A/N: Looooong chapter. Sorry. Lol, I got carried away. Anyways, thanks for all those who've reviewed, especially the regular ones (Laurel Ducky, PersephoneAtrusRemy and Love.Heals). You guys rock:)
XIV.
March 7, 1991 – Go back to Scarsdale. You know what to do.
The ride to Scarsdale was the longest Roger had ever taken his whole life, even though it took only an hour and a half. It was longer than the ride he'd taken to New York from Santa Fe, longer than his first trip to Alphabet City, longer than even those damned flights to Disneyland or whatever that he'd used to take as a kid with his parents. Joanne drove. She'd rented a car big enough for them to fit into and had had Mark beside her on the passenger's seat to help her with the directions. Roger, Mimi, Maureen and Collins were all in the back with Dodge. Originally, it had bothered Roger that everyone else was going to come along, because this wasn't any of their concern, but Collins had almost smacked him on the head and had told him, "Stop being so goddamn proud for one minute and let us help. You don't have to do this alone. You've got a beautiful wife who loves and supports you and you've got us behind your back. Now we're coming, no matter what you say, and I don't want to hear another goddamn thing about it."
That had shut Roger up good and he didn't say anything else about the idea again. Halfway to Scarsdale, he still wasn't comfortable with the fact that all of them were there since he was going to expose them to something he'd never wanted them to find out, but he was also somewhat glad. At least…at least they were there, and he could count on them, no matter what would happen.
"I love you." Mimi squeezed his hand. Dodge was snuggling between the two of them, digging his face in the space between their arms, making tiny whimpering noises as he did so. He already had a collar and a tag, fondly engraved with 'Dodge' and 'Alphabet City, NY'
"I love you too," Roger said softly. His voice had returned and he almost sounded normal. Joanne had supplied them with a steady stream of herbal tea (which he hated but Mimi and the others had practically made him guzzle like three cups a day) and lozenges. He looked out of the window. They were on the freeway. The skyscrapers and tall buildings they'd grown used to seeing had been left behind. More trees and things could be seen. The car took a turn, with Joanne patiently obeying Mark's directions, and Roger took a deep breath. Scarsdale wasn't far off now.
After a couple of minutes, Roger looked out the window again and cringed.
"Welcome to suburbia," he heard Mark mutter from the front seat. Collins whistled, Maureen pressed her nose against the glass and Mimi gasped, holding Dodge close.
"Oh, you two have got a lot of stories to tell…" Collins said. Roger looked down and focused on his shoes, his forehead supported by two of his fingers. He didn't have to look outside to see what was getting everyone so excited. Scarsdale wasn't just a town. It was, in fact, a high-end, very suburban place composed of affluent families who had fathers as bankers, lawyers and doctors, and mothers who were active members of the PTA, yet at the same time found the time to host elaborate dinner parties, interview nannies and housekeepers and tuck their kids in before they left to watch a play in the city with their husbands. It was a town that appeared as if it had never raised a Roger Davis. A Roger Davis didn't look as if he'd belonged, even once, in the peaceful streets of Scarsdale.
"No way." Maureen looked as if her eyes were going to pop out of her head. "Marky, you guys lived here? ROGER lived here? Get outta town! Oh my God!"
"It looks great, babe." Mimi placed a hand on the back of his neck and stroked it, as if to comfort him. "It really does."
"Joanne, pull over first…" Roger heard Mark say. The car came to a stop. Roger still stared at his shoes. He felt like throwing up.
"Roger…hey man, we're here." Mark said carefully.
"I know." He replied.
"Where exactly do you…."
"You know where."
Mark was silent for a while.
"Are you sure…?"
"Just please point Joanne there before I totally lose it and get out off this car to walk back to the City," Roger cut him off.
He heard as Mark gave an almost inaudible sigh then as he muttered directions to Joanne: Turn right at the second street…a left…Baxter Street.
Shit. He was really doing it, wasn't he? Roger bit his lip. He had no idea how he was going to pull this off. Was the bastard even going to be there? Shit shit shit. He wondered what was going to happen. He was scared, actually. Of what? God, he didn't know. He was practically shaking. But he was angry too. Shit, how was he going to react after not seeing the bastard in over seven years?
"NO! I HATE YOU!"
"You will NOT speak to me like that, boy! I will not have any son of mine going around mouthing off like that!"
His father grabs his arm and shakes him hard as he speaks. He tries hard not to cry, but his father looks so angry that he can't help but be scared. When the first of his tears fall, it makes his father angrier.
"Stop crying. STOP CRYING. Men don't cry, Matthew. You're seven years old already, for God's sake! Are you a fairy, huh? Are you a woman? STOP CRYING."
When he doesn't stop, his father roughly pushes him away.
"LESLIE!" His father booms. He's on the floor, still in tears. He hears his mother's hurried footsteps going up the stairs in soft clicks. Even though he's not looking, he knows she's there once her perfume fills the air. He wants to run to her and hide, but he stays where he is.
"What's going on? Matthew, what…?"
"THIS is what happens when you coddle that boy too much! Look at him! He's pathetic! A simpering, whimpering child with no backbone!" His father is yelling. He doesn't understand what's going on. He just doesn't want to go to another dinner again, which is why he refused when his father ordered him to put on his dress shoes and socks already. It's so boring. He'd rather stay home and watch cartoons with his baby-sitter.
"Matthew, maybe he just doesn't want to go…maybe we should just let him stay…." His mother's saying. But his father won't have any of it.
"Stand up!" He's grabbed by the arms and pulled up and he can feel as his father's handkerchief is wiped roughly across his face. It hurts. "He's going whether he likes it or not. You have to be firm with these kids, Leslie, or else they'll walk all over you. Matthew Roger Davis, if you know what's good for you, you will stop. NOW."
The look on his father's face means business and he knows what will happen if he doesn't comply. He clamps his mouth shut and does his best to shut up. He's been whipped before, and it isn't nice. The last time his father did it, it was because he lied about taking a cookie. He couldn't sit down properly for a week.
"Matthew, you're scaring him…don't hurt him, please…" his mother begs. He sees her looking at him worriedly, but he can't look for too long because he might cry again. He wants to run to her and let her pick him up, but he can't.
"He has to learn a little respect." His father glares at his mother like she's done something wrong. "From now on, Leslie, there will be no running to you after I discipline him. My son, my rules. He's not going to learn anything from you if you're too soft on him. Understand?"
He watches as his mother nods without a sound and when his father faces him again, he gets a sound slap. His lip gets caught in his father's ring and it bleeds.
"Cry." His father dares.
He doesn't.
"That's more like it."
The car squeals to a stop and Roger is jolted from his memories.
"Roger…we're here," Mark says quietly, turning to him.
"Wowza," Collins says from his spot. "You have a nice house, Davis."
Roger gathered his senses and found the strength to look out and see what everyone else was staring at. They were parked in front of a handsome two-story with whitewashed walls and a slate-gray tiled roof. It had a manicured lawn and a brick path leading to the front door. There was a wider brick path by the side of the garage that led to the back of the house. A black mailbox stood by the sidewalk, the name 'Davis' embossed in bronze.
Nothing much had changed.
He looked to the other side of the street and saw Mark's own house stare back at him: The warmer-looking, white brick with the flower garden and the name 'COHEN' on their own mailbox. He smiled a little, remembering how he and Mark used to talk to each other on school nights through walkie-talkies, scaring themselves with horror comic books. That had stopped when his father had walked in on them one night unexpectedly.
"Matthew Roger Davis, Jr! What the hell is wrong with you? When I tell you to go to bed at 10:00, you're not obliged to do anything else but go to bed and sleep! Is that so hard to get through your thick head?" His father is enraged and makes a grab for the walkie-talkie in his hand after rapping him on the head. "Give me that."
"But Dad…" Roger's heart is just about to jump up from his throat, but he knows his father can't have the walkie-talkie. He knows his father will destroy them. They're Mark's, not his. Shit.
"GIVE it to me, boy!" The talkie's yanked out of his hold then he's hit on the face by the back of his father's hand. It stings like hell, but Roger is too stunned to react. "Did anyone give you permission to speak? Lie down and go to sleep!"
"But Sir…"
"NO! You test my patience one more time, Roger, and I swear to God I'll ship you to military school in a heartbeat. I don't care what your mother or you says." His father turns to the walkie-talkie and barks into it. "MARK COHEN! Turn that damned thing off before I call up your parents and tell you what you're doing!"
"Yes, sir," comes Mark's feeble voice from the speaker.
The next morning, Roger finds the walkie-talkie broken in the trash. Bastard.
Roger felt pissed at how he'd never stood up to his old man. He'd been a coward. But shit, his old man had scared him. His whole life in Scarsdale had revolved around what his father had wanted him to do, to become. When he eventually realized just what the fuck he was doing, he'd made the decision to go away. Running, always running. His mother's passing had him realize that he couldn't escape from the past. It always kept coming back to torment him, despite his denial. How many times had he compared himself to his father the whole time he'd been in Alphabet City? He was never going to be completely happy if he kept running away from the past and that would be unfair to Mimi. He wanted to live whatever remained of his life with her, happily, without any past coming back to annoy the shit out of him. He'd planned to do this particular number on his list last, but there was no doubt that this was the right time. If he didn't do it now, he would go crazy.
Enough was enough. He was going to stop running.
"That's where I grew up," Roger said almost to himself. Mimi turned to look at him.
"What are we doing here, babe?" she asked gently. She wasn't prying. He guessed she just wanted to know if he was really in his right mind. Roger wondered it too.
"Baggage." he said quietly. Was his father even home? He wouldn't mind if he wasn't, at least he tried…
Shit, Davis, stop making excuses and just do it, he could hear his mind say. He stared hard at the house, as if trying to sense if anyone were home. He saw nothing move behind the windows. It was quiet on their street, with just the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional kids laughing and playing. A kid zoomed past on his bike.
Do it, ass.
"Mark, are you gonna take them to get to know your folks?" Roger asked, his hand already on the door handle. Mark looked horrified at the idea.
"My mother doesn't even know I'm here…" he started to say.
"Where do you live, Pookie?" Maureen chirped from the backseat.
"Right there, down the street from Roger's house but…"
"C'mon then! I'm beat. I wanna get to know your folks, Marky, introduce us! You never did that when we were together." Maureen was already out the door, closely followed by Collins.
"Maureen!" Joanne said, as if she were scolding a naughty child. "C'mon, if Mark doesn't want to introduce his family then we shouldn't force him to…"
Mark groaned loudly from inside the car like his conscience had gotten up and bit him on the ass. "Okay okay. You guys must be hungry anyway. God…my mother is going to go insane the minute she finds out I'm here…."
Roger reached out and patted his best friend's shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"No problem." Mark made a face. "Hey, take your time, okay? If he's not here, well, you can either choose to stay here for a little chow down at my place or we can leave right away."
"Okay."
Mimi gave Roger a kiss before he got out of the car and Dodge gave a playful bark.
"I'm here for you, okay? Good luck, baby."
Roger smiled then kissed her back. Mark got out of the car himself and handled Mimi and Dodge, then preceded to lead their merry little troupe down the street to the Cohen house. Roger was left alone, with his hands jammed inside the pockets of his scruffy jeans.
Here goes.
It seemed forever since he last walked down the brick path that led to their front door. The gold knocker was still there, shiny and looking brand-new against the mahogany wood. Roger's fingers trembled as he raised his hand to press the doorbell.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
His heart almost stopped when the door opened almost right away.
"Yes?"
A woman of about fifty had answered. Housekeeper. Not the same one they had had back then, but still a housekeeper judging from the feather duster she held in her hands. He wondered what had happened to Mrs. Mulroney…
"How may I help you, Sir?" she spoke again, looking at him impatiently.
"Hi…" Roger suddenly found it difficult to speak. "Is Matthew Davis home?"
Her eyes narrowed at him. "There are two Mr. Matthew Davises in this family, sir. Which of them are you referring to?"
He could almost kick himself. Doi. He was a fucking Matthew too. He wondered how this housekeeper could have known that there were two…maybe for security purposes?
"I don't think the Jr. still lives here but the Sr. does. May I please talk to him?" It felt weird talking all polite again. He hadn't done it for a long time. It sounded strange coming from him.
The housekeeper stared at him suspiciously. "I'm sorry but he isn't accepting any visitors right now…"
"I need to talk to him; it's urgent…" he wondered if this was all going to be worth it. The woman did make it clear that the bastard wasn't entertaining anyone. Maybe he should just leave…
He heard as footsteps thumped downstairs and this time, Roger was sure his heart was going to stop. He saw as his father, dressed in a black sweater and khakis, came down and stopped when he saw the door open and that the housekeeper was talking to someone outside. The bastard had barely aged. His head was still full of hair, but there were more lines on his face now.
"Who is that, Ella?"
It was the same rough, brisk tone. Roger was starting to get nervous, but he choked them all down.
"Someone wants to see you, Mr. Davis…I told him you weren't accepting any visitors but he seems persistent…"
Roger could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his father approached, his face twisted into a frown. The housekeeper vamoosed as quickly as possible.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "Who the hell are you?"
You can't run away from everything, Roger…
Roger swallowed.
"Don't you recognize me?" was the only thing he could say. He didn't smile, he didn't frown, but he just held a tight face. He was scared of what his father would do, would say, but he was also pissed at him. This was the guy who'd made his whole life growing up a living hell. Fucking bastard bully. His life in Scarsdale was practically the skeleton for any 'poor-little-rich-boy' drama series.
He didn't know if his father's eyes widened in surprise or anger or both, but they widened. Roger was obviously recognized.
"Well look who's come back…" his father's voice was low and dangerous and he crossed his arms over his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?"
What a son of a bitch. He was the one who had a right to be angry. He saw as his father studied him from head to toe with a careful eye but said nothing.
"I heard…that my mother had died." Roger stated. Concise, no stutter.
A pained expression passed over the older Davis' face as Roger said the words. There was hurt in his father's eyes, but was that because of him or because of the mention of his mother? To his surprise, his father opened the door wide enough for him to enter, but it wasn't for courtesy purposes. The bastard just didn't want their dirty laundry to be flaunted in public, and that was likely to happen if he had been left standing there. Roger obliged only because he wanted this over as soon as possible, but he didn't go further from the foyer. The door was shut.
"Why would you care? You haven't been home for nearly eight years…." His father stood in front of him, his arms still crossed over his chest. He seemed a whole lot smaller now than he'd been when he was a kid.
"Hey, I cared about her. I love her. She's my mother. I never came back because of you." Roger couldn't stop the words from spewing out of his mouth. His father's remark had irked him, and with a temper like his, chances were his mouth usually reacted faster than his head.
"You never cared about her. You never cared about anyone but yourself." His father retorted.
"If there's anyone here who's that, it's you. Don't give me that shit. If there was anyone who should've died…it wasn't her." Roger was enraged now, but he fought to keep his temper. His father looked furious as well, but he wasn't afraid anymore. A vein bulged in his father's forehead, and the older Davis' face was red. Roger was sure that if he'd been any younger, his father would've hit him.
"What the hell do you want from me? Your life's so miserable now that you want to place the blame on me? Look at you! You look as if you're starving! Your clothes have holes in them, your bones are jutting out…I didn't raise you to end up like this…if your mother ever saw you like this…"
"You were a shitty parent and she was the only one who cared two cents about me! You never wanted a son; you only wanted a mini-version of you, you selfish prick. Leave her out of this! This has nothing to do with her!" Roger yelled, not believing how the man in front of him dared to claim that everything he'd done about raising a kid was right. Up until now he could still feel how heavy his father's palm was as it made contact with his face whenever he was 'never good enough', according to his father's standards. He'd always covered up for the bastard in school by saying he'd been hit accidentally. Mark knew. Mark had always known.
"Nothing to do with her? Nothing to do with her?" His father's roar, he could swear, made the walls shake. "You come here uninvited, unexpected, telling me that you've heard that your mother has died. Now you say this whole thing has nothing to do with her. Why the hell are you here, then, boy? Is it money because you're not getting any of it! Not one single fucking cent! You can forget your inheritance; I disowned you the night you ran away. You fucking destroyed your life yourself, not me. You had everything, then you threw it all away for this."
The older Davis made a triumphant sweeping gesture with his hand as if to emphasize his point. His father seemed so goddamn sure of himself that Roger wanted to hit him and he almost did. His fist had already been formed, but he kept his arms to his side. He was royally pissed now.
"You want to know why I'm here?" He was so mad, he was practically hissing out the words. "I live with my friends and we barely eat enough in a day. We have no heat in the winter and no air-conditioning in the summer. We get our clothes from all over. I came here to tell you that I've never been happier. I've just gotten married and she's the most perfect girl for me. She's sweet and beautiful and she loves me no matter what. I've got a best friend who's been there for me since forever. I have friends who call and see if we're okay, and when we have food, we sit down and have a great meal together, which is more than what I ever got from this crap hole. I'm the happiest than I've ever been, without all this," Roger motioned to the luxury surroundings that he couldn't believe he once belonged to. "This is nothing, believe me. Compared to what I have now."
He took a deep breath before saying the next words in order to calm himself down. He felt as if he'd run a mile. His father just stared at him, and was about to say something when he cut him off. He had to say everything. Quick. Now.
"I'm dying…Dad." The name sounded foreign on his tongue after so many years of not using it, but it just slipped out. "I'm sick…with AIDS…and I don't have much time, but I'm not asking for your help or your pity. You can stick all your money up your ass because I don't need it. I'd rather die in my bed in the city with my wife and my friends beside me than in a hospital attempting to make my life longer."
Roger sighed. His anger was quickly fading away as he got closer and closer to relief. "I'm tired of running away. I don't want to be mad at you anymore because it just fucks up my entire system and I want to enjoy whatever remaining days I have in this fucked-up world. Mom's death made this clear and I can't wait to see her again. I've missed her and I love her. She was the one I was supposed to come back to Scarsdale to, but I guess it isn't the way it's supposed to be."
Roger took one last long look at his father. It was going to be the last time he was ever going to see the guy and, though the look of shock on his father's face satisfied him, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the old man. His anger had dissipated and all that was left was pity. After he died, the old guy was going to be truly alone, left only with the housekeeper, the giant house, and the fortune that was safely tucked away in the bank.
"Have a happy life with your money, Dad."
He turned around, took the door handle and yanked it open. He didn't give a fuck when he closed it louder than what he was supposed to. What he cared was, the minute he stepped out of the goddamn house, he felt free for the first time in his life…
"Roger…wait."
Fuck.
He stopped in his tracks and turned around, his hands in his pockets. His father had opened the door and was standing by the steps. Roger had already made it halfway down the path. He squinted at the old man but didn't say anything.
The older Davis stood there, as if paralyzed, and opened and closed his mouth several times. Roger noticed that his father had suddenly looked older.
"Since…since when?" For the first time, Matthew Davis looked at a loss for words.
"It doesn't matter." Roger told him, because really, it wasn't important. He was going to die anyway. He turned around to start walking back to the car again, when his father called out again.
"Wait. Son…Roger…you can't leave, not like this. Please."
Son. It had been a long time since he'd heard that. There was something in his father's tone that Roger hadn't heard before and he had to stop.
"What do you want?" He faced his father again. The older Davis was wearing an expression Roger never thought he'd see on him. Guilt? Pity? Concern? It was something along those lines.
"Why didn't you…why didn't you tell at least your mother…or anyone…" His father was grasping for words. "Roger. We have to talk about this."
What?
"Please…come inside. We'll talk. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I yelled…I'm sorry…I have a lot to be sorry for…you can't leave…please…."
His father was begging him to stay. Roger wasn't sure if he was going to trust this one, if he was going to let his pride get the better of him. But the longer he stared at his father, bastard as he was, Roger still felt sorry for him. The poor fuck had nobody.
Roger licked his lips. Then relented. He walked back to the house where his father held the door open for him.
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"Oh Mrs. Cohen, these are div-iiiine!" Maureen said as she chomped off another big piece of the cookie she was holding. "Mmmm!"
Mark covered his face. There'd been a reason why he'd never had Maureen meet his parents when they were still together, and now his mother most probably knew why.
"Why thank you, dear. A certain chocolatier in the city does them. Cindy's children absolutely love to gorge on them." Mrs. Cohen had a smile stuck on her face, which Mark knew was her polite expression. It was kind of robotic, that look of his mother's. But Maureen didn't appear to notice.
"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Cohen. What does your husband do again?" Joanne cleared her throat to take the attention away from her life partner.
"Oh, hasn't Mark ever told you? Sam's a psychologist." Joanne was flashed a genuine smile, which the lawyer returned. Mark instantly knew his mother liked Joanne. He could almost hear her mother's mind whirring: stable income, nice girl, polite, looks intelligent…why can't Mark have her as a girlfriend?
"Child psychologist." Mark added. He kept a wary eye on Collins who was circling the room they were in (dining room, at the big fancy table), studying the various decorations. Mimi was trailing behind the philosopher, Dodge in her hands. He knew his mother kept a close eye on Dodge, since she'd never been a big fan of animals, especially in the house. She'd just been too polite to decline Mimi's entry since they'd barged in so suddenly.
"Yes. He kept wanting to do a study on Matthew's son, but I don't think the boy ever agreed…Where is Roger, sweetie?" Mrs. Cohen turned to Mark.
"Oh…uh…" Mark wasn't sure if he should say anything. News in Scarsdale spread like wildfire between the housewives and mothers. It would be really big news if they heard Roger the-boy-who-threw-his-bright-future-and-grand-life-away Davis was back in town and confronting his father shortly after his mother's death. What juicy gossip that would be; it would make the headlines of next week's garden party.
"Is this you, Mark?" Mark heard Collins say in disbelief. Thank God. Distraction. They all turned to the philosopher, who was pointing at a framed photograph circa early 70s. Bad haircut. Two missing front teeth. Fuck. Mark hated that picture.
"Mom! You said you were going to get rid of that!" Mark said in disbelief. Collins had started snorting in laughter and even Mimi giggled. He leapt at the picture and slammed it facedown.
"Mark Aaron Cohen, Jr., stop acting like a child!" his mother scolded. "That's a nice picture of you and you could've broken the frame! That's expensive, mind you!"
Maureen hooted, the cookie still firmly grasped between her fingers. God, why was he in Scarsdale again? Jeez…
"You should stay the night, sweetheart, there's plenty of room for everyone. Your father would want to see you…I can't contact him now because he's meeting with an important patient…." Mrs. Cohen sighed melodramatically. Mark groaned. This was the sixth time they were going to go through this drill.
"Mom, for the nth time, we're just dropping by. It's okay. We're okay…"
"But you all look starved! Well, of course, with the exception of Joanne and darling Maureen here…but do you and Tom and Mimi get enough to eat? Your clothes are all hanging off of you! And Roger…he's your best friend isn't he? Where is he?" His mother held Mark's face in her hands and studied him.
"Moooommm!" Mark complained, pulling away. He felt like he was back in kindergarten. Collins was enjoying the show. Mark could hear him choking back his guffaws.
"But I don't understand how you could just suddenly drop by without even a single phone call…I mean I could understand since Leslie's…passing…this is a rather strange visit, honey, though I can't say I'm not glad to finally see you and meet all your wonderful friends…"
Fake smile. Fake smile.
Mark couldn't stand any of it any longer. He wished Roger would hurry up. His mother was enough work. If his father ever chanced upon them there…dear God. They'd never escape. It would be senior year in highschool all over again. His father would be all over them, claiming they had some sort of psychological problem.
"Would you all like to stay for dinner?" Mrs. Cohen invited. All of them burst into random, but polite 'No's except Maureen, who only said 'No thanks' after Joanne glared at her.
Roger…where are you?
Mark kept throwing glances at the Davis house across the street. No sign of Roger yet. It had been nearly half an hour and he was getting worried. What if something had happened? Shit, Mr. Davis had never been shy in expressing his emotions…
"What happened to that, Rog?" he points to a large bruise forming on his best friend's cheek. "Shit, did he…did he…"
Roger sulks, as he always does when he's being confronted. "It was a door…it wasn't him…"
"Shut up. I know it's him. You don't have to lie."
"It was a fucking door, Mark, mind your own fucking business."
"What made him hit you? Damn it, Roger, you can't hide this forever. You can't defend him forever! You can't deny that he did this!" He wants to shake Roger for being so stupid, but he knows his best friend is just scared. Mr. Davis has a well-kept reputation, and if word got around that he hit his son…
"It was my fault, it was my fault…I should have studied hard enough. A fucking 'B' isn't good enough. I'm stupid, I know…fuck…" Roger's almost in tears but wipes them away with their uniform sleeve before they can be seen.
"You're not stupid, man…" He immediately regrets thinking shaking Roger. "You aren't, c'mon…stop beating yourself up." He slings an arm around the other boy's shoulder. "Your dad's not always right. He can be wrong. You don't have to please him every time."
"He's my father, Cohen. He's counting on me."
"You're not him, man. You'll never be him. Why don't you try be yourself for a change? C'mon, you don't want to be a lawyer, do you? I thought you wanted to be a rock star?"
"You sound like your own father, Cohen. Fat fucking chance about that dream. I'm the only one he's got. I can't let him down. He'll kill me."
"Mark? Mark? Are you listening to me?"
Mark blinked. His mother was frowning at him. "Are you okay, honey?"
"I'm perfect." He checked his watch. Damn. If Roger didn't come out anytime soon, he'd have to raid the Davis house.
"I was saying that, since you don't want to stay for dinner or anything, I'd have you take some food along with you, as well as some old clothes…I'll have Francesca get them…."
Mark was no longer listening. He was staring at the Davis' and could see as Roger swaggered down the brick path with a box in his hands. He made a grab for the front door as his mother went off to tell the housekeeper to raid his room.
"Be right back," he yelled at the rest of the gang. He didn't wait for any reply but sprinted on out the door. Roger had just reached the car. He looked fine. In fact, he looked great. Like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.
"Hey." Mark jogged over to him. Roger looked up after he placed the box in the back of the car and gave him a small grin.
"Hey."
"So…everything okay?"
A bigger, genuine smile spread across Roger's face. "Yeah. You could say that."
Mark felt himself smile as well with relief for his best friend. "That's great." He nodded. "In fact, that's awesome!"
"Yeah." Roger combed his hair out of his face with his fingers. "I can't even begin to describe it…how it feels, I mean…."
"No sweat, man. I'm just happy for you." Mark reached out for a shake, knowing that Roger would really rather keep to himself when it came to his family, but was surprised when Roger embraced him instead.
"Thanks." He muttered. "I don't think I coulda done any of that without any of your help…now or even back then."
"No problem…" Mark clapped him on the back and they broke away.
"We're acting like a couple of chicks," Roger laughed. The first laugh he'd uttered since his mother's death. Mark couldn't help but smile. Roger was okay. Roger was going to be okay. Thank God.
"What's in the box?"
"Oh, just some of my old shit…thought we could use more clothes."
Mark laughed. "My mother is in the process of excavating my own stuff. D'you want us to go now, or you wanna hang out a little first? She doesn't know you're here yet, by the way."
"Maybe you guys can just wrap it up over there and I'll wait here in the car…" Roger grinned. "I…I'm still reeling from what just happened to me and I don't think I can handle any more excitement."
Mark nodded with a smile and gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder. "Sure thing. We'll be right out."
As he jogged back to his house, Mark also felt lighter somehow. Roger deserved happiness and inner peace. And he was glad his best friend was finally able to get it after so many years. Family life in Scarsdale was a bitch, but at least Roger was over his.
It was downhill now from here.
TBC
A/N: I'd have written more about their past but I digress on the main plot. This is, after all, only one number on the list. Anyway this should explain a lot of stuff, but don't worry, there's gonna be more! Keep r/r please! Thanks!