"You wanted to see me?"

Jeff looked up from the papers on his desk. John was standing in the doorway to the office.

"Yes," said Jeff, putting his work aside. "We need to talk." He'd spent years in the trenches of work negotiations, and he'd learned the value of the neutral delivery, the million-dollar poker face that couldn't be cracked. He had liked to imagine he'd sequestered his professional vocabulary for work, set it aside for colleagues and diplomats and business partners. But the Tone had bled into other things. "I mean, can we talk? Do you have the time?"

For the last six months, John had winced at the question—a wincing brace against a lecture that never came. It was instinctual, less obvious recently and fading with the repetition of the phrase 'You can't disappoint me, John'—but Jeff could still feel the stabbing regret of having missed it the first time, when John had stood in his office eons ago, pale and worried, flinchingly setting a bottle of not-aspirin on the corner of the desk.

But today, John was strangely unflinching, strangely fresh for someone who'd spent the entire day in the lab, even if that day had mostly been spent on menial task management. "It's Friday afternoon, so I don't see why not." He took his seat on the sofa and crossed his legs, elegantly knitting his fingers together in his lap, as if he'd arrived for a meeting with a client. "What's this about?"

Jeff was a little thrown by the formality. "I just wanted to check in with you. See how you're doing."

"Why?"

"I'd like to think it's something a father can do to his son without needing a reason." Jeff hoped that sounded gentle. "It's been a busy week. I thought we should catch up."

"Is that something we do?"

Jeff might have mistaken the question for sarcasm if it hadn't been so dispassionate, delivered with the kind of scientific disinterest he'd always found rather admirable about his son. "So, the Summit's over."

"Yes."

"And you've enjoyed the seminars?"

"The few that I've gone to, yes."

"Good." If a bit scant on detail. "How is work?"

"I have nearly perfect attendance."

"Yes, I know that. I mean…how is it?"

"It's fine."

"Ah."

Dry, stilted conversation, like two acquaintances meeting.

"Dr. Lapin says I'm doing well, so I must believe him."

"That's good to hear."

"I'm sure you've already heard it."

Jeff felt the frustration flicker up for a second before it settled again, just as abruptly. The implication nettled him: that Dr. Lapin was just another overreach on Jeff's part, another means to measure progress. "This goes without saying, John, but I hope you know Dr. Lapin is a professional. You have full doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Okay," said John. "Have you spoken to Gordon recently?"

"Last night, actually. He called to tell me about a turkey." Jeff had the feeling Gordon had already detailed the menu and run it by his grandmother, the Tracy Matriarch, who required all interlopers in the kitchen to beg permission on their knees to enter. Jeff didn't count himself as father of the decade by any means, but even he could read between the lines when it came to Gordon, the son who generally put the least amount of effort into being subtle: This Is Important, Dad. "I think planning Thanksgiving a month early is giving him some peace of mind."

John was completely nonplussed. "I assume we've all been volunteered."

"I'm afraid so." Gordon had said something about pie duty, and you have to try, Dad, and that was a bit more pointed than it should have been. Jeff might have been a bit absent from the preparations the last few years. He hadn't counted himself as strictly necessary in the culinary chain of command—'too many cooks in the kitchen' was an adage for a reason—and it was just easier to duck into his office—make a few phone calls, send a few emails—and come out when the table was set, feast ready, because Business Never Stopped for anything, even the holidays. A damned good excuse he'd thought at the time. "I wouldn't be surprised if Gordon's already developed a rotating schedule for Christmas."

"Last year wasn't really one for the family photo album," said John, coolly detached. "Gordon might be looking for a redo. The others might be as well."

"I suppose." Jeff hadn't expected John to want to go there. Anything from the last two years still seemed like an open wound and probing only hurt. Hindsight hadn't been kind to anyone. In fact, hindsight had been a cruel backhand to send Jeff staggering into a new age of self-doubt. "Not you?"

"I left."

"You did."

"The conditions for building familial rapport were proving unfavorable." John lined his thumbs up next to each other in perfect symmetry. "The minor hurdles seemed impassible at the time."

That was a glaring understatement, and Jeff took a moment to assess his son. "Minor?"

"I couldn't have come back, even if I'd wanted to. There was a blizzard."

"So I recall."

"I was the last flight in before they shut down the airport." John, never the storyteller in their family, wasn't one now either. "I found a kitten."

"Come again?"

John looked casually amused at having caught his father off guard and unknitted his hands, making a vague gesture at the air. "In the snow outside my apartment building."

Jeff repeated the information back at him, hesitantly. "You found a kitten?"

"I thought it was dead. Or it would have been if I hadn't brought it inside." John's slender hand came to rest on the back of the sofa like a pale bird, his fingers curling and uncurling serenely. "I wonder about that sometimes. What could have been. If Gordon hadn't been so touchy, I wouldn't have left, and if I hadn't left I wouldn't have gone back home to Boston. And the kitten would have—how shall I say?—succumbed to the elements."

"I suppose so."

"There is, of course, the off chance someone would have found it. Some unwilling participant in the great circle of life, tasked with tossing a dead cat into the trash."

"That's bit bleak, John." Jeff didn't want it to sound like a reprimand, but maybe it did.

"Is it?" Again, the same calm amusement. "Rather poetic, I think. The sum total of our parts breaking down the rejoin the universe. And aren't we all waiting our turn?"

Jeff had the sudden, alien thought that he was looking at an uncanny valley of his own son. "I'd like to think we're doing more than just waiting."

"It doesn't matter, anyway. It lived. I saved Christmas for a little orphan girl." John looked up at him, a smile replicating a smile. "I probably should have told you sooner. You could have milked my altruism for some time in the spotlight. John Tracy Saves Christmas." The mystery was beginning to unravel. "The presses love a good sob story."

"John, is this about what happened with Scott?"

"How do you mean?"

"With the reporter."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I trust that Kyrano is very thorough."

"He is."

"Then I have nothing to add to the process."

Jeff tried to smile, be reassuring. "You and Scott have been very polite to each other."

"Is that bad?"

"No, no, it's just…unusual."

"How would you like for things to be?" said John. "If I'm doing something wrong, I'd want to know how to fix it."

Jeff hadn't thought he'd sounded accusatory. "You haven't done anything wrong, John." Was a reprimand the only reason he could have for calling his son into his office? Jeff flushed. He thought they'd come some way into crossing the impossible gulf. Had he been wrong? "I'm just a little worried. You've been…" Quiet? Exceedingly well-mannered? There wasn't much evidence Jeff could hold up to make his point. "I just want to make sure there's nothing going on. That I should be worried about."

"Between me and Scott?"

"Yes."

"Even if there was—as you said before—we're all adults here, capable of sorting things out ourselves."

It shouldn't sting to have his own words repeated back at him. But it did. "Right. Of course."

"You should call Gordon," said John, after a pause. "Have him tell you about the party."

"Party?"

"He texted me earlier. It's tomorrow. In the penthouse." Without batting an eye, John had committed high treason in the brotherhood—the dishonorable practice of snitching. "Perhaps you two should talk." He stood up, unfolding gracefully, heading for the door. "Was there anything else?"

Jeff didn't quite know what to say. "No, not presently."

"Then I'll see you at home."

John left.

Jeff sat for a very long time in his office, in the ache, not moving, heart beating out a truth he'd long neglected: he knew nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

The silence closed around him like a fist.