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“...and why do they have to keep changing where they put things anyway? I just get used to where the bread and eggs are then they move them and I’m left wandering up and down the aisles searching for them looking like a lost soul all over again...”
Jack was going to the store. Or he would be eventually. What he was actually doing was gathering up his wallet, phone and car keys while monologuing about going to the store. He was pacing up and down the room picking up his wallet from over here, frowning over his car keys before remembering that he’d dropped them over there, the whole time checking that Mac was listening, was enjoying his drawn out, directionless ramble and was okay.
“...and why would they put the Cup a Soups in the snack section?” Jack said, peering into his open wallet to check how much cash was inside it, “I’m sure that if you went out into the street right now and asked anyone you came across what they thought they’d tell you that Cup a Soups ought to go in the soup section with the rest of the soup family. The clue is in the name, Cup a Soup, right? And...”
Nodding encouragingly and trying not to let his amusement at Jack’s consternation show Mac was watching this all happen from his place on the sofa. Jack certainly had a lot to say about supermarkets. He’d been waxing lyrical on the subject for longer than Mac would have thought possible. Jack leaving the house wasn’t usually preceded by a narration as long and detailed as the one he was giving, maybe he felt extra concerned about Mac and wanted to keep an especially close eye on him because of his overreaction the night before.
Shame lurched through Mac and he tried not to squirm.
He’d freaked out. He’d been ridiculous.
It had just been a stupid broken glass, there had been no reason to have a panic attack about it. Mac bit his lip as the memory of the shock of breaking glass juddered through him with his next heartbeat. The crash the falling cup had made when it shattered had felt deafening in the quiet apartment then Jack had appeared with a raised voice and leather strips in his grasp and Mac’s surge of fear had been absolute, his safe surroundings had ceased to exist and all he’d been aware of was anger and threat. He’d been such an idiot. He should have waited until Jack got home to ask him if he could borrow one of the glasses, he should have known not to climb up on the counter, he should have been more careful when he reached into the cabinet and he should have listened to Jack when he told him to climb down. That should have been easy. He should have just got his feet on the floor, apologised and helped Jack sweep the broken glass up instead of shaking and crying and clinging like a ridiculous baby. He’d have to do better next time. He’d have to try to make sure there wasn’t a next time.
“...and three for two offers?” Jack paused his Ted Talk to duck down and tie his boot laces, “who needs that much yoghurt? No one needs that much yoghurt! No decent person anyway. There’s something about people who eat a lot of yoghurt that I find untrustworthy, there was this one time...”
Mac hadn’t contributed anything to Jack’s lecture, he didn’t think he needed to. If he was being honest he was slightly taken aback by the whole situation. James had never told Mac when he was going to the store, or anywhere else. The most Mac ever got before James left him by himself in the house was a grunt aimed in his direction or a barked order to stay out of trouble. That Jack cared that Mac knew where he was going and when he would be back, that he was concerned that Mac would be alone was new and strange. And wonderful.
“So,” Jack patted the pocket his wallet was nestled in and spun his car keys around once on a forefinger, “is there anything you want while I’m out getting supplies, Mr Hungry Hungry Hippo?”
“Um, no, no there isn’t, t-thank you.” Mac had everything he wanted. He had more than he ever thought he deserved or could earn. He couldn’t imagine needing anything else, he certainly couldn’t ask Jack for more than he had been so kind to offer.
“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Jack encouraged. “You sure? There isn’t a sweet treat you have a hankering for?”
“Not really, I mean,” Mac studied Jack’s expression searching for signs of disapproval, worried that not accepting Jack’s generosity was rude. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. “I suppose cookies are always good...?” he asked, hoping that Jack was prompting him to make a request and that saying there was something he wanted was the right thing to do. Jack liked cookies so Mac hoped he wasn’t being selfish by asking for them.
“That they are,” Jack nodded with approval, “is there any particular type you like?”
Mac’s hand skittered down to the hem of his shirt and he started to pick at it with restless fingers. “Chocolate chip?” he suggested. Jack liked chocolate chip cookies, everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, that couldn’t be a wrong answer could it?
“Solid choice there, son,” Jack said, “Chocolate chip is good, double chocolate chip is better, am I right?”
“Yes.” Mac was proud of himself for not adding ‘sir’ to the end of that sentence. Jack wouldn’t want Mac to be formal, he was teasing. He liked it when he and Mac tossed words playfully back and forth between them and he didn’t like it when Mac was submissively respectful to his every declaration. James had always wanted to be agreed with and deferred to but Jack wasn’t James. Mac still needed to remind himself of that.
“Do you think you can get triple chocolate chip cookies?” Jack hummed, tapping his chin and looking off into the mid distance.
“I don’t know,” Mac shrugged, playing along, “they sound good though.”
“They do don’t they?” Jack said, “I’ll have to try to sniff some out when I get to the bakery section of the store.” He winked. “I’ll let you know what I discover.”
“It’ll be like a quest,” Mac said. “You’ll be like Indiana Jones except you’re searching for baked goods instead of ancient artefacts. And you’re not wearing a hat.”
“As long as no one’s face melts I’ll be happy,” Jack said. Then he patted his pockets again. “It looks like I have everything I need and standing here yammering at you isn’t going to get any milk bought, I’d better go.” He approached Mac, telegraphing each movement with slow precision, and when he reached Mac he rested a gentle hand on the side of his head and kissed the top of his hair. “See you, son.”
“Bye, Jack,” Mac said and the words landed with a wistfulness that had Jack running his thumb along Mac’s cheekbone.
“I love you, kiddo. I’ll be back soon.”
Mac smiled and Jack turned and finally left the house.
Outside the apartment the truck’s engine roared to life with a low rumble of moving parts and when the sound of Jack pulling out into the street faded Mac hurried to the living room window to watch the driveway. After a minute had passed and Jack hadn’t turned round and come home to collect something he’d forgotten Mac scurried out of the room and through the hall to Jack’s bedroom. He laid one hand flat on the door, eased it open wary of creaks from it’s hinges and tiptoed into the space where Jack slept. Jack had told Mac that he could go into his bedroom whenever he wanted, he always left the door open a crack to show that Mac was never closed out, but Mac still felt the need for stealth. What he wanted to do wasn’t forbidden, but going to do it still felt…Mac slunk across the room and when he reached Jack’s closet he slowly slipped it’s door open…he still felt ashamed of his actions and like he needed to be circumspect. It wasn’t good to be this needy. If Jack knew what Mac wanted he might be disappointed or shocked and Mac couldn’t let that happen.
When the closet door was open wide enough to let light in Mac dropped down onto the carpet and scooted towards the safe waiting on the floor in front of him. He sat cross legged in front of the sturdy metal box and stared at the numbers on it’s lock. Jack had shown him the combination to the safe the day before and he’d explained why he’d chosen those particular numbers so Mac was certain he’d remembered them correctly. He didn’t need to check them. Not really. They were indelibly fixed in his mind.
But he did need to check.
He did need to punch the numbers into the lock himself to be sure because if it was true that Jack had based the key to the door that protected the important things he owned on the day he and Mac came into each other’s lives then that meant...
That meant more than Mac could say.
Mac reached out with a forefinger, letting it hover over the first number in the combination. If he pressed the numbers and they opened the safe that would mean everything, if he pushed them and the safe barred his attempted entry he didn’t know what he would do. If when Mac typed the date he and the man who said he wanted to be his father met into the steel door before him it stayed locked Mac’s whole world would crumble.
Mac moved his finger forward ever so slightly.
But he was right about the combination. He knew he was, and Jack wouldn’t have changed it in the last twelve hours, especially since he’d said that Mac could use the safe if he wanted.
It would be okay.
It would be okay wouldn’t it?
Mac held his breath. His trembling finger stretched out and pressed the numbers in the order that he hoped would make everything okay.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
There was a deep metallic thunk from inside the safe and it’s door unlocked.
The safe’s door handle was cool in Mac’s sweaty palm as he pulled it. He only opened the door half an inch, he didn’t need to see the things stored behind it, the only thing he’d wanted was for the safe to open, for the combination to work. And it had. Mac’s held breath rushed out of him.
Jack had chosen the date he and Mac had met as the security that guarded things that needed protecting. He’d chosen it because it was a date that was special to him and was one he would never forget.
Mac nudged the safe door shut. He sat in the patch of sunlight that had made it’s way through the angles of Jack’s room still and quiet with wet cheeks and a heart that was glowing with more love and joy than could be contained between his ribs. Golden happiness shone through his bones and glistened under his skin like an aura that ought to have lit up the room as brightly as the sun that was shining outside his dad’s window. He was curled up in a small room, in an average sized apartment, in an inconsequential street, in an unimportant town but he could have been overlooking the sprawling electric shimmer of a city or amongst the clouds on the top of a mountain so vast was the feeling of awe inside him. Mac reached out. He pressed the numbers of the safe for a second time with a surer hand and it clunked again.
The safe opened. It opened because Mac knew the key that had been chosen for it. The key that meant that someone loved him. That someone had chosen him. That he was special to someone.
Mac slumped backwards until his spine met the closet wall. He leaned against the hard surface and drew his knees up to wrap his arms around them.
Knowing he was loved like that, being special to and wanted by someone who was kind, strong and good was like having fireworks exploding inside him. The feeling was bright and shining and it filled what had been darkness with light that could have been visible for miles. Mac hugged himself a little tighter and a thin shadow of anxiety worked it’s way through the lights. The fireworks inside him were luminescent but they were loud, unpredictable and scorching too. Mac didn’t know how to handle their intensity with care; real fireworks could be put in a box and sealed away safely, the ones inside him were bursting uncontrollably and were bigger than any sparks he was used to. Mac rested his chin on his knees and tried to breathe through the overwhelming realness of what he’d just confirmed. Anything as big as what the numbers Jack had given him meant could be intimidating, and being cared for by someone who loved the way Jack did was huge. It was a promise and a responsibility. It was taking someone’s hand with the understanding that both of you would never, ever let go. Mac didn’t know if he was equal to it. He was just some dumb kid who thought too much and got things wrong. He was just him. And that wasn’t worth much.
Mac ducked his head to wipe his face on his shoulder. He stretched out his leg to push the safe door shut with his foot. But Jack knew him, didn’t he? Jack knew what he was like, how clumsy he was, how nervous he got, and he was still working towards making him his son, wasn’t he? He’d called his lawyer just the other day chasing the adoption paperwork.
Jack loved him. He told him so all the time. And Jack didn’t lie.
Mac rolled his weight over to rest one shoulder against the wall behind him and looked out at Jack’s room. It wasn’t untidy but it was lived in, there was a half empty glass of water on the bedside cabinet, a shirt that had missed the laundry basket lay in a rumpled heap on the carpet and a carelessly kicked off pair of shoes littered the floor at the bottom of the bed. The room hadn’t been controlled into rigid, anonymous order and the evidence of Jack’s presence was a balm to Mac’s jangling nerves.
Jack would probably be back soon. It wouldn’t take him too long to pick up the things he needed from the store, especially since he’d been so reluctant to leave Mac and would undoubtedly hurry home. Mac should unfold himself from Jack’s closet and go to wait for his dad. The prickles of the thin carpet underneath him tickled his palms when he placed them down ready to push himself up to standing but his eyes strayed back to the safe. It wouldn’t hurt to put the combination in one more time, would it? He knew he’d remembered the numbers and their meaning correctly now but it wouldn’t be too much of a bad thing to savour them? One more time wouldn’t be too self-indulgent? Mac rested his thumb on the button of the first number, rolling the digit around to press the straight lines of the button’s edge against the pad of his finger. Just one more time would be okay, wouldn’t it? Jack would probably say something about three times being a charm.
Mac pressed the six numbers again, he closed his eyes, bathing in the heavy chime of the safe opening. The thud of the tumblers withdrawing was the best sound in the world. That and the rumble of the trucks engine bringing Jack home and Jack’s voice calling his name.
“Okay,” Mac said out loud to himself. His voice was muffled in the small closet. “Come on.” He pushed himself up, left the closet and Jack’s room as quietly as he could and pulled the bedroom door back to the position it had been in when he’d snuck past it. Then he took himself back to the living room and tucked himself where he’d been on the sofa when Jack had left for the store. Jack would be home soon bearing milk, cookies and tales of supermarket dramas, and Mac wanted to be there for it all. He’d promised he would be, he and Jack had promised that to each other. There was a locked box in Jack’s room that proved it.