Nesting Habits Read online

  “Me too.” Phil leaned in for a kiss, and Lee turned on the step to meet him. They kissed until Phil’s stomach rumbled between them and he laughed into Lee’s mouth.

  They cooked cheeseburgers and watched the sky change colors from blue to pink, and then slowly to black. For a little while traffic on the highway backed up, the diesel engines and occasional honk or shout sounding as if they were in the backyard with them. Lee thought about taking their conversation inside, more than once, but the night didn’t show any signs of dipping into uncomfortable temps even with the light breeze. Everything felt so good, so right, he didn’t want to break the spell. Not even to get more Dew or to take Phil to bed.

  Their paper plates still sat off to the side, weighted in place with the fake rock that looked like a dog turd and was supposed to “hide” a spare key. He’d just brought up the subject of what to do with the back porch—to build out and make a deck or fix up what was there and create a spot out in the yard for a table and chairs—when Phil tensed. They sat side by side on the porch, but he felt it almost as if Phil sat in the circle of his arms.

  “We could cover the deck and use it even when it was raining,” Lee said. He tried to ignore Phil’s shiver.

  Lee heard the shouting, but it sounded too far away to bother thinking about. He told himself Phil would get used to the noises of the neighborhood and stop noticing things like that, and tried not to think it was because he’d presumed too much and Phil didn’t want to move in. The shouting faded and Phil nodded, half turning to look at him while keeping one eye on the back fence.

  “Jerry’s backyard is cool. Does it take a lot of work to keep it up?”

  “Sometimes. The grass is high maintenance during part of the year. That garden’s been there over a hundred years, though, so most of the plants are p-pretty well established.”

  The noise got closer again—probably two or three guys who’d been partying were on their way to another one. The sound of wood striking concrete echoed under the highway, and Phil nearly jumped out of his skin. Lee tried to focus on his body language without being obvious. Maybe we should go inside.

  Phil’s reaction surprised him—he was breathing fast and had that old-foil smell, just like in the hospital. Lee couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed sooner, they sat close—well, they had been sitting close, but sometime over the last few minutes, Phil had moved away. How did I miss that? He even looked smaller somehow. “Hey, Phil?”

  Phil turned to face him, his whole body jerking with each hollow-sounding strike of wood on concrete.

  “You okay?”

  Lee reached out and, just as he rested his hand on Phil’s shoulder, the sound of a dog barking joined the echoes. For a fraction of a second, they both froze. The dog stopped barking, and over the next minute or so, the night seemed to settle into quiet. Even the highway was silent and deserted. Lee had started to wonder if he should move his hand or leave it there when three things happened at once—the drunk guys all started laughing and shouting, the dog barked, and Phil bolted through the door into the kitchen. It happened so fast, like something grabbed Phil and pulled him away, leaving Lee sitting there gaping.

  He went inside, careful not to move too fast and make things worse by freaking Phil out. Lee flicked on the kitchen light, and he found Phil by his cry of pain. Close to panic himself, Lee scanned the room, and what he could see of the living room, before he found Phil on the floor under the kitchen table. He panted so loudly the sound filled the kitchen, and Lee’s heart started hammering in his chest.

  “Phil?” He hunkered down beside him and was blown away. Phil gulped air like a fish stranded on the riverbank, his whole body heaving with the effort. He was on his hands and knees, his head bent low, sweat dripping from his hair and onto the floor.

  Lee could barely think of what to do, what to say, that might help. Thinking maybe Phil would work through this, Lee pushed himself to stand and went to close the kitchen door. The wind caught the door and it slammed a little harder than he’d intended, but at least it didn’t sound like the dog was standing in the backyard barking its stupid head off anymore.

  Maybe Phil was starting to relax. All he wanted to do was help that process along. To see Phil suffering like that made Lee feel like someone squeezed his heart in a big meaty fist. As soon as he rested a hand on Phil’s back, he knew it was the wrong thing to do, but it was done, and he couldn’t take it back. In a fraction of a second, Phil went from his hands and knees, struggling to breathe, to scudding across the floor on his side shouting no-no-no-no. He ran into a table leg, and the table shot out into the doorway leading to the living room, toppling two chairs in the process. Phil stopped against the wall with a hollow thud that had to be his head, and then he curled into a ball.

  Phil coughed, and Lee’s cheeseburger felt like so much lead in his stomach. It felt like a betrayal to think so, but Phil sounded like a dog getting ready to hurl. Lee reached out his hand and was telling Phil it would be okay when Phil threw up on the kitchen floor.

  All Lee could think was that he had to fix this. He had to undo what he’d just done and help Phil be okay again, but he had no idea how. Phil started to make a soft wailing sound that made Lee think the word “keening” and brought him to his knees where he’d been standing. The sound held so much pain and fear he could barely breathe. Watching Phil cowering in the corner—his arm up as if to shield himself from blows—made Lee want to wail right along with him.

  After what seemed like a long time, Phil’s harsh panting breaths took the place of every other sound in the house. His arm lowered to the floor, and Lee thought he tried to push himself up. He got as far as pulling his legs underneath his body. Lee moved a little closer, trying for a look at Phil’s face, but he curled even more tightly in on himself, wrapping both arms around his head almost like in one of those old “duck and cover” filmstrips from school.

  “Phil? It’s okay. Th-the door’s shut. N-nobody’s here b-but us.” Lee heard himself stammering and shuddered to realize he was sweating like he’d been working out and shaking so hard the edges of his vision blurred.

  They stayed on the kitchen floor for a long time—Phil curled in a tight ball and Lee watching closely for any sign of what he needed, or of his reaching the end of… whatever this was. When Phil finally moved, he startled a noise from Lee. He’d started to relax, to tell himself that when Phil was feeling better, they’d talk and everything would be fine. He was shocked into stillness when Phil pushed himself to his feet, slipped between the table and the wall, and then headed for the living room. He just knew Phil was headed for the front door.

  “Hey, wait. Don’t leave.”

  Lee ducked his head below the table and watched Phil, still so stunned his brain could barely keep up. Phil had made it halfway across the living room before Lee managed to get to his feet. He pushed the table out of the way, and it crashed against the fridge, startling a cry from Phil, who stumbled the rest of the way to the door. The front wall of the house shuddered when Phil ran into it with his shoulder. It looked like he was trying to escape without having to look up. If it was possible, he looked even smaller than he had in the kitchen.

  Phil’s hands scrambled at the doorknob, and he moaned in frustration. Just as Lee made it within reach, the doorknob turned and Phil’s breathing sped up again.

  Is he afraid to leave, or relieved he can?

  Lee’s stomach clenched and his mouth watered, forcing him to stop until he could be sure he wouldn’t throw up. That wouldn’t help, but the sharp smell of puke filling the little house wasn’t making it any easier. During that time, Phil opened the door and stepped across the threshold.

  “No, wait. You can’t leave, not now, not—”

  When he kept going, Lee raced to catch up with him. He didn’t mean to touch him again, but his adrenaline pushed him faster than he’d anticipated. Lee caught up to Phil within a few steps—and didn’t stop until he ran into him. He threw both arms around Phil, to keep the
m from tumbling down the porch steps. He held on, but didn’t squeeze, and at first it felt like maybe it was the right thing to do. Except for his panting and the heartbeat literally shaking his body, Phil stilled in his arms. For a moment, relief flooded Lee’s body—maybe holding him was what he’d needed all along. It worked when Jerry surprised them in the basement in flagrante delicto, so maybe it would work again.

  Slowly, Phil began shaking his head, and Lee realized he was still, sure, but every muscle in Phil’s body was rigid—with fear? With panic.

  “Don’t leave. Please, Phil. You can’t drive, you’ll—”

  Phil made the keening sound again, and this time it was obvious that in addition to panicking, he was crying. His shaking intensified, slowly torqueing his muscles past the point of tight.

  “Please. Just tell me what to do, I’ll do anything….”

  “L-let me g-go.”

  His voice was rough, and Lee heard something in it that made him want to step away, something that convinced him to let Phil go. He didn’t think Phil would bolt as soon as he did. He thought the something he heard might be telling him it was okay to let go, that he was feeling better. Obviously that was wrong because as soon as his arms loosened, Phil spun away from him and half ran, half slid down the front steps. He raced across the lawn, stumbling over a low patch, and by the time Lee made it to the side of the Jeep he’d already started it. Lee knocked on the driver’s side window, but Phil didn’t look at him—he barely checked behind him as he peeled-out of the driveway in reverse. The truck slid in a wide screeching arc in the middle of the street as he slammed on the brakes, and again as he jumped into forward gear his tires squealing as he left the court.

  Phil

  HE DIDN’T realize he’d left the Jeep’s lights on until he reached the end of Jerry’s driveway, but by then, it was too late to stop. If he stopped, he’d just throw up in the flowerbed or on the pavement. He grabbed the corner of the house and swung around into the yard, launching himself toward the porch. He barely made it to his tiny bathroom in time, even after sliding down the basement stairs on his side.

  After long minutes of painful dry heaves, Phil collapsed, his cheek against the cool tile floor. His heart beat so hard and fast he worried it would explode. Something had to give eventually, and in that moment, he would’ve welcomed any development that resulted in an end of this mother of all panic attacks.

  He was still curled up on his bathroom floor when he heard Jerry—calling his name and running down the stairs. His heart had started to slow, but the panic in Jerry’s voice had it racing again. He knew he should get up. Get up and tell Jerry he was okay, but his body wasn’t his own. It felt like a bag of wet sand, half-full, formless and shapeless, without the ability to do more than quiver in a helpless mass.

  “Phil, are you hurt? Talk to me, Phil, or I’m taking you to the emergency room right now.”

  Phil’s eyes fell closed with the effort of forcing out a moan. Another try produced a sound closer to the word no, but he still shook so violently he couldn’t be sure it was clear.

  TIME PASSED. He had no clue how much, and when he opened his eyes, he was in his bed. Jerry sat beside him. The room was almost light enough to see clearly. His heartbeat had returned to normal.

  “Phil?”

  He nodded. He wanted to apologize for crashing into the fence but couldn’t speak.

  “It’s okay. Just rest and we can talk later. I parked the Jeep, there’s no real damage to either it or the fence. Okay?”

  “S-sorry.”

  Jerry shook his head. He looked upset and Phil knew the right reaction was to feel bad, to feel guilty about causing it, but all he wanted was to escape again. Escape his sore muscles and pounding head and the emptiness in his chest that felt worse than the fear and panic it replaced.

  Lee

  LEE LEFT his car in front of the house, the door hanging open, not caring where it was in relation to the driveway, even though Mom had taught him better than that, and he ran back to the greenhouse. Not a soul in sight. For a moment he teetered on the edge of panic, calling out for his mom like a five-year-old lost at the mall. Relief flooded through him when her head appeared above the dill in the far corner.

  She met him in the center aisle and for a second he couldn’t speak, he was so glad to see her. “I need to talk to you. Do you have—”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” She pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto a nearby table. “Come, sit down and tell me what’s the matter.”

  She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. While he was growing up, it was like she literally held him together when she did that. He hoped the effect would kick in soon.

  They sat just outside the greenhouse on a weathered blue bench, not quite under the plum trees. For the first minute, Lee concentrated on breathing and staying put—Mom didn’t like him to pace around when they were talking.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I fucked up. Sorry, I really messed up, Mom.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”

  He realized he’d been wringing his hands together when she took one and pressed it between her palms. “I-I’m not really sure. Phil came by the house yesterday. We talked—a lot. He told me…. Did you know he grew up in foster homes?”

  “Yes. Jerry told me. He didn’t have an easy childhood, but now he has us.”

  That stopped Lee for a moment. Totally and completely. He hadn’t thought that over the weeks they spent here, that Phil could’ve started a relationship with Tina that didn’t include him. He felt horrible about it, selfish and mean, but even though he wanted them to love each other, on some level, he didn’t want to share either of them with anyone. Which was, as Phil would say, ridiculous on its face, but nonetheless true. When Lee started breathing again, he shook his head. It didn’t feel any clearer. He couldn’t look at her.

  “I—he had a panic attack or something, and I didn’t know what to do and I fucked it all up. Mom, I don’t know what to do now—”

  She pulled him into her arms and hugged him so hard it hurt a little. “What did you do, sweetheart? Is he here now?”

  “No.” Lee more groaned than spoke, drawing out the single syllable nearly to sentence length.

  “Wait. Where is he?”

  “I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn’t. I didn’t know if I should let him go or make him stay… I chose wrong, I shouldn’t’ve let him go like that.”

  “Have you talked to him?” She held him at arm’s length, her serious expression turning his gut to lead.

  “He won’t answer. I drove by and his truck’s there, but he won’t answer his phone.”

  She held his cheek in her hand for a moment, and then told him to sit tight. Before she’d put three steps between them, she was on her phone. Lee leaned forward, not sure he could stay seated but determined to at least try not to fuck up again so soon.

  “Is Phil all right?”

  Lee guessed Jerry must’ve said yes, because she sat back beside him and put her phone on speaker.

  “—shouldn’t have been driving.”

  Lee opened his mouth, but she rested a hand on his arm, asking him to keep still. “May I speak to him a moment?”

  Jerry’s sigh felt like a knife in Lee’s chest. “He’s not speaking at all at the moment. I’ll let him know you’d like to talk to him, though.”

  “That doesn’t sound like okay to me, Jerry.”

  Another sigh and Lee met his mother’s eyes over her phone. They listened to Jerry’s footsteps and a door closing.

  “He hasn’t gotten out of bed or eaten, but it’s only been a few hours and a severe panic attack can be exhausting all by itself. I’m trying to be optimistic, but if he doesn’t improve within the next few days, I’ll have to take him in. In this state, they’ll probably keep him. I don’t want to do it, it’s a catch-22 at best, but I won’t allow him to become a danger to himself.”

  Lee slumped against the back of
the bench, drained and trembling. Blocking it all out sounded tempting. He knew it wasn’t a long-term strategy, but short term—yeah, deflecting that much pain and fear was the most attractive option. He closed his eyes and hid behind his hands. Lee barely heard the rest of their conversation and had the feeling Mom asked more than once if he was okay before he actually heard her.

  “Why would someone do that?” He dropped his hands into his lap without opening his eyes. “Leave their own kid alone in foster homes? Sign away their parental rights?”

  Tina pulled him into her arms. For a little while she just held him and petted his hair. It took a long while before the buzzing in his ears stopped and he was able to breathe normally again.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe she thought that was the best she could do for him, to leave him with people who were supposed to take care of him. I’m not saying I agree with what she did, but she was very young and didn’t have anyone to help her.”

  “How young?”

  “She was only sixteen when Phil was born. Her husband was much older, and not a very good person at all.”

  Lee snorted and almost lost his composure.

  No. No crying, dumbass.

  “So she was our age when she dumped him.”

  “In the neighborhood, yes.”

  “People are so horrible.”

  She eased Lee away enough to kiss his cheek, then waited for him to look up at her. He knew what she wanted, but it took him a while anyway.

  “Give him time, sweetheart. We’ll let him know we’ll be here when he needs us.”

  “But, doesn’t he need us now? Shouldn’t I go over there?”