Oscar has aged.

     Javi expected him to, didn't think time worked any differently for his parents then it did for himself. It didn't make it any less sad, sitting across from him at the kitchen table under the bright overhead light, looking at his closely shaved beard that was fully gray now.

     Oscar looks at Javi like he can't take it all in fast enough, his eyes darting up, over, down, over like they were using Morse Code to find out why he left and why he never came back.

     "Do you want coffee?" Oscar asks suddenly, jumping to his feet. He has an old coffee maker on the counter and pulls a container of Folgers out of the cabinet.

     Javi does want coffee. His body craves caffeine like it's narcotics. Maybe for him it is. But he knows the rules and feels like at least while he's here he should try to abide by them. He doesn't need another incident occurring where everyone knows him.

     "I can't have caffeine this late," he says instead of just no thank you. He says it mainly because he wants his dad to ask him oh why not? So he can say because my doctors advised me not to and he'll ask what doctors and he'll tell him my psychiatrist.

     He wants his dad to give him the opening to tell him everything.

     Javi waits, wringing his hands on the table and trying not to look around. Everything is the same in the worst kind of way. He can easily imagine his mom in this room, picture her at the sink filing a cup of water to pour into her herbs on the windowsill. Or by the oven making rice, overcooking it so the bottom burns the way Javi likes it, cocón.

     Oscar returns with a cup of coffee, the steam rising and fogging his glasses. He sits across from Javi, looks at him again like he has to make a memory of him. "Your mother," he says and stops.

     "I know," Javi tells him.

     "Where were you, Javi? Why did you not come?" Oscar asks, his tone hurt. "She loved you so much."

     "I know," Javi repeats nodding solemnly.

     "She said to me...she was dying and we knew that. We did not take the little time she had for granted. She got her affairs in order. And in one of the last days — she said to me, forgive him, Oscar. He is our son and so you must forgive him."

     "I was so mad at you," Oscar admits shamefully. "At my own son. I couldn't understand what we did to push you away."

     Javi takes it on the chin. He deserves worse. He deserves his father's wrath.

     Oscar drinks from his mug. Doesn't even flinch from the heat of his drink. He says slowly, "I loved your mother till the very end. I'll love her for the rest of my days. So I'll do as she asked. I've missed you, Javi. I've missed my son very much. But I also need time. Because I'm angry. But I am happy you're here. I hope you will stay. At least for a little while."

     Javi blinks back the tears. He won't make this moment about him. He doesn't deserve his father's pity. Not when he's disappointed him the way he has.

     He clears his throat and says, "I don't have anywhere else to go right now."

     "Then you'll stay," Oscar says standing. "And we'll work on this. Rebuild it." He watches his father walk over the sink and set is coffee in it. He realizes that, like his father, he does things sometimes just to busy his hands, not because he necessarily needs to.

     Oscar's at the doorway and he looks back at Javi. He says, "I believe your mother sent you back to me."

     Javi is gutted. He needs worse from his father. He needs his father's rage. He didn't come here looking for absolution. He came here to reaffirm how he already feels about himself.

❂

     Tate's house is full of the women the next morning.

     He's in a piss mood and he has a contract he has to be at for ten a.m. Oscar is incredibly prompt. He knows not to keep him waiting. It's only eight now and Sylvia's on his front porch. Emery's in the doorway, wrapped in a plaid robe talking to her.

     "You didn't tell me Em was visiting!" Sylvia says bounding into the house. She whacks his arm as he rounds the staircase.

     "Well I wasn't aware she was coming to visit. Or that she was bringing Javi with her."

     Sylvia does a double take between Emery and Tate. "Come again, what?" She does it again and then settles her gaze on Tate. Her eyes are bloodshot, making the blue look even more vibrant than usual. "Javi? Javi Castillo? The man, the myth, the legend?"

     "The one, the only," Emery says as she walks past. "I'm going back to bed."

     "Nice seeing you!" Sylvia calls to her retreating form. 

     She's hot on Tate's heels, following him into the kitchen as he goes to fix himself some tea. He drops a teabag into his travel mug and then he gets out a frying pan, planning to make some eggs while his water boils.

     "Javi's really back?" she asks. And then, softer, "How are you doing with that?"

     Before he can respond, the lie ready on his lips, Pepper walks in and Sylvia goes silent. She twists around with a surprised squeak and knocks over his travel mug. It clatters loudly.

     "Morning," Pepper says.

     "Morning!" Sylvia responds, her voice an octave or two too high.

     Tate needs her to either make a move or get over her because this frantic energy this early in the morning is killing him. "Do you want eggs?" he asks Sylvia who nods and says please before moving to the breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. "Pepper?" he asks politely.

     "I'm fine, thanks," she says breezily. "I need to go to the pharmacy and pick up something for your mom."

     "Pick up what?" he asks maybe too quickly, too urgently. He does have a tendency to make mountains out of mole hills when it comes to his mom but then he thinks Lena went to sleep and then just didn't wake up.

     "Just some ointment," she says breezily. "She has a sore. I'll be quick."

     Sylvia waits till she hears the front door slam before she groans and says, "The things that I would do for a SECOND with her."

     "What would you do with a second?" he asks, dividing the eggs to two plates and then joining Syl at the breakfast nook. It's in alcove of the kitchen, windows on every side that look out into the backyard, where Tate's taken over his mother's garden. Unsurprisingly, everything in it is dead.

     "I don't know," she says quickly. "I haven't thought that far. I can't even make words around her. I'll probably just stare."

     "You think Pepper's?" He lifts his eyebrows suggestively.

     "Hell yeah, gays attract gays. Look at us."

     "What about us?"

     "We found each other and we're like the token queers in this town." Sylvia shovels some eggs into her mouth and then says, "So Javi's back?"

     "Javi's back," Tate confirms eating with a bit more dignity. He had date once, out of town, a guy from the city, who'd been so offended by how he ate that he made a point of saying so and then left before dessert.

     "How does that make you feel?"

     "Like I want to punch him in the face."

     "Fair. Valid. How about we start with words though? Like where were you? Why did you leave? Was my penis really that offensive?"

     Tate chokes on some eggs, jumping up to grab a glass from the strainer and fill it with tap. He swallows three large gulps before he can say, "Seriously?"

     "What?" Syl responds. "I'm all about cutting to the chase. You gotta get the answers before he pulls a Houdini again."

     "That's what I'm saying," Emery says popping up in the kitchen doorway.

     "I thought you were sleeping?"

     "You guys are loud." Emery slides onto the bench seat besides Tate and takes his fork. "You done with these? Oh good." She doesn't hesitate to pick up where he left off with his breakfast.

     "Can we go out tonight?" Sylvia asks. "I think we need to commemorate Em being home."

     "Yes! I concur."

     Tate shakes his head. "Count me out. You guys go."

     Em nudges him with her shoulder. "Come on, you need to let loose and we need to catch up."

     "We can catch up right here in the house."

     Sylvia says, "Not to be a dick but you spend way too much time in this house."

     "That's incredibly pot kettle considering how much time you spend at home." He rolls his eyes at her hypocrisy. "I can't just leave. I have my mom."

     Sylvia makes a face. "I spend so much time at home because I work from home. And creating video games is time consuming, okay?"

     "We won't go far, we won't be out late, and Pepper puts your mom to bed, anyway," Em says, "I think Marg would want you to, anyway."

     "I'll think about it," Tate says after a moment.

    "That's basically a yes! Which is more than I've gotten in a year, omg." Sylvia fist bumps the air.

     "You know," Tate says gesturing for Emery to let him out of the booth. "I should ask Pepper if she wants to come after work."

     "Don't you dare," Sylvia says quickly her eyes going wide.

     "Oh yeah, I think I will."

     "Devious!"

     "You got a thing for his mom's nurse? Kinky." Emery laughs.

     "You should ask her what she'd do with a second," Tate teases, going to wash his dishes.

     Emery shrugs. "I mean, she's hot I get it."

     "Thank you!"

     Tate says, "She has a bad attitude."

     "No, you just get in the way of her doing her job," Sylvia responds.

     "Maybe you should invite," Emery suggests and Tate bristles at the suggestion.

      "Can I ask you guys something, please?" He turns so he can look at them both equally. "Can we just not mention Javi anymore?"

❂

     Javi finds his old bedroom to be exactly how he left it. His full sized bed is still sitting under a poster of the motorcycle he always wanted. Same white and grey striped sheets with a taupe comforter folded back twice, the way his mom always made his bed.

     There's his computer desk, stacks of books he'd read for fun and for school, framed photos of him, and Tate, his parents, and Margie. Them dressed for Halloween, them in a Shakespeare play for school, them on the soccer team (for the two seconds Tate lasted, anyway.)

     His room, like the rest of the house, is overwhelmingly the same. He finds himself standing in the doorway hyperventilating, unable to go forward or back. Staring into a space where so much good had happened.

     As a child, his mom would come in every night. Every single night. She'd start by tidying while he climbed under the covers, picking up a loose sock or hanging his backpack up. And then she'd sit on the edge of his bed and tell him something good. She'd say, "Here's something good so you'll have sweet dreams tonight."

     It could be anything. Sometimes she'd say, I'm so proud of you. Other times it was Christmas is three weeks away or we have a bunny in our backyard and I've named him Fifa. (Like the game mom? Like the game Javi.)

     Javi backs out of the room quickly, stumbling and falling into the hallway wall. Why had he thought coming home would save him?

     Javi wakes with a shock. He's staring up at the ceiling, the crown molding unfamiliar at first. It takes him a moment to realize someone has woken him and then he looks to where his father's standing at his feet, holding a rolled newspaper.

    "What're you doing sleeping on the couch?" he asks. "There's a perfectly good bed in the other room."

     "I didn't want to intrude," Javi says his mouth cotton-dry and tasting vile. He should've brushed his teeth before he went to sleep but he doesn't even have a change of clothes, let alone a toothbrush.

     "You show up at the house in the middle of the night, but sleeping in your old bed is where you draw the proprietary line?"

     Oscar walks out of the room after he says it, leaving Javi there lying on the couch. Javi's still tired, sleep hanging heavy on him, an after-effect of his medication. He curls back up on the couch and tries to fall asleep.

     His phones on the coffee table and starts vibrating, doing a dance over the edge and clattering to the floor. Javi groans before forcing his eyes open and reaching down for it. When he answers with a groggy hello there's a surprised chirp as response.

     "Oh thank god," the voice, who he slowly recognizes as Colleen's, exclaims. "Thank god! OMG, I've been trying to reach you for weeks."

     "I've been indisposed," he says as way of explanation. Colleen is his assistant, just assistant, which is to say they are not friends or even friendly, really. He treats her fairly and in return she does her job very well.

     "It would've been nice to get notice. Do you know how many people are looking for you? Namely Montgomery."

     "I'll handle it, Colleen," he says wearily.

     "Okay, perfect, because it was starting to feel like my job on the line if I couldn't find you. So, I'll see you in the office tomorrow?"

     Javi takes a deep breath and then says, "Actually, you won't."

     Long pause and then, "What do you mean I won't?"

     "I'm taking a leave," he says. "And this won't jeopardize your role, so don't worry. I'm actually—listen, I need you to do something for me and then this will be the last thing you do as my assistant."

    "You just said this wouldn't jeopardize my position! I'm being fired?"

     "Right, it doesn't, because I'm getting you promoted."

     "Are you, are you serious?"

     He tells her he is. She's quiet again, thoughtful, and then goes, "What's the ask? Is it something disgusting?"

     It's always something disgusting, he realizes, when it comes to the Hill. But no, not in this case. "You still have the key to my apartment?"

     "Yes, the emergency key? it's at the office."

     "Okay, I need you to get that and — look I'm sorry this very clearly not your role, but I'm kind of desperate here — I need you to pack some of my things up and send them to me."

     Silence again. "That's it? Are these things, like, illegal?"

     "Illegal? No, they're my clothes, some books, my laptop. That kind of thing."

     "Oh," she says surprised. "So you just want me to pack your stuff up?"

     "Yes, that's what I'm asking."

     "Nothing illegal? Not even drugs?"

     "Do you want it to be drugs?"

     "I mean, obviously not. It's just. Why?"

     "I'm away right now and I can't get back there."

     "Away like...jail?"

     "Colleen, I'm really confused how you got this impression of me."

     "I mean this is the impression of everyone on the Hill."

     "I'm with my family. My mother died," he says simply.

      She gasps. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I feel like such a jackass. Okay, please forget everything I've just said. I will absolutely get your stuff to you."

     "Look, put everything on the corporate card. Get a couple boxes at FedEx and overnight this to me if you can. I'll send you the address."

     "Is there anything you want specifically or like that you don't want me to go through?"

     Javi thinks about it. "No, not really. Just fill a box with some clothes, shoes, uh my pillow would be good. Yeah my hair products, my hair products would be good, too."

     "And your skincare obviously," she says, amused.

     "Yeah, just pack like it was your stuff, I guess."

     "How have you been without this for a month? Why are you asking for it now?"

     "Because I was in the hospital for the last month," he says again very easily, like it's not a thing at all.

     "Oh. Uhm, are you okay?"

     "I'm fine," he says quickly. "Send me the shipment confirmation. Expect a call from HR."

     "Okay," Colleen says. "Okay thanks."

     In Javi's world, these kinds of promotions always came at a price. And for a while, he paid them. He didn't realize how much he was losing until it was too late.

     He wants to go back to sleep but he knows he needs to call Montgomery. He's not looking forward to it. The last time they spoke — yeah it'd driven him clear over the edge.

     In therapy, he learned about facing his triggers head on. His work was the largest one, where he'd put all his time and energy and what had clearly fed his psychosis. He worked long days, slept little, subsisted off of caffeine and nicotine and shitty workouts when he could manage it.

     Montgomery loved that about him, called it a killer work ethic, which Javi now realized maybe meant it would ultimately get him killed.

     He gets up, stepping outside onto the front porch as he calls Montgomery. It rings three times before he picks up. He leads with no hello, but, "If you're going to be dramatic, at least succeed."

     It would hurt coming from anyone else, fill Javi with shame, but coming from Montgomery it just is. Montgomery was never nice to him except for when he was nice to him, usually a few beers deep and late at night.

     "I thought that was a good one," Montgomery says after Javi's silence. "You should laugh."

     "I'm on leave indefinitely," Javi says.

     "Nope," Montgomery responds. "Request denied."

     "You can't deny it. I'm on medical leave."

     "So you had a bad night, got a little carried away. You didn't need to be locked up for thirty days and you don't need to go on leave, either. We're in the middle of the general elections."

     "You're in the middle of them," Javi says with way more intention than he's ever spoken to Montgomery before. "I'm on leave."

     "Javi, I swear to god if you don't get back here."

     "You'll what exactly? I'm not nineteen anymore. You don't scare me." As soon as Javi says it, he knows he'll live to regret it. He was never specifically scared of Montgomery so much as cognizant of the power the man held over him.

     "Is that so?" Montgomery says quietly, his tone lethal. "You have one week, otherwise I'll drag you back by the balls." And then as an after thought, he adds, "But I'm sure you'd like that."

     Javi hangs up just in time to keel over the railing and throw up. It's all acid. He can't remember what he ate yesterday which means he didn't eat enough. The liquid comes out of his nose so he coughs, chokes, and sneezes his way through the dry heaving.

     He flinches when a hand comes down on the small of his back and then his fathers asking, "What's wrong with you, Javi? Are you sick? Is that why you came back?"

     Javi rights himself, clearing his throat as he rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. He shakes his head. "No, no, I'm not sick. I think I ate something bad yesterday."

     Oscar nods slowly, like he's processing it and then he holds his hand up and spits out, "Then what are these pills? And since when do you smoke?"

❂

     Tate's day is long and by the time he gets home, he's bone weary. When Oscar shows up for work, late, he's angry. He seethes in his anger, never takes it out on the crew, but he's closed-off and it changes the morale for the day. Everyone works in silence.

     On his break, he tries to ask Oscar what's wrong. "What isn't wrong?" Oscar had snapped staring up at the sky. "What isn't wrong?"

     He didn't know what to make of that but he assumed it had a lot to do with Javi being back. Tate wants to ignore it, ignore the way Javi's return is upsetting the peace that took years to settle over everyone he wronged by leaving, but he can't. He cares for Oscar deeply and he doesn't like seeing him upset.

     Tate's ready to call it quits, and not go out tonight. He doesn't want to shower, doesn't want to get dressed, and make a play at being social and uncaring tonight. But he doesn't let not wanting to do something stop him. Not when he's given someone his word, which he never goes back on.

     Despite the fact he's certain he could sleep for a full day and still be tired, he showers. He gets dressed. Styles his hair. And walks with Em a few blocks over to a small pub.

     Sylvia's already there when they walk in, sitting at a bar top with a perspiring glass of Blue Moon in front of her. She's focused on her phone, thumbs moving, and he's sure she's playing some game.

     "Oi," she says. "Took ya long enough."

     "Someone likes to spend a lot of time on their hair," Em responds with a lousy fake cough.

     Tate rolls his eyes. "I spend some time on my hair, not a lot."

     Em shrugs innocently. "It's a lot for a boy."

     He shoots back, "That's sexist."

     "It is a lot for a boy. For a boy who's single, anyway. Who are you trying to impress?" Sylvia eyes him seriously.

     "Yeah," Em says in singsong, batting her lashes at him. "Who are you trying to impress?"

❂

     "The pills," Javi repeats back.

     "Yeah, the pills, Javi. These pills." Oscar shakes the ziplock bag that Javi so haphazardly left on the coffee table. Belatedly, he thinks he could really go for a smoke right about now.

     Javi knows a thing or two about getting away with things and that's sprinkling in the most digestible bit of truth to hide the parts that'll catch in your throat. So he says, "They're for anxiety."

     His father looks appalled. "Anxiety? What's this anxiety? You have anxiety now? Anxiety from what? How do you have anxiety?"

     Javi's temper spikes and he almost says this, this is what gives me anxiety, having to explain myself. Having to explain why I feel the way I do.

❂

     Tate is a few beers deep and he hasn't had this much fun in a long time. Probably since the last time. Em visited. He doesn't get out much with Sylvia. They have a tendency to embrace each other's homebody tendencies.

     They're taking a wild trip down memory lane, mainly telling stories to Sylvia who only moved here five years ago. At first it seems like Em is deftly avoiding any stories that involve Javi. But it's easy to run out of stories that way so of course it doesn't last.

     She's still laughing when she says, "Remember when you and Jav broke into the movie theatre?"

     "No you didn't," Sylvia says with a scandalized gasp.

     Tate has gone cold at the mention of Javi, Jav. He's been very actively, very deliberately not thinking about Javi. That Javi is even in this town again, in a space that Tate occupies and they're both moving the same particles through the atmosphere again. It's too much for someone who thought they'd never be within a distance of each other to trade oxygen again.

      "Anyway," Tate says. "You guys want another round?"

     Em rolls her eyes. "Come on, you can't even talk about him? Reminisce?"

     "I don't want to talk about him. I don't care to."

     "That's a lot of your past to just ignore because of a boy."

     Not just a boy, he thinks. A Javi. Who's across the room, leaning against the bar.

❂

     He wants to go to sleep. He wants to go back to sleep so bad he could close his eyes and pull a Dracula on the spot. He heaves a breath and says, "I just do, dad. It's nothing to worry about. That's just what the meds are for."

     His dad shakes his head. "No. You don't have anxiety, you have bad habits." He holds up the bag, emphasizing the cigarettes. "And no structure. What you need is some grounding."

     Javi raises both eyebrows, surprised. "You're grounding me? I'm a little old for that, don't you think?"

     "No, not grounding you. Grounding," he says with emphasis as if that makes a difference. "Go back to your roots. Get out in nature for a little while. Stop being so consumed by your work and your phones and laptops and the internet."

     "What do you know about any of that?"

     "I read the newspaper. I know about how its ruining kids."

     "I'm not a kid, dad."

     "No, you're not. You're adult who evidently runs from his problems. And picks shortcuts." He shakes the bag again.

     "So you're gonna fix me?"

     "No, you're gonna fix yourself, Javi."

❂

     Tate stares, sucked into the silo that is Javier. He could drown in it if his thoughts weren't wildly trying to provide life preservation. His mind is racing with all sorts of commands. Ignore him, invite him over, stop staring, don't take your eyes off of him.

     Tate could acquiesce to the last request. He hasn't had free reign to look at Javi in so long that he can't even compare notes. This new Javi is the only one he knows and can recognize. The memory of Javi has all but completely faded.

     And this new Javi is unexpected. Clean cut, attractive, certainly a pretty boy. He was always attractive but now he looks like he has money. He looks expensive. Tate wondered for a long time where Javi went and what he was doing. The wondering now was different, the question burning for an answer, if only he caved, which he doesn't want to do.

     He can tell that Javi is drunk just by watching him. His movements are slow and exaggerated. He stumbles without even having moved and has to brace himself up against the bar.

     Tate jerks his head away, refocusing on the table. He has no sense of will and looks back. Javi's moved around the bar and is doing something. He can't tell what. He's gone up to John McGyer and Mickey Rowe. He doesn't think he knows them since they're fairly new to town.

     He notices the shit-eating grin on Javi's face and the exact moment where what he's said doesn't land well.

     Emery's turned to look, just in time to see the first swing. She gasps saying, "Oh shit."

     Tate watches the punch land, a hard hit that sends Javi staggering back. He sees Javi's mouth move and then he's being punched again. Grabbed by the shirt and thrown up against the bar.

     "What the fuck," Tate says shocked.

     And even though it's not his place, it's never been his place, he jumps up and puts himself between Javi and the fist coming at him.