered in homework that isn't due until Friday, though Jem's still trying to soldier through. He's feeling a little sleepy himself, but his signal to go to bed only arrives alongside a doorbell.
Will is on his doorstep. Jem drinks him in like champagne because he is a bottle full. Strained, agitated, and a mix of several mild poisons.
"Jesus I can't apologize enough, I got held up in a meeting that ran much later than it had any business doing, then traffic was terrible, and my phone was dead so I had no way of contacting you. And is Jamie alright?"
Will's eyes are wild by the end of his rant, while Jem remains composed. Smiles even.
"All four limbs still intact. He's napping on my couch."
"Thank you," Will sighs as he follows Jem inside.
"He got pretty hungry, so I fed him dinner. I hope you don't mind."
"No, that's-what did you feed him?"
"Grilled cheese sandwich. I used whole wheat bread, and put baby carrots and broccoli on the side." Jem is relieved to receive a warmly approving look from Will. "I get a lot of experience from my friend's kid. Babysitting, and the like."
"The one from the grocery store."
"Mm." Jem's cheeks heat. "He's a handful. A real comedian."
"Oh." Will freezes beside the couch, chest deflating at the sight of his sleeping son. Jem's opinion of someone has never been flipped so severely. "Blues Clues."
Jem shuts off the television, plunging the room into a prison of shadows. He can still make out most everything, including Will, his warmth and steady breathing. "Sorry if that wasn't appropriate," he whispers for Jamie's sake, "I know some parents are choosy about what they expose their kids to."
"You did amazing. And as if Blues Clues is really going to scar him for life."
"I don't know, when they casually switch Steve's actor it's pretty traumatizing."
Will chuckles and it sends a ripple of delight all the way to Jem's toes. The next time he speaks, Will's tone has undergone a full metamorphosis. "About last Monday, I'm sorry for being overly harsh. I won't change my stance, but that didn't give me the right to insult you."
"I can't claim to know everything about the situation," Jem replies solemnly. "So it was more presumptuous on my part."
"The past few weeks have been stressful for me. But that's not an excuse. Just a factor."
"It's not a problem," Jem breathes, eyes following Will as he carefully scoops Jamie up from the couch. The boy whines from somewhere at the back of his throat and mumbles slurs. A fragile sweetness blooms in his chest.
Jem holds the front door open and Will mouths a goodbye as he sidles out.
Exchanging phone numbers with parents is a requirement, in case of an emergency on either end. No one has actually called him before. Until one afternoon while Jem's sitting and waiting for the bus. When he reads the caller ID, his shock diminishes by a factor of Herondale.
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Jamie's father. William?"
"Oh yes. I remember you."
"Right." Jem can feel Will's grin from the other end of the line. "I have an unorthodox question for you."
Jem's first thought is that Will wants to thank him somehow. A gift or some money or an invitation for dinner. His pulse speeds up for no discernible reason.
"It's hard enough finding trustworthy people, let alone someone who Jamie feels comfortable around. But it's gotten to the point where this has become an absolute necessity. Would you consider babysitting?"
"Sitting?" Jem echoes. "For Jamie?"
"And Lucie, my daughter. If you even want the job at all. Do you?"
"I mean, yes." Jem doesn't know what he's saying, hasn't even thought about it yet. But his voice sounds so sure. "Yes. How old is she?"
"Three years old. You're an angel, James. I'll be texting you soon with times and dates."
"Sounds great," Jem says.
He clutches his phone lap and tries to just be happy. That he's accessible to Jamie more than ever and that Will chose him, of all people. But he can't strike the feeling that he's teetering, close to toppling into a chasm of some unexplainable fear.