Empty Nests (3 page)

Dylan grinned and pulled a tightly folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Saturday after next, if you want, you have a date.”

James was pretty sure teenagers were not supposed to be as hung up on their father’s love life as Dylan was. “No. No, I do not.”

Dylan pushed over a printout from his school’s faculty webpage. There was a phone number handwritten at the bottom. “Thirty-five, no kids. He likes music.” Dylan had highlighted that line. “You like music, he likes music. When I talked to him, he said he’d love to take you to see a band he likes.”

“Goddammit, Dylan! I do not need you setting me up with strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s the school’s AP English teacher, and I wouldn’t have to if you’d get out of the house once in a while. Seriously, Dad, I’m out of here in less than a year. I don’t want you moping around this place alone. You do that enough as is, and I worry about you turning into a crazy old cat lady.”

James gathered the dishes and dropped them in the sink with a little more force than necessary. Luckily they were the plastic ones he’d had since Dylan was ten. “Maybe you should head to your room right now.”

“Sure, I have homework.”

“You better believe you do.”

“Just consider it. Please. For me?”

“Go to your room. We’ll talk about this later.”

Dylan slunk away from the kitchen, and James tried to relax. Dylan had been trying to set him up with various men since he was seven. He’d never appreciated that his father might have other priorities, like trying to keep food on the table, a roof over their heads, and saving enough to get Dylan through school in case his scholarships fell through.

James picked up the printout. The guy did have a nice enough smile, and in his profile, he emphasized a love of music. The occasional small concert was his one, tiny, very rare indulgence once he’d started making enough to risk having indulgences.

There was a number penciled at the bottom with a note to call any time after seven. James checked the kitchen clock with its bent second hand that stuttered every five seconds. It was 7:14. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt. He certainly didn’t need to see anyone, but a concert might be nice, and it would get Dylan off his back for at least a few weeks. He picked up the phone and made the call.

G
ABE
STARED
at the folder that contained all the information for the
Budu
ŝie
tehnologii a
deal. There was a very large file he was pretty sure he hadn’t put there. It was labeled “BT2ndPhaseProposalDraftFINALforReview.” He clicked on it and started to read.

It covered everything: staggered payouts, employee compensation, real estate transfers, international patents, unsold product, and the all-important mineral rights. It was the proposal he had come in early to finalize, except it was sitting in front of him already written. He checked the date. It seemed to be right. He hadn’t lost time or something. He tried to recall any point in the last month when he might have had time to sit down, go through the notes and drafts from the lawyers and negotiators, and finish a major proposal. He couldn’t think of any, which only intensified the fear that he was having some sort of major neurological incident.

“Tamyra!” he called. He knew he could page her using the button on his phone, but he always felt like a pretentious dick doing that.

She pushed open the smoky glass doors. “Yes?”

“Do you know anything about this final draft Second Phase Proposal file for the
Budu
ŝie tehnologii
deal?”

She looked a little confused. “It’s the final draft Second Phase Proposal for the
Budu
ŝie tehnologii
deal.”

“Yes, I worked that out. I didn’t write it?”

“No, I did.”

Gabe looked it over. “When did you do this?”

“I had some downtime a couple of weeks ago, then a little more in Japan while you were out getting wasted with the bigwigs. I fiddled with it a bit more on the plane.”

“I thought you were shopping and seeing the sights?”

“Shopping is fun for only so long. I figured I’d save you the time.”

Gabe scrolled through more of the document. “And this covers everything from the international lawyers?”

“Yep.”

“Right.” Gabe wasn’t sure what to say. “You know I could have done it myself.”

Tamyra gave him a sweet smile. “I know.”

It was a huge item off his to-do list, but the fact that Tamyra had written it better than he could have, and in her bits of spare time, only made him feel guilty.

“Why won’t you let me give you a team—a position that doesn’t involve bringing me coffee?” They had this discussion at least every other month.

“Someone needs to look out for you.”

Gabe wanted to argue that he could look after himself and did not need a keeper.

“And you pay me better than you pay your VPs.”

“That’s because I let you write your own contracts.”

“And you keep signing them. Anything else?”

“No. No. Thank you. This is a big load off my plate.”

“No problem.”

“W
HAT
ARE
you working on now?” James asked as Dylan flipped through a glossy pamphlet emblazoned with the red
S
of Stanford.

“Need to pick my residence hall by tomorrow if I want a chance of getting my first choice.” James put a bowl of oatmeal in front of Dylan and set down another for himself. “I’m trying to work out where the other economics majors might be hanging out.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, whichever hall you’re in.”

Dylan looked up at him. “Oh no. You’re getting that look again.”

“What look?”

“That look you’ve been getting three times a day since I got in.”

“Is it the Insanely Proud Parent look?”

“More the Wallowing in Memories look.”

James couldn’t deny that hard truth. “I was just thinking about your first day of kindergarten, when you came stomping out with a note pinned to your shirt because you had set yourself up as a problem child.”

“That whole thing was not my fault,” Dylan jumped in, still defensive more than a decade later.

“You’d picked the raisins out of your oatmeal raisin cookies at snack time
—”

“Because raisins don’t belong in cookies.”

“Then traded them to another kid for a marble, then refused to give the marble back at recess.”

“It was a fair trade. Buyer’s remorse is not my fault.”

“Possibly, but the real point of the note seemed to be that you’d then thrown the marble in the storm drain so no one could have it. Your teacher was very concerned about your ability to share and cooperate.”

Dylan laughed, then leaned forward. “Want to know a secret?”

“Do I?”

“I threw a rock down the drain. I’ve still got the marble.”

James put his face into his hands and tried not to laugh. “Promise me you won’t get sent home from your first day of college with a note about your ability to share?”

“I’ll do my best.” Dylan looked over his shoulder at the clock, then wolfed down his oatmeal in half a dozen large bites.

James took a big swallow of his coffee. He needed to get moving as well, if he was going to grab his bus.

Dylan dropped his bowl in the sink. “Sure you don’t need the car today?”

“I’ll be fine. Have you got all your homework?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need me to wrap your ankle before you go?”

“Dad, it’s fine. Stop fussing.”

“I’m not going to get to fuss for much longer, so let me have this.”

Dylan gave him a peck on the cheek. “Have a good day at work, Dad.”

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

G
ABE
HAD
made Tamyra work an extra half hour into the next day’s schedule before calling the number on the UCB Tech Services website.

There were a handful of rings. “Hello, University Technical Services. How may I help you?” Gabe didn’t recognize the flat, bored voice.

“Hi. I’m looking for James… Maron.”

A slurping sound came down the line, and Gabe heard what sounded like a TV in the background. “Yeah, he’s out on a job. Can I take a message?”

“Yes. If you could tell him Gabriel Juarez called. I have a software patch for him, and if he’d be willing to meet me a half hour early tomorrow, I can get it in place before my talk.”

“Sure, I’ll pass it on.” There was chewing.

“Thank you.” The person on the other end hung up before Gabe could give him his number. He tried to remind himself that being a top executive at a major global company didn’t mean random people on the phone had any idea who he was.

J
AMES
WAS
leaning against the door to the lecture hall. “I was told some guy with a Mexican-sounding name wanted to meet me a half hour before something, and there was something about a software patch? I took a guess it might be you.”

“I’m surprised that much came through.”

James looked exceedingly irritated. “Yeah, I’ve written up Dave about his message-taking skills more than once. But you’ve got a patch?”

Gabe held up a USB stick and his laptop. “There’s something to be said for being a guy with a window office.”

James got the laptop hooked up.

“I was told to attach the thumb drive and stand back.”

“And nothing bad has ever come of that?” Gabe heard James mutter.

Gabe slipped it in the USB drive. Nothing happened. “Maybe I need to click on it.” Suddenly there was humming from the hard drive, and lights blinked. A series of application windows opened of their own accord. The screen went blue, then black.

It was Gabe’s turn to be exceedingly irritated. He began mentally composing his next memo, and it would not be kind.

By the time the students started to arrive, there had been three attempts and several manual reboots. Then the laptop had begun rebooting over and over on its own, the power button having no effect and the hum of the hard drive getting louder and higher.

Gabe was about to declare defeat when James said, “Fuck it.”

Gabe and the students watched as James pulled a little cloth roll filled with tiny tools from his pocket. James used it to remove the underside of the laptop, take out the battery, void the warranty, and reassemble the whole mess. He hit the power button. There was nothing for a long moment, then a
beep
, a
whorl
, and the login screen came up and appeared on the large projection screen behind him.

James handed him the thumb drive with a slight shake of his head before grabbing a seat on the aisle.

Gabe managed to get through the lecture with only two freezes, both of which were quickly remedied, but he kept glancing over to the corner, where James had a little amused smile on his face.

After some questions and polite applause, Gabe collected several resumes, many of which were handed over by women in shorter and tighter skirts than were necessarily fashionable or practical, while James shut down the system and packed away the cables.

He felt far more tired than he should for that time of day. He looked around. Tamyra had yet to appear. “Hey, could I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

James smiled, a proper one this time. Gabe decided James’s smile was quite memorable, and he should use it more often. It was slightly embarrassed, a little shy, and quite sweet.

“Thanks, but I’m sure you have places you need to be.”

“Not really. Besides, I’m desperate for a latte.”

James smiled again but still looked shy. “Sure. I could use a bit of caffeine myself.”

T
HE
NEAREST
campus coffee shop was busy, but there was still a table for two outside in the sun. Gabe politely nodded to the blue-haired young woman who put two coffees in front of them. A latte for Gabe, and a small drip coffee for James.

Gabe took a sip. “Oh my, I needed that.”

Gabe quickly ran through a list of possible topics for small talk. He could work his way through high-end business lunches, country club cocktail hours, and major corporate events without breaking a sweat, but sitting across from a normal, non-work-related person required a bit more thought. He was pretty sure he hadn’t always been that way. Luckily James’s phone gave a little trill, and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket.

“Sorry. Just being told baseball practice is looking to be a late one.”

“Oh, you’ve got kids.” Gabe gave a mental sigh of relief. Kids always worked as a conversation starter.

“Just the one, Dylan. Bringing him up myself.” There was blatant pride in James’s words.

“That’s great. He’s in Little League?”

“Varsity actually. He’s a senior.”

Gabe took a hard, second look at the man sitting across the table from him and tried to figure out if it was healthy living, good genetics, or one hell of a plastic surgeon, because he didn’t look even remotely old enough to have a son in senior year.

James gave a small laugh that ended with a closed-off expression. “I’ll make the math easy. Dylan turned three the same week I graduated high school. And now you know how old I am as well.”

“No judgment here. My two older sisters had their firsts before they were eighteen, though I can’t say it was easy for them, or planned.” If there was one rule of small talk Gabe had learned, it was to keep parents talking about their kids.

James shook his head. “No planning here either. Got caught kissing Benjamin Steven by the entire track team. Decided to prove I wasn’t gay, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, by sleeping with the first girl I could. Nine months later, I’m a teenage parent statistic.”

Gabe knew he should respond, but his brain got hung up on “gay.” It always did, which spoke to the pathetic state of his love life and how amazingly out-of-whack his gaydar was.