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Mac watched his bowl of oatmeal bubble as it span round and round in the microwave.
The thin light of the newly risen sun filtered through the kitchen window Mac had opened to let in the sound of the dawn chorus. It had been a long time since Mac had been awake early enough to hear the birds welcoming a new day. He used to get up when the sky was still streaked pink and orange regularly before he moved in with Jack, when he was living with James, before. He used to set his alarm for daybreak so he could be up to leave the house before James rose to avoid his judgement and disapproval, but Mac didn’t need to do that anymore. He never would again. Jack had promised.
Mac had lurched awake when a perfectly innocent dream had taken a heart stopping turn. In the dream he’d been walking through the stable when the ground suddenly vanished from beneath his feet and he’d dropped into empty nothingness. He’d sat up, wide awake and gasping, hot under his twisted duvet, blinking out at his dark bedroom and waiting for the horrible swoop in his stomach and the hammering in his chest to pass. He had never liked heights. Or falling from them. And now, now he really didn’t like heights. Hated them in fact. He’d go as far as to say he’d rather face a ticking bomb than a height of more than ten feet. Jolting into wakefulness had jarred his injured arm but it was too soon to take a painkiller so Mac grabbed his robe and stumbled out of bed to try using a very early breakfast to distract himself from the ache.
Oatmeal seemed like a healthy start to the day and Mac planned to smother it in honey to help him reach the daily calorie intake his doctor had advised him to meet. The daily calorie intake that Jack was obsessed with. Mac liked oatmeal and choosing a nutritious breakfast would help him show Jack that he took his own health seriously and could be trusted to make good decisions. Maybe he would take a picture of himself eating it as one of his ‘I’m not injured’ selfies.
Mac concentrated on the decreasing countdown on the microwave’s display, determined to catch it before the red numbers reached zero. The microwave’s beep might wake Jack who would be there within seconds if he thought that Mac needed him and Mac didn’t want to disturb his dad. Just because he was awake didn’t mean that Jack should be up too.
As the electronic numbers hit 00.01 Mac pushed the button to pop open the microwave’s door, pleased with his quick reactions.
“You’re up early, kiddo,” Jack said from behind Mac, “trouble sleeping?”
Mac jumped at the unexpected sound of Jack’s voice and only narrowly avoided spilling the jar of honey he was holding all over the kitchen counter. He slapped a hand on his chest and spun round to find his rumpled and pillow creased dad smiling mildly at him.
“No, I slept fine, I just woke up early,” Mac said when his galloping heart had slowed down.
“Me too. Sorry I made you jump, son.” Jack reached out to ruffle Mac’s already messy hair. He looked out at the sunrise “So me and you are both up with the sharks today.”
“I think the saying is ‘up with the larks’.” Mac stirred his breakfast, watching the golden honey mix in with the oatmeal.
“You sure? They say that sharks stop swimming when they sleep and if they stop swimming for too long they die, so they’re up and moving way before the sun’s up,” Jack said as he turned on the coffee machine.
Mac frowned. “I don’t know if that’s quite right, Jack,” he said carefully.
Jack pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “Is that so?” He managed ten seconds of a serious expression before breaking into a grin. “I’m just messing with you, buddy. I shouldn’t tease you before you’ve had your coffee, your syntaxes won’t be firing up yet.”
Mac hid a smile with a mouthful of oatmeal. Really, he thought as he watched the coffee machine hiss and drip, Jack wasn’t exactly wrong, it probably was too early for his synapses and his syntaxes to be working properly.
“Are you okay?” Jack bumbled over to Mac with a sleepy shuffle, the chord of his dressing gown swaying as he walked. “Is your arm giving you trouble?”
“A little,” Mac admitted, keen to show that he could follow rule number two, “it was aching when I woke up.”
Jack hummed with concern and picked up the hand of Mac’s injured arm. He ran his calloused fingers up to Mac’s thin wrist, manipulating it gently to twist and turn Mac’s hand then pressed down on a fingernail to watch the blanched skin under it turn pink again. Mac was never sure what Jack was looking for with examinations like that but they seemed to reassure him and Mac had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the feeling of being cared for.
“Have you taken a painkiller?”
“I will in half an hour, it was too soon to take one when I woke up.”
Jack huffed and glared at the clock on the wall as if he was trying to use the force of his determination to make the hands turn faster. “Does it hurt bad? I can call the doctor about getting you some other pills.”
“No it’s okay. Honestly,” Mac said in answer to Jack’s sceptical look. “I’m fine.”
Jack harrumphed and turned to pour two cups of coffee, muttering under his breath about the limits of modern medicine and how if he was a doctor he would make sure no one’s child would ever be in pain.
“I’m okay, really,” Mac said as Jack placed a mug of coffee in front of him and sat beside him at the kitchen table.
“There’s a big white cast on your arm that tells a different story, bud.” Jack eyed Mac over the rim of his mug.
“I’ve been better,” Mac looked down to where his hand poked out of the cast and wiggled his fingers, “but I’ve been worse.”
Jack’s face did something complicated then. Too many emotions passed through his expression for Mac to count. There was a regretful twist to his mouth, an empathetic crease to his forehead and sorrow, anger and love passed through his eyes, shadowing them, softening them and deepening the lines at their edge.
“I know, son. I know.”
Being grounded was boring. But Mac thought that having a broken arm would have been boring even if he hadn’t been grounded. Luckily he hadn’t broken his dominant arm but the cast on his left arm limited what he could do and the painkillers made him lethargic. He’d spent the last few days wandering aimlessly from one activity to another unable to concentrate or focus.
“You’re tired because your body is healing, son,” Jack told him. “Knitting bones back together takes energy. That’s why you never see people with broken limbs running marathons. And Einstein never invented anything with a bit of himself stuck in a cast did he?”
Mac shook his head. “No he didn’t.”
“See!” Jack threw up his hands in triumph at being proven correct.
Mac was debating pointing out that Einstein wasn’t actually an inventor when the doorbell rang.
Mac and Jack hadn’t had visitors while they’d been grounded, that felt like breaking the rules somehow. They’d spent the time together watching movies and binge watching TV shows they hadn’t seen yet. Sometimes the TV would be forgotten, the volume turned down low, and Mac and Jack would just talk. Jack would tell Mac about his childhood, about his dad, about his time in the Army and how long it had taken him to truly feel like he was home when he came back to the States. Mac told Jack about good times he and Bozer had spent together, about the gossip and dramas that were happening around him in school and about what he might want to do in college. The stories Jack told Mac about his parents held a mirror up to Mac’s memories of his biological father and what he saw reflected back at him left something cold in his gut. Mac knew James had been angry and harsh but he had never really thought about how different his own childhood had been from other people’s. Despite what Jack said about his parents Mac thought they sounded pretty normal – Nana Bea’s fondness for old musicals and Christmas punch aside – and compared to them James was...Mac’s thoughts stuttered and slid away from the word whenever it threatened to form in his mind...but James was... really the only way to describe James was as abusive.
Abusive.
Abuse.
Abused.
Mac looked the words up. Read guidelines on safeguarding. Looked back at his life before and had to conclude that James was guilty of at least two of the types of abuse listed on the websites he’d visited.
Mac had never regretted learning anything. Learning had always been liberating for him, an escape, but he wished he’d never learned that. He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.
He’d talked to Jack about it, or tried to, stumbling and faltering over the subject, but Jack had understood and had shuffled closer to Mac on the sofa.
“I don’t really know what to say to help that sit more comfortably inside you, kiddo,” he’d said, pushing a wayward piece of hair off Mac’s forehead. “But maybe when you know the name of things and can see them clearly it’s like you’ve found your coordinates on a map, knowing where you are can help you figure out which road you want to take.”
Mac had shrugged, that had sounded reasonable but it didn’t help him feel any better.
“You don’t have to work out how you ought to think and feel right this instant,” Jack had said, his lips curving into a shape so sad Mac didn’t know how it managed to be a smile. “I know you’re used to your big ol’ brain figuring out stuff as quick as greased lightnin’ but this one might take some time to work through. Maybe there is no right way to feel. Maybe you just need to think about how you’re doin’ today, and then the day after that, and then the one after that.”
Maybe ultimately there was no answer to the question of how Mac’s past defined him, he thought. Maybe the answer changed each time the question was asked. For then, right then, with the two of them sat together with The Antiques Roadshow muted on the TV, the answer to his worries was Jack. Just like it would undoubtedly be the day after that. Jack.
The doorbell rang again.
“Is Bozer coming round?” Jack asked Mac.
“No, he’s working this evening.”
“You expecting a delivery?” Jack headed towards the front door.
“No,” Mac said, following his dad.
“I haven’t ordered take away but I’ve been thinking about dinner so unless that app you got me to put on my phone can read my mind the knock on the door is nothing to do with me,” Jack said. “It could be a candy gram.” He looked back at Mac over his shoulder. “Can you still get candy grams?”
“I don’t know,” Mac replied honestly.
“I hope so, “Jack said as he reached for the door handle. “I’ve never had one and they sound like fun.” He opened the door to find Diane and Riley on the doorstep.
“Hi,” Diane said brightly as Riley waved, “We don’t have any candy, I’m sorry, I’ll try to remember to get some for next time.”
“Diane! Riley! Hi!” Jack stared at them, stupefied, “Have I forgotten about inviting you round because..?”
“No don't worry, we’re here on an impulse,” Diane said.
“And you need to go into another room,” Riley stepped over the threshold and waved her arms at Jack in a shooing motion, “you’re not supposed to be seeing my mom, remember?”
“I...what?” Jack stepped backwards away from Riley.
“We’re not supposed to see each other while you’re grounded,” Diane said to Jack over Riley’s head. “My daughter is just making sure that we’re following the rules. Which is funny because she’s not always this much of a stickler for rules about her own behaviour.”
Riley ignored her mom and continued to back Jack away from the door. “Go on, no cheating, the week isn’t up yet. Actions have consequences, it’s important you learn that.”
“She’s enjoying herself way too much,” Jack said to Diane, “but she does kind of have a point. I’ll take myself to my room.” He turned and headed away, slumping his shoulders in mock sullenness.
“Don’t forget to think about what you’ve done!” Riley called after him.
Mac watched this all unfold in silence, deciding that the purpose of what was happening in front of him would all become clear if he waited.
Diane turned to him at the sound of Jack’s bedroom door closing.
“Mac,” she said with a sheepish grin, “sorry to just turn up like this but me and your dad were supposed to be on a date this evening. I was going to cook for him and I’d already bought all the groceries for our meal. When I cooked them there was far too much for just me and Riley so I’ve brought half of the food for you and your dad to share.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mac had worried that Diane would be angry with him for spoiling her and Jack’s plans but if anything she’d been amused by Jack grounding himself. She’d answered Jack’s text saying ‘me and the kid are grounded’ with a message reading ‘see you on the other side, convict : )’ Jack had been smiling when he replied to her and he’d smiled every time Diane sent him a message since then. Mac didn’t ask what they were saying to each other, he didn’t think he wanted to know what his dad’s flirty text messages looked like.
Diane held up the bag of Tupperware dishes she had in her hand. “Shall I put this in the kitchen?”
“Yes, please.” Mac led the way with Diane and a smiling Riley following.
“It smells good,” Mac said. He couldn’t make out what food was in the bag but his stomach grumbled in response to the tempting aromas drifting out of it.
“Thank you, I hope it tastes good.” Diane put the straining bag down on the kitchen counter. “How’s your arm?”
“It’s okay, it’s healing,” Mac lay his arm on the counter beside Diane’s bag, “the cast is awkward though. It was kind of interesting to have it on at first but the novelty has worn off now.”
“I’ve been thinking about your cast,” Diane said, the sheepish look back in her eyes. “I was wondering if you were going to decorate it.”
Mac shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Riley peered at Mac’s cast. “I’m surprised Jack and Bozer haven’t written their names on it yet.”
“Bozer has some kind of weird guilt about my arm and won’t go anywhere near the cast,” Mac said, “and I think Jack is waiting until he’s thought of the perfect dad joke before he writes on it.”
“That sounds about right.” Riley shook her head, “He’ll probably write some kind of pun about skeletons.”
Mac grinned at Riley. “Like how he has a bone to pick with me or something.”
“I don’t know if I can compete with that,” Diane said, “but I was wondering if you wanted some colour putting on it. I like to paint, it’s kind of a hobby, and I thought I could paint a design on your cast so you don’t have to have a boring, off white thing on your arm. You don’t have to!” she added quickly, “it was just a thought.”
The earnest wish to please on Diane’s face was genuine. “Okay, why not, thank you,” Mac said. Even if the painted cast looked terrible it wouldn’t be on his arm for too long, he thought, and agreeing to let Diane decorate it would make her happy, Jack too.
Diane beamed then reached over to scratch at Mac’s cast with a fingernail. “I think I know what kind of paint to use on this. We’ll have it brightened up in no time.”
“It will look good,” Riley said, “my mom’s a great artist.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, sweetheart.” Diane rested a hand on Riley’s back and glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “We should probably go, we’ll need to let your poor dad out of time out before his dinner goes cold.” She leaned out of the kitchen door and yelled up the stairs to Jack’s closed bedroom door. “We’re leaving now, bye Jack!”
“You can come out of your room now,” Riley called as she walked out of the kitchen.
A muffled shout drifted down to the kitchen. “Bye Diane, bye Riles.”
“Bye, Mac.” Diane’s expression was fond as she reached out to brush the shoulder of Mac’s good arm. “We'll arrange to get together when you and your dad are ungrounded.” She turned and followed Riley as she walked towards the front door. “I’m going to remember how particular you’ve been about the rules next time you miss your curfew,” Diane told her daughter. “What was it you said - actions have consequences? I hope you’re ready to hear that quoted back to you when you stroll into the house thirty five minutes after you were supposed to be home.”
Riley looked back at Mac with a roll of her eyes that clearly said ‘parents!’ then she opened the door, stepped through and she and her mom were gone.
On cue, Jack appeared at Mac’s shoulder. “What was that all about?”
“Diane brought dinner.” Mac pointed to the bag on the kitchen counter. “She said she was supposed to cook for you tonight.”
“Ooh!” Jack trotted over to the bag and delved in, sniffing with delight at the dishes Diane had brought. “It’s still warm. You get the plates, I’ll get the cutlery.”
Mac gathered two plates from the cupboard as Jack rattled around in a drawer for knives and forks.
“Diane said something about painting my cast too,” Mac said. “She said she’ll come round to do it when you're allowed to see her again.”
“She did?” Jack paused to look at the plain cast on Mac’s arm. “I’m liking that idea. You don’t have to worry, son, I’ve seen some of her pictures, she’s good, you won’t end up with wishy washy flowers on your arm or anything. Unless you want wishy washy flowers of course.”
“No, I don’t want wishy washy flowers,” Mac said as he put the plates on the table.
“Well, that’s alright then.” Jack lay the cutlery next to the plates. “Are you okay with Diane and Riles coming here to spend time with us?”
“Yes,” Mac answered automatically then, “why?”
“I dunno.” Jack stopped spooning food out of the dishes Diane had brought to shrug, “I thought maybe having the woman your dad’s dating coming into your house might be weird for you.”
“No,” Mac said. But now that Jack had mentioned it, maybe having the woman his dad was dating – his dad’s girlfriend - coming round was weird.
The week passed, Mac and Jack both stopped being grounded and Mac kept occasionally finding himself thinking, my dad’s girlfriend? as a question where he didn’t really know what he was asking.
He knew his life would change when he agreed to be Jack’s son. He’d expected to feel safe and loved but so many things had happened that had been a surprise. Having his dad’s girlfriend offer to paint the cast on his broken arm was certainly one of them.
Diane and Riley arrived at the door of Mac and Jack’s house one afternoon carrying a bag of paints, brushes and old newspapers that Diane spread over the kitchen table saying, “I don’t want to leave a mess.”
Mac sat at the table and lay his arm down on the newspapers and Diane sat opposite him. “What colours do you like?” she asked as she pulled tubes of paint from her bag.
Riley snapped a picture of Mac’s blank cast on her phone, “For before and after photos,” she said as she sat down beside Diane.
Jack poked at one of the tubes of paint with a finger. “Which one of these are you going to Van Gogh for?” he said with a wink.
Mac and Riley exchanged a look, “At least we’ve got the pun out of the way at the start,” Mac said.
“I’m only just warming up, kids!” Jack pulled out a chair and sat, “I have a whole big bunch of colour related puns lined up, just you wait.”
“Is everyone ready?” Diane asked, “Because I don’t know about anyone else but I’m ready to Van Gogh.”
“Nice!” Jack chuckled and he and Diane high fived.
“Mom, really?” Riley said. “I’m not angry about that pun, I’m just disappointed.”
Mac watched patiently as Diane applied the first layer of paint to his cast. Colours spread and blended under the sweep of Diane’s brush and the awkwardness Mac had worried he might feel about having made a clumsy mistake that caused so many problems didn’t surface. He, Jack, Diane and Riley had never spent time just sat together like they were. It was nice. Mac’s English teacher would have said that ‘nice’ was an insipid word and wouldn’t have been impressed with him using it since there were probably much better ones he could have chosen, but it felt right. Being with Jack, Diane and Riley wasn’t an unmitigated delight, it wasn’t appalling, it didn’t bring up a myriad of emotions, it was nice. They talked, Jack punned, they joked and they laughed with the smell of paint strong but not unpleasant between them.
“Is anyone else hungry?” Jack asked as Diane concentrated on blending a swirl of red and deep blue that curved around Mac’s thumb.
“Yeah,” Riley said, leaning back in her chair, “I could eat.”
“I’ll order pizza,” Jack picked up his phone, “it’s the best food to eat one handed and I think it’s kind of fitting for us all to eat pizza together after that prank the two of you pulled with all the deliveries.”
“That’s not the worse thing that’s happened in this house with pizza,” Mac said and launched into the story about the ‘calamity’ pizza.
“That pizza wasn’t so bad.” Jack said, unabashed, as Diane and Riley laughed. “It was just different.”
“Good different or bad different?” Diane asked.
Jack hummed, screwing up his face as he thought, “Rubbery different,” he said.
Jack placed the order while Mac carefully rested his arm to wait for the paint covering his cast to dry. He loved what Diane had created. Thick swipes of bold colours twisted and flowed around his arm like a rainbow of ocean currents.
“That looks really good, mom.” Riley picked up her phone. “Mac, hold your arm up so I can take an after picture.”
“Thank you, baby,” Diane said. “What do you think, Mac, is that okay?”
“It’s amazing, thank you.”
Riley took her picture then Jack insisted they all huddle in together so he could take a selfie of them all to stick on the fridge. Mac moved in carefully so he didn’t smudge paint on anyone and grinned at the camera when Jack called out, “Everyone say da Vinci!”
Jack snapped the photo then turned to look at Mac with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“You like your cast then, kiddo?”
“Yes.”
”You like it a lot?”
“I do.”
“So you’d say you’re tickled pink with it?” Jack grinned, thrilled that he’d managed to squeeze in yet another colour related pun.
“I’m glad Mac likes it,” Diane said, “in fact,” she left a dramatic pause before continuing with, “you can colour me delighted!”
Riley picked up her phone again to take a photo of her mom and Jack laughing together. After the sound of the camera shutter clicked she gave Mac a wry look.
“If this is what’s going to happen when you break a bone try not to do it again, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Mac had no intention of ever breaking another limb, once was enough for a lifetime, but really, if the afternoon he’d just spent was what happened after he fractured a bone it wouldn’t be so bad.
After Jack and Diane’s laughter came to a spluttering halt they started to clear the kitchen table of the newspaper, paint tubes and brushes littering it to make room for the pizzas. They worked with companionable ease, Diane picking up tubes of paint so Jack could gather together the newspapers, like they’d worked together hundreds of times before.
Having his dad’s girlfriend round hadn’t been weird. Diane didn’t have to offer to decorate Mac’s cast for him, she’d done it to be kind. She was kind and funny, so was Riley, and having them in his and Jack’s home had been warm and friendly and it had made Jack happy. Mac too. If Jack was right about Mac finding his place on the map of his life then it seemed like the road he was on was surrounded by good things.
The doorbell rang. “That’ll be the pizzas,” Jack said, reaching for his wallet.
“I’ll help you carry them.” Riley stood and followed Jack out of the kitchen.
Mac held up his arm and the colourful cast covering it. “Thank you for doing this,” he said to Diane when they were alone together.
“You’re very welcome, I had fun, I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it,” Mac said sincerely, “It looks a lot better than it would have done with dad jokes written on it.”
Diane huffed out a laugh. “Maybe I should have left a little blank space on it somewhere so there was room for one.”
She and Mac looked at each other, a connection sunshine bright between them.
“Nah!” they said together.