Chapter_6_Snacks_Inte

Usually, I’m the one crying every summer when we leave P-town.

I never want to leave.

Now it looks like Wyatt is about to cry and we just got here.

The expression on his face breaks my heart. Whatever his mom is saying on the phone has made him revert to being a helpless little kid. I want to take him into my arms and tell him everything will be alright.

“I think we have to leave,” Wyatt says, hanging up with his mom. The tense lines on his face return. Even the corners of his mouth have gone rigid.

Dread fills my soul. “What?! Why?” I can’t absorb all this bad news.

My first thought is, I hope nothing happened to his mom.

My second thought is a postcard image of P-town fading. Is our epic gay resort babymoon not going to happen?

“Alex is in the hospital” is all Wyatt can muster in a matter-of-fact way.

“What happened?” I ask.

“She just said he flipped on his bike.”

“Is he okay?”

“I guess not if he’s in the hospital,” Wyatt says, worried.

I realize I’ve been holding my fork midair during this entire conversation, kept in suspense. I finally put it down.

Wyatt’s younger brother, Alex, is the golden child of the two boys—the one his mom worshipped. He could do no wrong. But Wyatt is the one his mom has always gone to for emotional support.

“My mom needs me,” Wyatt says, confirming my theory. “You can stay if you want. I know this isn’t ideal timing.”

“Are you kidding? I would never stay. We’re in this together.”

“I’m just giving you the option,” he says, spreading his generosity thin. “I know how much you love it here.”

“Your mom needs you and you need me,” I decide. A thought pops into my mind. “Do you think we can come back though?”

“Biz, I have no idea. Plus, I don’t think we’ll want to drive back and forth if we’re working our way out west.”

“What about the cottage?”

“We’ll have to eat the cost or try and get a refund.”

P-town is going to have to wait for now. We both pause our night, gazing at the flickering candlelight between us. Our smiling server places our entrees in front of us as if nothing is happening.

Early the next sunny morning, we secure Matilda in her dog bed, climb into Virginia Woolf and motor out of town. I’m devastated to leave this cocoon of like-minded people on the edge of the earth. Our baby will be a teenager by the time we ever come back, I think.

I offer to drive so Wyatt doesn’t have another thing to worry about. He pets Matilda, asleep in his lap, his emotional support animal for now.

No music on this leg of the trip. We’re all too unsettled.

It’s unfortunate that so much is happening when Wyatt and I can’t even talk through any of the immediate road blocks between the two of us. We both know his brother’s situation will have to take priority before we address our own issues.

We barely touched our dinner last night and skipped breakfast this morning.

Driving on an empty stomach is good for Matilda. But it’s a nightmare for me.

“I wonder if we should grab a bite on the road before we get there,” I gently suggest.

“Let’s just drive and figure out food later,” Wyatt says predictably as we head toward signs already pointing to Boston.

“Of course,” I say, taking one hand off the wheel and squeezing Wyatt’s shoulder for a second. Despite the unspoken issues between us, I just want Wyatt to know I’m here for him.

My stomach starts to growl, when I remember we have snacks. I reach behind my seat and fumble inside Matilda’s tote bag, searching around the bag for way too long.

“What do you need in there? I’ll get it,” Wyatt offers, growing concerned about me multitasking while driving.

“I put a bag of chocolate covered almonds in there before we left.”

“In Matilda’s bag? That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t do that,” Wyatt says, always reminding me of the possible fatal effects chocolate has on dogs.

“She’s not going to eat a bag of chocolate almonds,” I say, trying to defend my unwise decision.

“How do you know? She eats anything.”

“The bag is sealed so... Would you mind?”

Wyatt sighs and twists around his seat to reach into the bag. What about me needing food every two hours doesn’t he get?

“Tennis ball? No. Rubbery chew toy thing? No. Rawhide stick?” Wyatt flashes the stick near my face.

“Tempting. But no thank you,” I say.

Matilda sits up, wagging her tail at the sight of the stick.

“Oops. Not for you,” I tell our dog, who sighs in disappointment and wonders when these giants are going to let her out of this vomit machine.

Wyatt opens the bag of chocolate almonds and pours a few into my palm, giving me temporary relief. I catch him sneaking one or two himself and have to smile.

As much as I want to, I’m not sure how I’m going to tell Wyatt about losing my job. Not only is it crappy timing because of his family situation, but I don’t want to let him down during this crucial point in our lives. Even under normal circumstances, telling him I was let go would be difficult. I’m hoping it will eventually become a blessing in disguise but right now the feeling of failure sets in.

None of this is helping my growing anxiety about becoming a good father. But I just can’t tell Wyatt now. I don’t want to toss a double whammy on him.

I decide I’ll wait to break the news about my job until we find out what’s happening with his brother.