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The thing about Henry Oak is that he’s incredibly annoying. You have more than once found yourself the target of his bullshit hippy-dippy parenting advice and it has always left you seething with raging. He’s not the sort of person you would search out for company: A liberal, a vegan, a strong believer in something he calls “free-range parenting”. At least, a couple of weeks ago all of this was true. He’s still all of those things, but you’re starting to… appreciate his viewpoints a little more. Or they’re starting to make you significantly less angry, and he’s seemed to proselytize them a little less than he used to as well. Which would be all well and good if it wasn’t starting to bring up another issue, that up until this point you had been incredibly good at ignoring.
You’re a dedicated husband, a loving father: a loyal family man, plain and simple. That’s the one thing that you’ve always felt really solid about. That’s who you are. Who you were born to be; who your father raised you to be. All of the other things about you are just… window dressing. The alterations you add to the steady, reliable base of a Honda Oddessy. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself anyways. You’re not sure if that’s true anymore. In the very short time that you’ve spent in the Forgotten Realm, all of that seems to be unraveling. Carol wants a divorce, Grant will barely speak to you, and you’ve kissed Henry Oak more times than you’d like to admit. The only thing you’d like to admit less is how much you’ve liked it. You’re not sure how to feel about any of this, other than deeply and intensely guilty.
Before all of this, you’d never been one to talk about your feelings. That’s not what Real Men do. Henry Oak disagreed, and it seems that maybe he’s gotten to you on that particular point. You’ve told him more about your feelings than you’ve probably told anyone else, including your wife. You’ve even begun seeking him out to talk to him about feelings, other things too; which is mind-boggling when you remember how you felt about him even just minutes before you went through that portal. It also makes it difficult right now. When you’d really love to talk about how guilty you feel about it all. But how do you have that discussion when it all leads back to him? It’s not his fault you’ve got some stupid misplaced feelings for the lanky man you’d started to consider your best friend. It’s not his fault. It’s not, but you still feel yourself starting to get angry at him even as you look around your makeshift campsite trying to find him. You stand up and brush the dirt that’s settled onto your clothes. As you look around you don’t see him, just Ron and Glenn leaned up together dozing off in the sunlight, Grant and Terry Jr. sitting quietly on a nearby log, and the twins and Peyton playing some kind of Cowboys and Aliens-esque game and succeeding in making enough rackett that you’re surprised you just noticed it.
“Hey Peyton,” you call over to the boy, distracting him enough that Sparrow manages to get a fairly good whack on the side of his head, “Oooh, sorry kiddo.”
“Ah, man…” Peyton looks towards Sparrow, “That doesn’t count. Not my fault the old sonny boy wants a fatherly chat.”
Sparrow stands up straight, point virtoriously at Peyton. “I have bested you in combat!” he brags, grinning from ear to ear and laughing.
“Not our fault you are so easily distracted,” Lark chimes in.
You roll your eyes at the boys’ shenanigans. “D’y’know where Henry went?”
“Uh, no. I was not paying attention to anything other than winning in combat,” He says dramatically, before making what you assume to be a warcry of some sort and jumping on top of Lark. You nod and stand up, not sure exactly what to do, so you start walking. You call over your shoulder that you’ll be back soon but you’re not sure if anyone is paying attention to you.
You end up finding your way to a small stream nearby. If you were going to find Henry, this is where he’d be, but as far as you can tell, you’re the only one here. You haven’t been alone in what feels like weeks. You’ve felt lonely more than once, but the other Dads had always been right there to ground you. You realize in that moment, you don't remember the last time you actually had a group of friends. High school maybe? But you’re not sure. You had the other guys on the football team, and of course, Carol’s friends too. You’re not sure if that counts or if it matters. You shake your head in an attempt to physically remove that train of thought from your head and sit down at the edge of the stream, removing your shoes and slowly submerging your feet in the water.
You find yourself staring at nothing, methodically rubbing your thumb into the palm of your other hand. Attempting to avoid so many thoughts that are crowding your brain. They all jostle against each other, trying to take the space at the forefront of your mind so you only get flashes of memories, fragments of feeling, and thoughts.
Carol, smiling in her wedding dress;
Grant, a toddler racing towards you, full of laughter;
Kissing Carol’s sister a year before you met her. Vowing later to never tell her;
Making the winning score in the playoffs during your senior year;
Hearing Darnell’s voice on the other end of the call;
Finding Grant, only to lose him what felt like seconds later;
Henry kissing you in front of the Lance;
Sleeping on the couch because Carol was mad at you for buying the wrong dish soap;
Grant, refusing to talk to you, to anyone.
You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, roughly rubbing the bottom of your palms against them. The longer you think, the fewer good things you can remember. The longer you think, the more of the things you thought of as good are covered in a raw and nasty coat of guilt or anger or sadness. You try not to think. You try not to feel. You try to keep the memories from flashing in front of your eyes like an onslaught. You try to control your breathing. You try to control anything but any control you had has been slipping through your fingers for longer than you can remember anymore. You feel yourself start to rock back and forth as you thread your fingers through your hair. You can't slow your breathing, so you stop. You hold your breath, you try to focus on the feeling of the air trying to escape your lungs, on the fact that you can control that.
You have no idea how long you’ve been holding your breath for, only that you’re beginning to get light-headed when you feel a soft hand on your shoulder. It startles you enough that you stop rocking and start breathing. You’re afraid to open your eyes though, so you keep them firmly closed, palms pressed against them but no longer rubbing them. Then you hear Henry’s voice, “You okay?”
You slowly remove your hands and open your eyes. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You clear your throat and try again. “Uh, yeah, Henry, I’m fine.”
He gives you a look, you’re clearly not convincing him but he doesn’t push it. Just moves his hand and begins to sit down, “Mind if I join you? I always love a little time in the great unknown with a pal.” He looks at you, a lopsided, dorky grin on his face. You nod at him, and he leans back on his hands before looking up at the sky, hints of purple just barely peaking between the canopy of the forest. You expect him to ask if you’re okay again, to push you on why he walked in on you mid breakdown, but he doesn’t. He just sighs softly before speaking again, “There are so many things that are different about here from back home, but I still love watching the sky. It’s just so gosh darn beautiful- no matter where I am, y’know?”
You make a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat and Henry doesn’t make any move to further the conversation, so you both just sit there, as the day grows darker.
“Henry, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course! Always open to a quandary from a good pal.” He pushes himself up as he says this. Looking expectantly at you.
You try to choose your words carefully, “When did you know Mercedes loved you?”
Henry’s eyes get a faraway look in them and when he speaks, his voice is soft and tender and so full of love, “I, uh, I don’t know.” He chuckles softly, “There was just something in her eyes that changed. It was probably? 6 months after I woke up to see her in my hospital room and we had started dating. We were at a museum and I started talking about this or that and when I looked at her, I just knew. My lioness. I don’t remember ever not being in love with her though, I’ve always been pretty quick with my emotions.” Henry looked down at his wedding ring, fidgeting with it and smiling fondly. You found yourself copying this motion, although a significantly different emotion was crossing your face.
“I’m not sure if Carol ever loved me.” You pause for a second almost waiting for Henry to call you stupid or tell you that you’re wrong but it doesn’t come. He just watches you, inviting you to say more, “I mean I thought she did. I remember her being happy before. In high school and when we got married and when Grant was born but… I don’t know if she ever actually loved me during all of that? Maybe I was just… good enough and now she’s seeing all the better she could have if she hadn’t just hooked up with a sad sack like me when we were 14. I can’t remember the last time she smiled at me or was genuinely happy with something I did. She hates looking at me; she hates being around me. And can I really blame her? I’m a fat, stupid nobody. She’s beautiful and smart and funny and I’m the same dumbass quarterback I was in high school. Fucking hell, man, I couldn’t even get the head coach position for god damn soccer team. What kind of a waste of fucking space am I?”
“You’re not a waste of space, Darryl. You’ve always spent so much effort making sure everyone else is okay, that we’re all safe and happy. But do you remember the last time you put yourself first?”
“Henry, I’m a father.”
“I- I know that, but I’m not just talking about Grant. You make all these changed for Carol, who doesn’t seem to make much of an effort for you at all.” He pauses, “Have you ever been on a plane?”
You quirk your eyebrow up at the sudden change in the conversation, “Yeah, I used to down south for a football camp every summer. Dad and I would fly down together so we could go fishing in the gulf before we back home for the school year.” You hadn’t thought about those trips in a while. Somehow every memory involving your father had soured since coming to the Forgotten Realm.
“Do you remember the safety directions they give before the plane takes off?”
You nod, getting slightly annoyed. It feels like Henry is speaking down to you, logically you know he doesn’t do it on purpose but, nonetheless.
“When the plane is crashing down, you put on your mask first.” Henry looks at you the same kind of passionate energy filling his eyes as when he’s talking about geology or his boys or wife. The kind of energy that simultaneously annoys you and endears him to you. He lets silence hang in the air for a second, hoping you’ll say something, before realizing you won’t, “Darr, you gotta take care of yourself first.
“Would you?” The question sounds like an accusation, and isn’t it? You don’t think there’s a father in the world who wouldn’t put his children’s needs in front of his own. Well maybe one, you think, mind drifting to all of the things Ron has said about his father.
Henry falters, ”I- I mean.” He sighs, picks a rock up off the ground, and rolls it over in his hand a couple of times before closing his fingers around it tightly. “If you’re suffocating, it’s not going to help anyone. You put your mask on so you can help them, Darryl. You take care of yourself so that you can take care of everyone else.” He pauses, puts his hand on your cheek, and seems to search your face for something, “Or you let someone else take care of you for once.”
This is one of those situations where you desperately wish you had your sunglasses. You feel water start to form in your eyes, so you look away. You’ve already embarrassed yourself in front of Henry enough for today. You close your eyes and hold your breath, trying to regain composure.
“Darryl, I love you. No strings attached. No caveats or quotas or whatever. I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”
You have no idea how to respond to this. Henry is one of the most genuine people you have ever known and right now, it is killing you. “Henry, I appreciate it. I-” You falter, looking for the words to say but your mind drifts to the first time he kissed you and the feeling you had in the moment. You barely knew him, at that point you hadn’t even liked him, but when his lips pressed against yours, you felt loved. It felt stupid at the time and was one of the many things that has made you felt guilty since coming here. You take a deep breath,”I love all you guys. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through all of this.”
“Gosh, yeah. Without you and the other dads, I would be totally lost right now.” Henry begins fidgeting with his wedding ring again and you become acutely aware of the fact that you’re thinking about kissing your married friend. A married man. Henry continues, “In all honesty, I haven’t done much with Mercedes as backup since I left Oakvale. She’s so gosh darn talented and she always knows what to do.” He laughs fondly and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, “You remind me of her sometimes.”
You flick a piece of wood that is trapped underneath some rocks with your toe and watch it rise to the top of the stream and make its way, dragged along by the current, towards an unknowable future. You look back at Henry as he cups your cheek in his hand and leans his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you,” He says as you lean into his touch. You always forget how much you love being touched like this, casually and affectionately, without ulterior motives. How grounded it makes you feel. “It’s hard to be vulnerable and I’m so dipping proud of you for being so open with me.”
You want to kiss him. You want to not feel guilty about that. You want to talk to him about why you feel guilty all the time. You do not want to tell him that he’s part of it. You’re married. He’s married. You’re supposed to be a family man, a faithful husband, a dutiful father; you’re supposed to be a man’s man. You’re not supposed to want to kiss him. You think that maybe you’re not a lot of the things you’re supposed to be. You’re not sure you want to be.