Chapter Seven

Hank

Now

“So, you give him half a cup in the morning and one in the evening around six. He’s allowed to have two snacks but as many carrots as he wants. If you give him more than two snacks, you gotta give him less kibble in the evening and never…”

Hank was starting to zone out, Henry’s words bleeding into a monotonous blah blah blah. They’d been going through the infamous list that Colton had warned him about yesterday for what seemed like hours, but couldn’t be more than thirty minutes. He knew the veterinarian was somewhat of a control freak, but it wasn’t as if Hank was a kid or anything. He did know how to feed himself, so how hard could it be to look after Louis for a few days? Sure, he’d never had a dog, but it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

He looked down at Louis, who regarded him with… pity? Yeah, it looked like pity. He shrugged back at the pup, who started wagging his tail energetically. Hank tried to communicate with the dog using his eyes only, but it wasn’t exactly as easy as Louis made it look. As soon as your daddies get the hell outta here, I’ll bring out the good stuff. As in I-picked-up-a-month’s-supply-of-snacks-at-the-grocery-store. Together with the two large steaks he’d picked up at Vern’s this morning, they were in for a hedonistic weekend of limitless indulgence, watching hockey and stuffing themselves.

“… and it took three washes to get rid of the stains. Okay?” Hank had no idea what Henry was on about, but decided the safest option was to just nod furiously like one of those dolls with the bobbing heads.

“Yep, got it,” he smiled at the younger guy. Henry was keeping a close quarter, but Colton seemed to thrive with the predictability and daily routines. Hank guessed that if you’d lost all your friends in a meaningless war in some faraway country with an exotic name and only got a chronic diagnosis to show for it in return, it kind of made sense that his nephew wasn’t exactly Mr. Spontaneous these days. Hell, he wasn’t really a thrill-seeker himself, either. The wildest thing he’d done in years was trying out a new beer brand or tasting one of Colton’s homemade chili sauces. Shit, he’d nearly burned off his tastebuds for good.

“Chilis!” Henry scrutinized the two-page, closely handwritten list, also known as ‘ just the bare minimum . ’ Hank shivered at the thought of what the list would’ve looked like if they were going away for an entire week instead of just a weekend. “How could I forget the chilis!” Henry looked pale, as if he’d forgotten a toddler in his car on a hot July day or to turn off the stove. Quickly grabbing a pen from the kitchen counter, Henry furiously scribbled something at the bottom of the second page, just above the emergency contact numbers. Hank felt a headache building and even Louis had given up by now, retreating to his basket in the mudroom.

“Uhm, chilis?” Hank repeated tentatively.

“Yes,” Henry brushed at his wavy hair. “The seedlings. C’mon,” he nodded towards the sunroom. “They’re in here.” Henry hurried through the living room to the large sunroom that was already generously filled with plants of all types and sizes. Some were even hanging from the ceiling like regular rainforest plants. The air was humid, and Hank immediately regretted that he hadn’t taken off his cable-knit wool sweater when he’d arrived. In his own defense, he’d expected this to be an easy in-and-out operation, but, of course, there was no such thing with Henry. Swiping a few drops of sweat from his forehead, he trailed after Henry to the far end of the room, where a large table held rows and rows of small, frail-looking seedlings.

“Uhm, Henry, isn’t it a little early for seedlings?” Hank tested the waters. It was only late October and even though he didn’t know a lot about gardening, he did know that chili plants didn’t particularly care for snow.

“They’re not going outside,” Henry smiled patiently, his blue eyes calm and kind. “Colton keeps them inside.” He pointed at a long row of chili plants lining the large floor-to-ceiling glass windows facing their wild property. Nodding at the row of plants, Henry continued. “These are good for a few days without watering because of the humidity in here, but the seedlings must be watered daily.” He shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries, son,” Hank spoke. “I don’t mind.”

Henry reached out and caressed the feeble leaves of one of the small plants. There was a tenderness in his eyes, a softness in his features as he took in Colton’s plants. Hank had never thought about the younger couple having kids since he’d never entertained the idea himself, but in that moment, he couldn’t help wondering if his nephew and Henry wanted some. They were still young—Colton just having turned forty-three and Henry only thirty. There was still plenty of time. Only sometimes there wasn’t.

Surprising himself, Hank murmured, “Do you want kids one day?”

Henry tipped his head, a surprised look on his face. Then his cheeks reddened, a longing glimmer in his bright blue eyes, and Hank knew the answer to that.

“Maybe,” Henry near whispered. “I mean, it’s up to Colton, really.” Yeah, Hank knew that to be the truest words ever spoken. There wasn’t anything that Henry wouldn’t give him or do for him, and it left Hank with an ambiguous feeling inside. He missed having someone else that he needed to consider every time he made plans. He missed being an us instead of just a me.

“Hank?” Henry’s voice came out tentatively.

“Yeah?” He shook himself, suddenly feeling cold despite the humid air in the sunroom.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can.”

“Have you ever thought about dating again? I mean, you’re still young and a good-looking guy…” Henry flushed, worrying his bottom lip. “Sorry if I’m overstepping,” he added.

“Nah, you’re okay.” Hank felt his chest tightening at the thought of going on a date with someone else. To hold hands with someone who wasn’t Eugene. To kiss lips that didn’t belong to Eugene. To… No, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Shaking his head, he swallowed audibly, a sickening taste in his mouth.

“Jeez, I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t mean to…” Henry came around the table and stood next to him. “I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled, his eyes filled with regret.

“Nah, you’re good.” Hank squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “I’m just an old fool missin’ somethin’ that’s long gone.”

“You’re not old, Hank. Hell, you’ve got years ahead of you.” Henry bit his bottom lip. “And you’re no fool, either. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose someone like that.” Hank noticed that Henry didn’t mention Colton’s name—perhaps afraid to even voice the idea of losing him. “I’m really sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t, son. Now, lose the sad face and show me the rest of that list.” Hank winked. Henry’s face lit somewhat up at the mention of the list, and hurried out a quick “follow me” before taking off in the direction of the long hallway.

Hank trailed after him at a more moderate pace. The truth was, he had thought about it at some point. Putting himself out there again. Dating. Four years ago, after Colton had returned, breathing some much-needed life into his dormant soul, he’d tried out one of those dating apps. Secondchance.com or some shit like that. Entering his personal details was okay, but once he’d gotten to the more in-depth questions “to ensure a customized experience and that we match you up with the right person,” his mind had gone all fuzzy, and his fingers had failed him. The generic questions might as well have been written in Romanian or Mandarin.

Describe your dream holiday. Fuck, he just wanted to go ghost rhino-watching in the Badlands with Eugene. That’s what he fucking wanted. To hell with pristine beaches and crystal-clear blue water. To hell with coconut drinks and mouthwatering lobster salad. He just wanted Eugene next to him looking out across the vast prairie, their fingers intertwined, Eugene’s beaming face competing with the sun.

Describe the perfect day. Any day with Eugene. It didn’t matter if it was raining or so cold that your balls were freezing off. He just wanted to wake up in the morning and when he reached out his hand, the right side of the bed was no longer cold and empty but instead warm from Eugene’s sleep-warm body. ‘Get up, lazy pants. It’s a beautiful day outside. I made coffee.’ Those were the words that would kick off a perfect day. An endless row of perfect days.

Describe your dream man. Ocean eyes that constantly changed color from an almost translucent blue in the morning to a deep indigo at night. Shaggy, dirty-blond hair that always needed a damn haircut. Freckles. Those goddamn freckles. Three behind the left knee. One just below the belly button hidden beneath a trail of downy blond hair. A small cluster of stars on the inside of the right thigh. Goddamn freckles everywhere. Long slender fingers that would snap-snap-snap that old camera, a crooked smile pulling at the softest lips known to man.

Yeah, he’d already had his dream man. His person. And now he was gone and was it only just last week that it’d occurred to Hank that he could no longer recall how Eugene smelled? It’d felt like he’d lost him all over again. And then he’d screamed in the middle of his kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon. Because that was just the beginning, right? Soon it would be Eugene’s voice or his smile. His laugh or his cute little snores. All those small details that made out an entire person. One day they would be gone, and he would only be left with a vague recollection of the man he’d loved for thirty-one years.

So, screw all your describe scenarios. As far as Hank was concerned, his preferred Friday night now consisted of a belly filled with steak, a cold Bud Light in his hand, as he watched the Iowa Wild preferably beat the crap out of their opponent from his well-used recliner. If he had a sleeping Louis at his feet, that was just a bonus.

“Hank?! You comin’?” Henry hollered from God knows where, his voice resounding down the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’,” he mumbled in front of him before raising his voice a couple of octaves. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, son. I’m comin’!”