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“I know you’re scared, but we can’t hide in the closet forever.”
Wilbur was startled, looking behind him as if he could see the other boy in the darkness of the small space they were crammed into. Over the beating of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears, Wilbur had nearly forgotten that Techno was there at all. They’d found themselves in this predicament after Wilbur had tossed one of those colorful inflatable balls at his brother, and it ricocheted off the walls at the worst angle possible, slamming into a rather expensive-looking vase. He could still hear the glass shattering in his ears.
And afraid of what their new foster father might do once he found out, Wilbur did what any other frightened child would do in his place. He felt the color drain from his face as he saw Techno freeze up at the other end of the room. Without thinking, Wilbur had grabbed his twin's hand and ushered them into the nearest hiding place he could find, a closet at the foot of the stairs that only held winter coats and shoes.
It must have only been a couple of minutes since they’d been hiding in here, but it was long enough for Techno to get antsy in the dark. “He’s probably not even going to be that mad.”
“You don’t know that,” Wilbur hissed in response. They hadn’t been living with Phil for that long, didn’t know what they were capable of getting away with and what would push the older man’s buttons enough for him to snap. The younger of the twins knew that this might be it for them. Might be sent away once more, and Wilbur’s not sure that there are any other adults out there who would take both of them.
They’d be separated after this for sure, and there was nothing that Wilbur could do about it. It was all his fault anyway. No matter how hard Techno tried to keep them together and out of harm’s way, there was always something Wilbur did that messed it up. Their last house was filled with stiffened arguments and the acrid smell of cigarettes. They couldn’t go back to a place like that. They’d been lucky enough last time to get out, but if they were sent back, the younger wasn’t sure they could make it.
Wilbur didn’t realize that he was crying, until he felt his chest tighten, felt the stinging in his eyes, and the way his cheeks grew wet. He tried to hold back his sniffles, but it was all too much, too fast. He didn’t mean to break the vase, and maybe if he groveled enough, Phil would be merciful enough to let them stay the rest of the week.
That was all he could do, really? Apologize and pray, at this point.
But when he heard the door to the room open, heard the sharp intake of breath, and his name falling from the older man’s lips, Wilbur froze up. There was a hitch in his throat and a stutter in his pulse as he peered through the small crack of the closet door.
Phil only glanced at the mess, but his eyes were wide, scouring the room and calling out both of the twins’ names now. “Wilbur! Techno!”
It surprised him—the lack of anger and the concentrated concern that could be found in Phil’s voice—but it wasn’t enough to move Wilbur from his spot in the closet among the faux fur and the black soles. Even as he could feel Techno shifting his wait endlessly behind him, Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to move out of his brother’s way.
He doesn’t know how long it took Phil to find them, just that he didn’t move from his spot. Waited until the very end. Waited until Phil grabbed onto the closet’s doorknob, pulled it open with a rush of cool air, the smell of mothballs swarming around them before disappearing with a clean breath of air.
“Oh, thank God.” A rush of air left Phil’s mouth, the tension abandoning his shoulders as he doubled over, his hands on his knees. “You scared me so much. I thought one of you was hurt. Wilbur? What’s the matter?”
The older man’s relief was cut short when he saw the tear tracks falling down the boy’s cheeks, saw the way his twin was standing protectively, tensely behind him, watching Phil like a hawk would.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Phil’s voice immediately softened, lowering himself all the way to his knees so that he was at eye-level with Wilbur. A soft, comforting touch was felt on his shoulder, and Wilbur could no longer hold back his sobs, hurling himself into Phil’s arms with a plethora of apologies on his lips.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushed all in one breath. “Please, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to break it, I swear! Please, don’t send us back. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
Quietly, Phil shushed him, carded fingers through dark hair, and rubbed soothing circles on his back. He let Wilbur get the rushed and panicked apologies out of his system before muttering small reassurance. He opened his arms up to the other boy that was still in the back of the closet, pulling him in close as well before saying what he needed to say.
“Alright, you two, I’m not mad, and I’m not going to send you back over a little accident. If I have anything to say about it, you both are going to stay right here, okay? Don’t worry about any of that mess. It was an ugly vase, anyway.” Wilbur was still shaking in his arms, still scared that Phil wasn’t being as genuine with his words as he would’ve liked to believe.
Techno didn’t say anything, clutched at the older man’s shirt like he would somehow disappear if his grip loosened.
“You’re really not mad?” Wilbur asked after a moment, his voice muffled and small, teary in a way that broke the older man’s heart.
“No, son.” Phil tucked a piece of hair behind the younger boy’s ears, and Wilbur didn’t know why the word made him cry harder.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
The next time that Phil had let that word slip was after he’d begun fostering Tommy, as well as the twins. A full house only made more so when the energetic Gremlin began climbing over anything and everything. Nowhere was safe from his grasping hands, and everything was a foot holder to step upon. Be it the chairs, the bookshelves, the end tables, and even Phil himself, sometimes. If Tommy could climb it, he was going to.
And as comes with climbing, so does the fall.
The day had started out like any other. Wilbur and Techno were doing their daily chores around the house—not that there was that much to do anyway—and Tommy was running around outside, trying to busy himself until his brothers were finished with what they were occupied with. Phil had been cleaning up the dishes from their breakfast, keeping an eye on him out the window. Felt like he’d only been looking away for a single minute before he heard a holler, and then a high-pitched crying that tore throughout his entire body.
He could hear the plate he was washing crash into the sink as his body moved away from the sink without a second thought. Socked feet hit the cool dirt of their yard, and the cries only got louder. Frantic, he searched the place where he’d last seen Tommy and found that the boy was further back in the brush than Phil remembered.
Calling his name, Phil fought briar vines and weeds until he came upon the child who had leaves in his hair and scrapes on his cheeks and knees.
“Phil,” the blond boy cried, hands reaching out to the older man fingers grasping at air until the older man bent down and swooped the younger from the dirt. There didn’t seem to be any limbs bent at awkward angles. There wasn’t any blood that Phil could see, but that didn’t mean his heart would recover any time quickly.
He brushed the blond tangles away from Tommy’s face, wiping at the dirt on his cheeks. “Are you alright? What happened?” Phil wished that he could keep his voice calm, could keep the panic from infecting his words like a plague.
Tommy sniffled, burying his face in the crook of Phil’s neck. “Branch broke,” came the wet reply. “Fell.”
“Aw, Toms, I’m sorry. You’re not hurt are you?” Slowly, Tommy lifted his head, shaking it, no. “Just knocked the wind out of you, did it?” This time a nod, and Phil hugged him closer, noticing that his bottom lip was still trembling. “I bet it was scary.”
He kept whispering comforting words into the boy’s ear as he brought him back through the brush, breaking the tree line into their yard. Kept a gentle hand rubbing circles into his back as he walked through the front door, trying to get Tommy to calm down just a little bit more.
Setting him down at the dining table, Phil rushed to make something warm for him to drink despite the humid temperatures outside. Tommy was shaking, sniffling still, and Phil needed something to do that would hopefully make them both feel a little better.
Never too warm outside for some hot cocoa, and when he set the mug of steaming chocolate in front of the younger boy, he could see just a little bit of light coming back into his dimmed, blue eyes. Found joy in watching Tommy chug down the sugary drink, and almost broke into tears at the smile the boy gave him.
“Feeling any better, son?”
Tommy laughed quietly, his leg bouncing as he looked around the kitchen, probably for Wilbur or Techno, already planning his next adventure. “Yeah, much! Thank you, Phil.”
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
The last time Phil remembered it happening, he taught Techno how to drive in his old Honda. The vehicle was a death trap anyways, a rattling piece of metal that Techno could completely total and not cost Phil barely any money. The perfect situation if anyone asked Phil.
The younger boy was picking it up quickly, though. He’d already gotten his turn signal down, but his breaking was something to be desired. The older man had simply learned to keep his hand on the dashboard in preparation for the sudden lurch that came at every red light and stop sign. Other than that, though, Techno seemed to be a natural behind the wheel. Comfortable and confident, and that was all Phil could really ask for.
Techno had pulled over onto the curb after Phil had asked him to. They’d been driving for a while now, and while he had no doubt in his mind that Techno wouldn’t have a problem going further, it was best not to push it. Or maybe he just needed a break for his own sanity and heart. Techno was doing well, but that didn’t mean Phil didn’t feel like he wasn’t going into cardiac arrest every time the boy decided to slam on the brakes.
“You doin’ okay, Phil?” came Techno’s sing-song question, searching but barely pushing.
Phil strained a smile, nodding his head. “Never better. You’re doing very well.”
Techno huffed in response, his hands sliding off the steering wheel to turn the radio off, though it could barely be heard anyway. “Is that why you look so green?”
Laughing, the older man tried to let the tension in his shoulders drain out of him, tried to take a deep breath. He didn’t notice how much his muscles had tightened until he was releasing them. As he dry washed his face, he let out a little laugh that he couldn’t keep from tumbling from his lips.
The boys were getting older now, learning how to drive and live on their own. Soon, they wouldn’t need him anymore, and as much as Phil wanted to say his tension came from Techno’s albeit good but still novice driving, he knew where his fear was really born form.
“No, no,” Phil brushed off. “I really mean it. You’re doing great, son.”
Techno had blinked at him, his eyes widening just a bit before he smiled and reached to turn on the radio once more. “Well, then you’ll have no problem letting me drive all the way back to the house, right?”
Before Phil could say anything else, Techno was already putting the car back into gear, the vehicle lurching violently as the younger boy laid his foot a little bit heavy on the gas pedal. Phil was pushed back into his seat with inertia, and he was almost positive that he wouldn’t make it home, that his heart would fail before they ever pulled back into the driveway.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
It was Phil’s birthday, and as the clock struck around five in the evening, he had accepted the fact that his boys had forgotten. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like he reminded them of it or anything, and the three teenagers had a lot on their plate with school and driving and friends. He didn’t expect them to remember, nor had he planned anything for the day anyway.
He’d never really celebrated his birthday before. Not in any meaningful way if he was being honest. After he’d moved out of his parents’ house, gotten a job and a home, and three little boys that he was fostering, he never felt the need to. And between running to pick up Wilbur from afterschool theatre rehearsal and dropping Techno off at his book club and taking Tommy to the dentist all within the span of an hour, he didn’t think he had time to.
Sitting on the couch while the boys scrounged around in the kitchen for something to eat, Phil decided that he wasn’t going to tell them anything. There really wasn’t that big of a need for them to know anyway, and he’s sure that they would feel terrible about forgetting. Would be cruel, at this point, he thought. After the majority of the day had already passed.
So imagine Phil’s shock when the door to the living room opened up and in walked his three sons, their faces tinted with an orange glow of flickering candles. They each had a hand under the base, glancing up at Phil every now and then but keeping their focus mainly on balancing the birthday cake.
Their voices started low, a gentle humming of a familiar tune. “Happy birthday to you,” they sang in unison, bright smiles lighting up their faces, almost outshining the candles there. Their voices grew louder, and Phil couldn’t help but laugh out loud as they moved closer, setting the cake down on the coffee table in front of him.
“Happy Birthday, dear Dad.”
Phil glanced down at the cake, seeing in bright blue frosting the same words from the song on the cake.
Dad.
He felt his eyes begin to sting. They’d never called him that before, and hearing the words fall from their lips in the form of song, see it written on a birthday cake that he’d never dreamed of getting.
It was the greatest birthday present he could’ve received.
“Happy birthday to you.”
He blew out the candles of the cake while the boys laughed and clapped, trying his best to hold back his tears of happiness. The flames went out with a swift rush of air and a sniffle.
“What did you wish for?” Tommy asked, nosy as always.
“Nothing. I have all I need, right here.” And it was the truth.