never got up. He had no comforts to offer.
Slipping down the hall as quiet as he could manage, Nik dragged his fingers along the wall as he made his way to the kitchen, pausing only to start the coffee maker since he’d need more than tea to get him through the day. The smell flooded the small space quickly, and he breathed it in, trying and failing not to think of Adam and how the scent of fresh coffee in the morning brought him such a simple joy.
Why did it have to hurt like this?
He turned away from the counter, heading for the table where his laptop sat, and he figured he’d get a head start on his emails. There was so much to losing a parent he never considered, and maybe it was cold, how quickly he wanted to rush through declaring his father dead and gone, but he’d always tried to be pragmatic, even in the face of tragedy.
As the laptop booted with a pleasing chime, Nik filled his mug, then sat down near the window so he could feel the heat of the sun rising on his back. He tugged his sweater a little closer around his body, then pushed his earbuds in before setting his fingers on his braille display.
Everything was as he’d left it, except the soft voice told him he had three new emails waiting. Fewer than he’d expected, but his stomach swooped when the second was addressed from Catherine Peters.
Mr. Mandroux,
I apologize for sending this during a difficult time, but I found it couldn’t wait. Although we are displeased by the school’s reaction to your compromising position, we understand that contracts can’t just be terminated. However, I have taken the liberty of speaking with the parents of your other students, and eight of the nine wish to terminate business with you on the grounds that, morally, we cannot guarantee our children’s safety. Attached to this email is a statement signed by each parent, though you are welcome to contact them to verify. We are requesting that any monies paid up from for lessons be returned, and we will be expecting that in a timely manner.
I regret this could not have been handled more amicably, but you must understand we have our children to think about.
Best Regards,
Catherine Peters
Nik wanted to laugh, then maybe scream. He was grateful he no longer wanted to cry, though he suspected it wouldn’t be long before the tears came again. For now, though, he was mostly just tired. The signs were only growing in intensity, in power. The universe didn’t want this life for him. Hell, this hadn’t been the life he’d planned out in any of his fantasies, so it was not quite the hardship to give up.
Except…
His phone began to buzz, the voice reading out a number he didn’t recognize. It was impossibly early, but it was a reminder that his day was not going to be kind. He had businesses to call, death certificate copies to send, and a father to lay to rest.
Business as usual, he supposed, for a man who’d lost everything.
Nik hadn’t set foot in a church in years. At least, not when it wasn’t concert related. His mother’s funeral had been held at the lake just outside of town, a handful of colleagues attending, and a couple of distant cousins who had given both brothers a wide berth.
The day had been sunny, which felt wrong. It felt wrong that the weather was nice, that the sun was warming their skin when hers was burnt to ash and placed in a cold, steel canister. But his father had appreciated it. He sat by the lake after everyone had gone and remarked that his mother would have thanked them for not doing something traditional.
“I wouldn’t mind it. Not for myself,” he said with a chuckle. “One last chance to make peace with God.” His father’s accent had softened over the years of living in the States, but not enough. Nik had always liked listening to him talk, tell stories, or lectures to massive halls of undergrads. It was soothing—it was comforting.
Now, he had a single voicemail left, and he was terrified that he’d lose that last, lingering bit of his father’s voice. He had no access to pictures, no way to capture the memories of his warm touch and strong hands being an unfailing guide.
He didn’t have the strength to listen to those twenty-nine seconds, but he would someday.
Maybe.
He hoped.
Nik and Van arrived well