The ceiling tiles in Alan Castellano's guest bathroom are discolored, possible water damage tinging the edges in the corner over the bathtub. The bathroom itself isn't dirty exactly. In fact, it's spotless, as if no one has used it in a very long time. The color scheme is a collection of taupes that makes Danny feel like he's in the saddest sepia western ever filmed. He fidgets in front of the mirror, peering at his reflection trying to decipher how he feels about the day he just had.
The conflicting emotions inspired by his father are complicated by the nerves he's suddenly feeling. Mindy is on the other side of the door, curled up in the guest bed. She's wearing one of his t-shirts, white letters that say Columbia stretch across the front as she wiggles around underneath the sheets. She's even donned a clean pair of his boxers, the material taut across her ass does things to Danny that he can barely contemplate. Her spare collection of clothing is tumbling gently in the dryer at the end of the hall. Once she made her selection from his suitcase, Danny retreated to the bathroom for his own bedtime rituals. Neither of them ever corrected Alan's earlier assumption, and as a result they're now about to share a bed, which shouldn't be a big deal. It's a big bed, damn it.
But it feels like a big deal. Nothing seems real to Danny, the atmosphere around him is strangely static, and he continually gets the sensation that he's dreaming. Alan's whole house feels surreal, decorated in the same year Danny was born. It's easy to imagine Alan moving in and not bothering to replace the dated fixtures or footworn carpeting. The little pieces of the man scattered here and there stick out like a sore thumb.
The former owners must have had an affinity for landscapes, because there's one on just about every wall, tucked in between Alan's black and white pictures. The mountainscape on the wall behind him is reminiscent of the obligatory artwork hung on hotel walls, cheap and mass produced. The paint is discolored, the once bright whites and warm ochres all fading to a nondescript yellowish hue.
It is no use trying to untangle the life Alan led after he left New York. Looking at the photos in the hall tells Danny nothing. Baseball players and chorus girls, stark black and white photos of the beach, artistic shots of dockworkers. But, somehow, finding nothing is exactly what Danny needs. Alan is not a man worth wasting his life stewing over. He's just sad and alone.
He would call it an epiphany, but the word has too much of a religious connotation to Danny. It hardly seems fitting in this situation, even if meeting Mindy does seem to fall into the 'things that cannot be explained' category. Her effect on him certainly seems nothing short of hypnotic.
He would have scoffed if anyone had told him that the mere touch of another person could be so reassuring, that someone so small and colorful could make him feel protected, or even that he needed to feel that way… It's utterly ridiculous. She's a tiny woman, the top of her head barely reaching his chin, with what she calls "minimal" upper body strength (although he thinks that's just because she doesn't like clearing kitchen tables). But how else can he explain the changes in his behavior in the past two days? He meditated, for christ's sake.
She's snoring when he enters the bedroom, blankets pulled up over her lead like a cocoon. He wonders what new form she'll take when she emerges from the chrysalis, all bright colors and loud noises. Will she fly away?
He reaches for the blanket, tugging one edge from where it's tucked beneath her before sliding into the warm space she's created. He thinks she's asleep when she turns toward him, her arms slipping around him before she settles back down. He jumps a little when she speaks.
"How long do you need?"
"Huh?"
"Here with your dad."
"I think... I'm done." Unlike all the other times before, when he says these words this time they aren't bitter, just true.
She sighs against him, hot air puffing out against his chest where she has her face pressed up against the cotton tee. "Mindy, what are you doing?"
Just in case she doesn't understand his question, he gestures to their intertwined limbs, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
She gives him a little squeeze and says, "You need a hug. Friends give hugs. No funny stuff. I promise."