Just like I thought, the house was notably cleaner when I got back. It was nine o'clock and Angie was in bed, the dishes were done, the living room was tidied. Craig was watching MTV and doing his homework. He looked up when I opened the door.
"Hi, Joey," he said.
"Hi," I went into the kitchen and got myself a beer. I liked having beer after I was wired on coffee. I guessed it was my version of the beer and red bull. I twisted the cap off my beer and took a long swallow. I longed for Julia. How had it come to me being alone in this kitchen? I used to stand right here by this sink and put my arms around her, her slender waist, her long black hair getting in my face. I sighed. In the three years that she's been gone she hasn't faded one bit.
"You cleaned," I said to him, coming into the living room. I said it like an accusation.
"Uh, yeah," he said, and went back to his homework. Homework was a convenient way to ignore me.
"Are you almost done with that?" I said. He looked up again.
"Yeah, almost,"
I didn't turn the channel from MTV. It wasn't exactly MTV, not the original one I used to watch in the eighties. It was MTV two or something like that, the channel they actually showed videos on. Sometime in the late nineties the original MTV stopped showing any music videos at all, except for maybe at two in the morning. The video that was playing now was some post-grunge indie pop group with a slightly overweight ernest singer taking the blame for things he's done in his life. It wasn't bad.
I was waiting Craig out, sipping my beer. He kept plugging away at that homework. I thought the more beer I had in me the better I could deal with talking to him about things. The social lubricant, they called alcohol. So I swigged it like medicine and tried to arrange what I was going to say.
He closed his book and set it on the coffee table. I set my beer next to it. It was nearly empty and I thought about getting another one. Another beer would go nicely with this little discussion. I went to the kitchen, glancing back at Craig to make sure he wasn't planning on bolting upstairs. He leaned back and watched the T.V., put his feet up on the coffee table. I did that enough so he knew it was okay. The damn coffee table was nearly 30 years old anyway so who cared.
I twisted the cap off and tossed it in the rubbish on my way over to the couch. Craig shifted his weight and didn't look at me. I wanted another beer because I wasn't so sure it was a good idea to talk to him about things that were upsetting and traumatic. I didn't want to make him remember things he didn't care to. But I wanted him to know that he didn't have to be so careful around us, around me.
"Craig, uh, how are you doing?" I said, sipping my beer, hiding behind it.
"Good," he said, not even glancing at me. That wasn't an answer. It was a disinterested fine.
"I wanted to talk to you," I said, that awkward sentence just hanging there. And now he did look at me with his cautiousness.
"Look, I know things were bad at your dad's house, and if you want to talk about any of it I'm here,"
He just looked at me, didn't say anything. Like I figured he didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay, well, I just kind of wanted to let you know that you don't have to be so careful around here. Like cleaning, I'm glad you're helping out but I kind of feel like you feel like you have to. It's just, you're not imposing on us, you know? Angie is thrilled that you're here, and I'm glad you're here, too. Okay?" I rambled at him. I didn't really know what to say. But he smiled at me, the first smile I'd seen on him when Ang wasn't around.