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“Papa?”
Dorian marked his place and looked up. “Yes, love?”
“How come we don’t go visit your family like we visit Dad’s?”
The old, familiar twist of hurt spread out through his belly and chest. It wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but it was still there, still painful. He drew a breath and put on a smile for his son. “I don’t get on with my family the way your Dad gets on with his.”
“You don’t like them?” He sounded shocked and that pleased Dorian. That he and Cullen had built a loving little unit so secure that the very idea of not getting along was alien and terrible.
“Tevinter is a hard place. Families there aren’t like families here. They’re more,” he paused. “Business arrangements. I did not fit into my parents’ idea of a good business partner.”
Cavan got up from his spot on the floor and climbed into Dorian’s lap. At eight, he was too big to fit well, and growing out of physical affection, but he hugged Dorian tight, his face in fierce little scowl that looked so much like Cullen it took Dorian’s breath away. “I think you’re a good business partner.”
Dorian kissed the top of his head, brushing away the soft, dark curls, and squeezed back. “Thanks.”
*
Cavan waited until Papa and Dad were busy with dinner before he went snooping. There was a file in their bedroom full of important papers. He’d seen it once when Papa had to fill out forms for Cavan’s school.
They were all Rutherfords, but Papa couldn’t always have been a Rutherford. He dug and dug until he found their marriage license. Pavus. They could have all been Pavus’ instead. “Cavan Pavus.” He said it out loud and wrinkled his nose. It didn’t taste good in his mouth. He tucked the papers away, just as he tucked the information away and went out for dinner.
At school the next day, he looked up the name on the library computer and found…a lot. Pages and pages. There were pictures of Papa when he was younger, standing next to a man and a women. Halward and Aquinea Pavus, the captions said. Cavan’s grandparents.
Some of the articles were so mean about his Papa. So mean and awful. Library time ended and Cavan hadn’t done any of his work for class and he felt sick to his stomach from what he read that he asked to go to the nurse. He curled up in the little bed in her office and tried not to cry until Dad showed up to take him home early.
Dad helped him up and gave him a hug, his hands on his forehead to check for a temperature. “Hey there, Little Bug, what’s going on?”
Cavan shook his head and tucked his face against Dad’s side and walked to the car in silence.
Dad tried again in the car after Cavan was buckled in the back seat and they were on their way home. “The nurse said your stomach hurts? Did you throw up?”
He didn’t answer, but Dad didn’t make him talk, just got him home and tucked into bed. He brought Cavan crackers and ginger ale and stroked his forehead until Papa got home. As soon as Papa walked into his bedroom, Cavan couldn’t help it. He started crying, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Papa just picked him up, blankets and all and carried him into their bedroom where they all snuggled in on the big bed. Cavan slept some while Papa and Dad talked above him. When Dad went into the kitchen to get them dinner, Papa stroked back his hair.
“Was it a very bad day, love?”
Cavan nodded. He couldn’t talk about it. He couldn’t look at Papa and tell him he’d read such terrible things.
Papa sighed and kissed his forehead. “We all have those days. So, we’ll let your dad make us dinner and we’ll go snuggle on the couch and watch Bug’s Life and tomorrow will be a whole new day. Sound good?”
Cavan nodded, even as he started to plan for the next day.
*
“You have a letter.” Cullen held up an envelope from the stack of mail. “It’s from Tevinter.”
Dorian plucked the letter out of Cullen’s hand. It had no return address. His name, Dorian Rutherford, was etched across the front in tight, precise script that Dorian would never mistake. He slit open the thick paper and pulled out a letter.
Dorian,
I received a letter from a young Cavan Rutherford—
“Cavan Rutherford!” Dorian roared. He spun in place turning his body toward the hallway that led to Cavan’s bedroom. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. He was shaking. Cullen stepped in and put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.
Cavan slinked out of his bedroom, his hands clutched together. “Papa?”
“Did you write a letter to Halward Pavus?”
Behind him Cullen sucked in a breath. “How did he even—“
But Dorian could only focus on one of them just then. “I asked you a question.”
Cavan straightened up under Dorian’s gaze. He thrust his chin out. “Yes.”
“Why did you do that?” He was aware of Cullen taking the letter from his hand, but he didn’t mind. He wouldn’t be able to read it himself and someone should find out if there was a threat. Dorian kept his focus on Cavan, even though is legs felt weak and he wanted to vomit.
“I found out your old name and looked it up on the internet at school.” Dorian covered his eyes with his hand. The day Cullen had to pick Cavan up early. Or course. “So I wrote to him to ask him why he would say such mean things.”
“Cavan,” he pressed until the skin beneath his fingers was sore. “That’s not how we do things. If you have questions you need to ask us.”
“But you said it’s always better to have primary sources.”
Dorian had to sit down. He stumbled to the kitchen table and sank into a chair. Cullen, dear that he was, finished the letter and took over for him because Dorian didn’t know how to speak another word.
“Primary sources with research, not people. With the people we love, we ask them first, before we ask others. It’s a kindness to leave things alone, even if we’re curious.” Cullen should know.
It took Dorian the better part of two years to explain his relationship with his family, terrified the whole time that Cullen would believe the other side. There was so much written about him. It was hard to imagine anyone could believe differently. And his eight year old son had found it and read it on the fucking internet.
He lurched to his feet. “I need to take a walk.”
“Papa,” Cavan slumped forward, sounding miserable.
Dorian couldn’t deny him. He held out his arms and squeezed Cavan into a hug. “I’m not upset with you, love. I’m upset about what you’ve done. I need a little break so I don’t say something I don’t mean.” He kissed Cavan’s head. “I love you.”
With Cavan’s murmured response ringing in his ears, Dorian headed for the door.
“Take the letter. There’s no threat.”
He grabbed his phone, his keys and shoved the letter into his pocket and then headed out. The sounds of traffic and conversation filled the empty spaces in him until he was coasting above it all, the flat Ferelden accents reminding him that he was far, far away from Halward Pavus.
He made his way to the park four blocks over that had been their haunt since Cavan was born and took a seat on one of the benches. A couple of kids were playing on the swing set and there was a basketball game in session. He recognized a few of the kids and some parents, but didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge them in any way.
It was his own fault, really. There was no other way to look at it. He cultivated Cavan’s curiosity, taught him how to dig into things from his first days. When he asked about Dorian’s family, Dorian should have known that a simple answer wouldn’t be enough.
He pulled out Halward’s letter and smoothed out the creases. It was short, a few paragraphs and a formal signature, but it was the first he’d heard from his father in almost twelve years. He hesitated, then began to read.
Dorian,
I received a letter from a young Cavan Rutherford claiming to be your son. He sent along a charming family photograph and roundly scolded me for saying such terrible things about his Papa. He cited his sources in the letter, and I am afraid they were accurate. I was very angry when you left and did nothing to hide my displeasure.
He looks to be a good boy and you look well in the photograph. Perhaps as a father now, you can understand better why I wanted the things I did. I miss the sound of your voice. The house is empty without it.
Halward Pavus
Dorian crumpled the letter in his hand, an involuntary action that made him feel only a little better. The thing was, once he became a father, he had a harder time understanding Halward. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Cavan, nothing he wouldn’t support. As long as Cavan was happy, that was all he wanted. He lived for the little smile, the bright laugh. Sometimes he burned from within with how much he loved Cavan, uncertain how he could contain it all.
Halward cared for his legacy. For the idea he had of Dorian, not who Dorian actually was.
When Cavan was small, Dorian read every book on parenting he could get his hands on. He joined a dozen internet support groups and chat rooms. He took classes, watched parenting specials until Cullen was sick with it. But then, Cullen had had a good set of role models. Dorian didn’t think it was enough to do the opposite of everything he’d ever known.
Dorian went to work being a father the way he worked at everything else. Through research and reading and hours of practical application. And he wasn’t doing a very good job sitting on a park bench when his son needed him. He pushed to his feet, hesitated by the trash and finally decided to keep the letter.
In the apartment, Cavan was seated at the kitchen table writing out something in a notebook while Cullen stood at the stove. He ruffled Cavan’s hair on the way to the kitchen where he kissed Cullen’s cheek.
“Sorry to run out like that.”
Cullen waved him off. “I thought you’d be gone longer.”
“What’s he working on?” Cavan looked intent on his work, but it was a Saturday and Dorian thought his homework was done.
“I’ve got him working on a letter of apology to you.”
“Cullen. That’s not—“
“It is necessary. He needs to learn that he can’t go poking into other people’s lives. You’re quick to forgive, but someone else won’t be. Better he learns now. Did you read it?”
Dorian sighed. “Yeah. He really was a terrible father.”
Cullen set aside his spatula and took Dorian into his arms. “And you’re an exceptional one. Did you decide what you want to do about it?”
“Nothing I think. He didn’t even mention you and I’m sure any picture Cavan sent would have been of the three of us. My life is no worse with his out of it and I can’t imagine it would be better with him. No. I have my family.”
Cullen pressed his lips against Dorian’s ear. “Mr. Rutherford.”
He shivered. It was still an ill-fitting name after so many years, but in a good way. Being a Pavus defined who he was supposed to be. Being a Rutherford meant he could be who he wanted to be. It was better.