2. Connor

Once we got settled in, we went out to look around Cider Landing. Cute little shops lined the main street on either side. There was even a toyshop with a big bin of plastic animals in the back, and we found Jessie a frog—admittedly a more realistic one than the stuffed one I was carrying around for them.

Then, we found a candy store—one of those old-timey ones with the big scoops and bags you could fill with anything you wanted.

I worried for half a second that I was being too indulgent, but then, Jessie was happy. That was what I wanted more than anything. And we were on vacation. For a couple days, spoiling them a little was going to be okay. We'd just have a talk about vacation rules and normal rules, and how they weren't always the same.

Yeah, that'd take care of it.

Trevor snapped some pictures of us, even made a video of Jessie telling us what kind of frog the little plastic toy represented.

So while we were just getting the lay of the land that first afternoon, I had hopes for the rest of the week, and I was feeling more relaxed than I had in months when we sat down for dinner at a local diner.

"I want to play the jumping game," Jessie said, leaning in the booth to press their sharp shoulder against my side, patting my nearest pocket in search of my cell phone.

I sat back to look down at them. "That sounds really fun, but that's not how we ask for what we want, is it?"

Jessie sucked their bottom lip beneath their top one for a second. When they sat up, they stuck out their chin—not in anger, but because they were trying to seem more mature.

"Can I please play the jumping game?"

"You can, but only until the food comes out. Then we have to put it away, okay?"

They nodded eagerly, so I opened the app for them and set it up at the edge of the table. In the game, a little frog jumped across lily pads with the right number to a simple math problem on the bottom of the screen. Jessie liked collecting the little frogs at the end of the levels, and on another part of the game, could go in and feed them. I had to admit, the little animation of their tongue lashing out to catch flies you dragged onto the screen was pretty cute.

Across the table, Trev had also pulled out his phone.

"I thought we could go hiking tomorrow?"

He sighed through his nose.

"Or check out some of the antique stores, if you'd rather," I hastened to offer, knowing all the while that it wasn't going to do any good.

He groaned, like antiquing was even worse. Wasn't that... what people did on these kinds of trips? I didn't know. Mom and Dad had never been big on family vacations in the first place. More on romantic trips to Paris while they left me with Dad's righthand man.

"Hiking is fine," he grumbled, shutting the phone and putting it down on the table with an accusatory thunk.

"I brought my handbook from the Audubon Society. I can't believe there's a blue heron roosting right outside of our room. I bet we'll see some cool stuff."

Trevor's mouth twisted, almost like he felt sorry for me in all this. "Listen, Con, I just don't get why you're wasting your time with this Wonder Bread, American-dream bullshit. You know it's bullshit, right? Like you're not on some bad trip?"

"Trevor," I hissed. Maybe I'd partaken of a bit of the devil's lettuce back in college, but now that I had Jessie to think about? No, I couldn't get so inebriated that I couldn't look after them. Stuff happened with kids all the time—scuffed knees and sprained ankles and existential crises about which fairytales were and weren't real. Jessie was my top priority, so no, I hadn't set foot in Cider Landing just to immediately turn around and try and distract myself by getting high.

But then, Jessie was staring up at us, blinking. How did kids know the exact worse moment to start paying attention again? Invariably, it was the worst fucking moment.

"I'm on a great trip, actually. How about you?"

I reached over and squeezed Jessie's arm, and they smiled up from the screen. "I like the candy store."

Hell, it was something. And this trip was going to get even better.

"Me too! We'll have to go again before we head home."

The smile that broke out on Jessie's face was enough to warm my heart and assure me that I'd made the right call. There was no harm in us all getting away from the city for a couple days—from work and school and hot yoga and the stress of trying to keep up appearances for a social circle that was, okay, a little judgy.

Private schools and social clubs tended to land a person in that kind of circle, and I wasn't saying Trev and my friends were bad or anything, but we'd spent a lot of time the last couple months talking through what other people would do as parents in our situation. It was a lot. We were tired. And this time away was going to be good.

I needed it to be good.

Even among the three of us, things had been weird since, a couple of months ago, Jessie had come home from school and told me they didn't feel like a girl or a boy, but like somebody other and sometimes in between and sometimes neither.

And then I'd told Trevor, and his words had hit quick and sharp as a whip.

How the hell would she even know? She's four, Connor.

He'd backed down when I reminded him that people had said the same thing to him when he'd come out, and he apologized, admitting that he was worried that this would make things harder for them. Still, he agreed that we needed to follow their lead.

Afterward, he'd even taken them shopping. I'd been hopeful, because there was nothing in the world that Trev loved more than shopping, and I thought this might be a chance for Jessie to figure out what they wanted to wear and what they were comfortable in.

But they'd gotten back, and the first thing Jessie had done was ask for the iPad. Trev said it had gone fine, but I was still worried about how quiet Jessie had gotten.

This time away from the city would give us all a chance to connect, I hoped. Trevor would get more comfortable with the idea of supporting Jessie for who they were, and Jessie would get to have some grounded kid moments where we could just be a family.

It was probably naive of me to think that things would be any simpler in Cider Landing than they were in New York, but still, a change in perspective couldn't hurt.

"I'm just saying," Trevor continued, "this isn't really our kind of vacation. Like, we could've gone to D?—"

"Do not say it," I hissed, glancing down at Jessie who was staring up at us like they just knew something was afoot. I grimaced. "We will. We'll, go, uh, see the little black and white rat guy sometime. But, Trev, this isn't about finding another distraction. It's about being together, and I know it's kind of quiet, but can we just?—"

Try? Was that what I wanted to say?

We'd been trying, and we were stuck.

"Sure, Connor. Yeah. We'll look at your birds."

He still sounded so goddamn tired, so put out, that when we got back to the inn, I needed a break, something sweet, and maybe a distraction of my own, and I sure didn't want anybody to witness me taking it because me trying to escape already would just prove Trevor right, wouldn't it? Plus we were missing out on a whole week of yoga and spin classes, so it was just about the worst time for me to parade in front of him with a candy bar.

Problem was, I needed a candy bar like I needed oxygen.

Downstairs, there was a little nook, almost like a pantry, beside the front desk. It had a few basic things people might've forgotten to pack, a little glass-door fridge at eye level, and some boxes of candy bars where the top cardboard peeled back so you could just put the whole thing out on the shelf.

I grabbed a bottle of water and a Snickers bar, and carried both over to the front desk.

There, the guy who'd helped me bring the bags upstairs was sitting, bent over at the desk. He sat up when I approached, and I glanced at the book in his hands.

His smile was bright and seemed genuine as he greeted me. "Good evening, Mr. Darling."

"Oh, Connor, please." I laughed awkwardly. Hearing my name so formally made me feel like I was back at work.

"Okay then. I'm Mattias."

"Nice to meet you," I said, sliding the candy bar and water onto the counter. "What are you reading?"

He held up his book, and the cover said something about blood and butter and had some creepy black and white blob on the front. I stared, blinking. "Jesus."

"Oh—" He turned the book around like he'd forgotten the macabre nature of it. "Oh." He laughed, a handsome smile playing across his face. "It's less creepy than it looks. It's a chef's memoir. I've been meaning to read it for a while, but I didn't have the time, and, well—" He looked around at the empty lobby.

My lips twisted. "Fair point. Is it good?"

A funny look crossed his features, and I realized he was doing that thing people always did—weighing how honest they could be, should be, with me. Most people, knowing who I was, erred toward polite and detached.

This guy went with something else.

"Yes and no. It's funny, kind of bleak and sensual at the same time? And mostly, bittersweet."

"Why's that?"

"I, ah, used to be a chef? Back in the city. Big restaurant. Busy nights. The whole thing was a surreal kind of frenzy, and now everything's so quiet." His lips disappeared between his teeth for a second, and he put his book down open to the page he'd been reading. "I think, if I'd read it a year ago, it would've resonated with me a lot more. Like, it's still good. She's a great writer. I just... I guess it feels like a life I left behind, and I'm not quite ready to look at all the ways my reality's changed in the past few months, so I feel kind of detached. Sad, but in a way that doesn't really have anything to do with the book."

"Huh."

"I'm probably thinking too much about it," he said, ducking his head.

"No, no. That makes a lot of sense. I was just thinking that that's exactly why I tend to go for fantasy books. I don't want to think about reality, or anything close to it. Not that I don't like my reality, just... yeah, escapism. That's my thing. Tons of dragons."

The guy's smiled returned. "Maybe I'll try that instead. Any suggestions?"

I could've just told him. Hell, I had a list running through my head already. But I'd packed the first book in my favorite series for the trip. I was due for a reread, and even if I didn't expect to have a lot of time to read on our trip, it felt weird to vacation without a book.

"I actually brought one I love. I can drop it by the front desk for you in the morning?"

Mattias beamed. "That'd be awesome. Thanks."

"No problem." I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. "What do I owe you?"

Mattias cocked his head, staring down at the wallet in my hand. It was a slim metal thing with a button on the bottom. When pushed, it made all the cards pop out of the top in a fan.

"We can credit it to your room," he said. "But I've gotta ask, are you the kinda guy who stitches your name on the tag of all your jackets so you don't lose them on the playground?"

"What do you mean?"

He nodded at my wallet before I could slip it back into my pocket. "Your name. Darling. It's everywhere."

"Oh, oh." I laughed. "I guess I am pretty branded, huh? But it's just... I don't know. Company swag? Got in the habit of wearing it for work, and since I get to pick all the company holiday gifts, I tend to pick stuff I think is neat. I guess that's cheating?—"

"How so?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess because I pick the presents and always choose what I want?"

"How many people work under you?"

I grimaced. "Couple thousand?"

"Gods . . . so you're like, the big man."

I laughed. "Oh no. I mean, yes. But I assure you, it's purely by circumstance of birth and not talent. My father founded the company. I just try and keep it from going up in flames."

He hummed, looking me over, clearly trying to gauge my very real deficiencies. "You seem all businessman savvy to me."

What could I do then, but shrug again. "Dad's first language was American corporate. You pick up some stuff."

"Makes sense. Anyway, you've got a couple thousand people, and you have to buy them all a present? Assumedly everyone gets the same thing?"

"Pretty much."

"So you pick something you like enough to make it a standard part of your day-to-day life?"

"Try to, yeah."

"So it sounds to me like you're making a genuine attempt at giving people something you think is worthwhile." He held up a finger. "While walking around like a living billboard for your?—?"

"Shipping conglomerate."

Mattias laughed. "Okay, so maybe that branding's not really working for you day to day, but it doesn't sound to me like you're cheating so much as doing the best you can in a situation you kind of fell into."

"You sound like you've got some experience with that."

He bit his lip for a second. "I mean, I guess. Grandma and Gramps ran this place when I was a kid, but he—uh, he passed on recently..."

"He did the painting in our room?"

Mattias nodded, blinking a little faster. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Talented guy."

"He really was." Silence hung in the air for a heavy couple of seconds before he shook himself. "But I'm, ah, I guess I came back to help Gran. Not that I don't like it. Always kind of thought I'd be here. But..."

"But that's why the book's bittersweet? Ending up where you thought you'd end up meant losing somebody you loved."

His voice cracked. "Yeah."

"I bet he'd be really happy to know his legacy's in your hands."

Mattias hung his head, and I thought I heard a sniffle, but I didn't want to push. This shit was hard, and—well, I didn't like that he was going through it, but it was nice to table my own shit and think about someone else's problems for a second.

"Yeah," he muttered, discreetly wiping his eyes before he laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you, or, gods, dump all this out on a stranger."

Right, because that's what we were. Strangers.

I wasn't the shoulder he should cry on.

"It's okay," I said. "Grief's tricky. It sneaks up on you sometimes. Do you like Snickers bars?"

He blinked, shocked out of the heavy sadness. "Uh, yeah. Who doesn't?"

I slid mine across the counter. "Can you credit a second one to my room then?"

"Oh, um..." He stared down for a second, battling with whether or not to take it. He looked up at me for a second, and I nodded. This? It was nothing.

"Yeah," he agreed finally. "Definitely. Um, thanks."

"No problem." I snatched another bar for myself. "I'll drop that book by in the morning."

The candy wrapper wrinkled in his hand as he reached for it. "Cool. Looking forward to it."