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Tuesdays blow.
The harsh noise that came from Bill's printer at around 7:00 am made Ted wrinkle his nose, marking the beginning of another fan-fucking-tastic day. Paul had a pen in his mouth, offering Bill a few pointers on what to do, no, move your hand out of the way, go on!
He stuck his jacket across the back of his chair, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He wasn't usually in so goddamn early but Pete needed a ride to school so he thought, ‘fuck it, why not.’
“Oh hey, Ted!” Paul said in greeting, standing up and leaning his weight across his desk.
Ted just lifted a hand, tapping his foot anxiously. He kept flipping his keys in his hands, watching Paul's face. The guy smiled. An awkward silence grew.
Bill took that moment to join In, “Hey Ted, I see you, coming in early to talk it up with-” The words muffled as Paul covered his mouth.
Ted grimaced. “Yeah, I know. Real shitshow in paradise. But hey, she can finally screw her husband in peace.”
Breaking it off with Charlotte was one of the hardest decisions he ever had to make. It hit him somewhere during an escapade, staring at her pink face and undone bow. She deserved a real guy to swoop her up and celebrate whatever new cat sweater she wears or brand of cigarettes she buys.
It wasn't the worst breakup he'd ever gone through, but he was quiet the next day, sipping from his coffee and watching the office move in slow motion.
A week later and most of the office had heard the whole story. How Ted and Charlotte were a bunch of cheating sluts who'd finally entered the light. Fuck, He hated it.
Paul and Bill were no different. Sure, Paul never liked him anyway, but Alice was friends with Peter, so Bill didn't chew him out too much. And if Bill could tolerate his presence without trying to fuck him over, than Paul was his fairy fucking godmother. Even now, they greeted him as if nothing changed, as if their group chat, the four of them, wasn't dead.
Tuesdays fucking blow.
You know when Charlotte told him he was her sex escape because Sam wasn't doing her right? Tuesday.
What day did stupid, dense, unforgettable Paul stop going with him to beanies cause some snobby, beautiful barista kept giving him eyes. A Tuesday.
And guess what day Charlotte and him ended things. No surprise there, it was a stupid fucking Tuesday night and Ted had left feeling like he'd ripped out his own chest and held it to Charlottes face. It was for their own good. Sure, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
“Fresh start.” Paul added, staring at his hands. Ted snapped out of his reverie, nodding as if that was a good thing.
“Sure, Paul. Just don't make me sick Melissa on you.” Paul shuddered.
The rest of the day was coated in that tension and Ted did a lot more than he usually did. He'd stepped up his game since they broke off, because who was he kidding, nobody wanted him around. An asshole creep who took up space by the coffee machines that he never used cause, gross, coffee, really? Shit only helps if he's rock bottom. No, he needed to make sure they couldn't afford to get rid of him.
It wasn't hard. Ted just pretended to be Paul: it made his life feel a little less…stupid. Paul was never out of control, he was a walking machine. Utterly perfect.
And so was his workload. Ted spent his time going through spreadsheets, organizing info and actually cleaning. Needed to pay off his apartment somehow.
By lunch, he was all out of places to stuff his hands into and usually, he'd eat by Charlotte.
He would watch her over her chair, lightly kicking the wheels to try and get her up and walking, the kitchens that way, I bet you could find a barely not expired ramen cup.
Ted almost walked himself into Charlotte's lap. Change was a nightmare.
So here he was, standing in the middle of the office like an idiot while everyone else shared coffee cups, plastic ware and side eyes.
Ted leaned his body against a wall, fishing through his pockets for a light. It was warm out, and Ted was agitated and he didn't smoke much, but there was his cigs, right where he knew they'd be.
When Ted looked up, his eyes immediately lasered in on Paul. He was standing still, legs outstretched like he'd been jogging across the office.
Paul settled a hand across his hair and waved. God, this pity was getting old.
“What's up?” Ted half heartedly mumbled.
Paul shrugged, stepping closer as half the B section ran pest.
He stumbled, and Ted grasped his arm.
After Paul awkwardly chuckled, watching his hands, Ted looked away, tearing his arm away too. How was he fucking everything up.
“I was wondering…?”
Ted groaned. He was not in the mood to do anyone a favor. “Sorry, I'm busy, Paul! Shove off.”
“But-”
Ted raised a hand, “Don't worry, I'll be back to organize the papers you hand me. Tell Emma I said hi.”
Paul's face looked confused, in the puppy dog way he got sometimes, but Ted ignored it and speed walked out of there. He found himself in an unused boardroom that didn't lock, so he stuck a chair behind the door to make sure nobody got in.
Pete had made dinner last night so his tupperware was full of watery rice and whatever odd things they could find in the fridge. Ted was grateful his kid brother wasn't a menace.
As he pushed his food around with a plastic spork, he thought about Paul's ridiculously disappointed face.
“Psh. Guy only talked to me because of Charlotte. Soon enough, the little friend group will knit back together without me.” Ted said to the empty room, “It's how this shit should go. She deserves that much.”
It felt weird to be in such a quiet place so Ted put on some music through his shitty phone speakers.
Unfortunately, his and Charlotte's Spotify playlist was still undeleted and perfectly intact. Ted face-palmed.
“I fucking hate Tuesdays.”
—
Every day was a little easier.
Sometimes, he'd sit in the living room, searching through magazines for a new job as old cartoons aired on TV. He'd feel normal. He'd feel numb. And Charlottes laugh would sit in the back of his mind and his hands would tighten in grip.
The week continued like any other.
He started taking Peter to school everyday because the bus driver was leaving his kid behind on purpose. ( Asshole!) So every morning he was clocking in before he actually needed to be there. If Mr. Davidson cared, he would have called him out.
At least, that was Ted's excuse. It wasn't like he wasn't doing anything.
Paul and Bill would always say hi to him, and that was interesting. Ted was sure they'd hang with Charlotte. And maybe they did.
But Ted never saw them even say hi to her. One morning, the three of them were in the kitchen making coffee-Ted was using the kettle for tea-and in walked Charlotte.
No one said anything rude or mean, but the atmosphere changed. After a minute, Ted abandoned his mug and was out lighting a cigarette, hoping to god his ex didn't have the same idea.
And soon enough, the calendar on the wall came back to another Tuesday.
Ted grimaced in bed, hitting his alarm clock with shaking hands. Of course he was gonna start today with a nightmare, of course.
He went over to the kitchen, not bothering to check in on Pete just yet because his kid- brother had one hell of an internal clock.
Ted made oatmeal, and chopped up some fruit cause one of Charlottes biggest complaints while they were dat-fucking, was that he was an unhealthy slob. Apparently, he was sensitive. And apparently, he liked strawberries in his oatmeal.
After the clock read 6:40am and Ted had wiped his bowl clean, he frowned and set it in the sink. Okay, this is weird for him.
He knocked first, because even though Peter was 16 and well old enough to not need babying or parenting from Ted of all people, he still read through parenting books like they were the secret to getting closer with him.
So he knocked and after a minute he heard a sniffle.
Ted settled his hand on the knob, “Hey Pete, you awake in there, kid!”
He heard him say something, but it was all muffled and Ted frowned even harder, “Speak up?”
“Can I stay home?”
Ted sort of froze in place. In all the years of this kid's existence he has never wanted to skip school. Ted was convinced he loved school more than him. Why would he…?
“I'm coming in.” Ted opened the door, worriedly searching the room. He found a Peter shaped blob underneath the comforter.
Bad morning, then? Upon hearing his footsteps, Peter seemed to bury himself further, shivering like a leaf.
“Hey, calm down, Peter.” Stiffly, Ted took a seat on the bed, “Now, why do you wanna skip?”
After a moment, he heard Pete say, “It's stupid.”
Ted scoffed, “Not as fucking stupid as my life has been, I'll bet.”
He heard the sheets rustle, “...You'll be mad, though.”
Ted looked up at the ceiling, “Now that is stupid; why would I be mad?”
“Not at me.” Peter corrected, and god, the kid was sounding like a lawyer, “Like when that cop guy called the house and-um-”
“and made you cry.” Ted finished, wishing he could knock some fucking sense into Sam. “Yeah, I remember that. Bad day.”
“Bad week !” Ted smiled, letting himself have this weirdly sweet moment. No one in their right mind would call the Spankoffski’s sweet, and yet.
“Well, come on. You might not be going to school but you are sure as hell getting out of bed. I even made oatmeal.”
“Crazy.” Peter sarcastically muttered, rising up with the craziest bed head Ted had ever seen.
He groaned. “Next time I get paid, I'm taking you to a parlor. Trim or buzzcut, doesn't matter, but this is an issue, Pete.” Ted reached out to push his hair out of his eyes and Pete flinched back.
Ted froze, and put his hand away.
He swallowed, bowing his head. “I-Oatmeals downstairs. I should get going.”
He could hear Peter say something, and half of the parenting books have a whole section on good, emotional conversations and specifically, miscommunication. Who cares? Peter had flinched away from him. Just like-
When he finally got to the office, he was exhausted. He checked his pockets after sliding his card through the front door and clocking in, realizing he not only left his phone, but that he'd also forgotten his pack. No cigarettes? Great. He'd been meaning to drop the habit.
Ted stomped over to his desk where only Bill was seated, staring hard at his computer. If Ted was in a better mood, he'd asked why the guy looked so mad, but right now, he couldn't think.
Thankfully, he had a shit ton of work to do.
By the time it was lunch, Ted had done triple what he was supposed to do and he felt dizzy from it. He knew he could count on their being bread and turkey in the kitchen, so he kissed his computer goodbye and strolled over.
Paul hadn't come by but Ted could see him, running back and forth between departments, with that machine-like efficiency.
He stuck some white bread and a thin slice of turkey on a plate. As he was glaring at a bottle of mustard, he heard the door swing on its hinges.
It was the farthest door from where Ted was, so he knew he was out of sight. Thank god, he could not socialize today.
Paul's voice told him who exactly had walked in. “I knew something was up with her and I'm so glad I was right.”
“Sure.” Okay, Bill, no big deal. He just had to open this mustard and leave, “But if she did this then don't you think…?
“No. Ted wouldn't do that.” Ted froze, shakily holding a butter knife.
“You're positive?” Bill asked.
“Positive. Ted may act like some creepy, glaring asshole at the office. But he wouldn't jeopardize his brother's life.”
That was single handedly the nicest thing anyone had ever said about him. And he wasn't even meant to hear it.
On his way out though, he tripped, because Tuesdays fucking suck ass, and Paul and Bill shot over to him. At least he kept the mustard bottle shut cause he was feeling picky today.
With the last of his appetite gone, Ted shuddered, humiliation blooming across his face. Stupid, stupid, now they're gonna think you're some eavesdropping stalker!
Paul tried to rest his hand on Ted's shoulder, but he shoved it off, “Paul, please don't touch me.”
The please reminded him of Peter all over again and he grimaced, head falling into his hands. Bill kneeled on the ground nearby, and Ted listened to his kneecaps pop.
“I've got good news!” Paul said, “Charlottes out of the company now!”
And in a weird way that really was good news. But Ted just shrugged, closing his eyes, “And who's next? I can't believe I thought everything would work out.”
“Nothing 'works out.' Not in the way you expect.” Ted looked up to see Paul smile. “And I sure as hell didn't expect you. Yet, here you are”
—
Ted came home tired. And terrified.
The house was warm, and Ted was very close to scolding Peter for turning on the heat. But then he smelled soup.
The kitchen was alive in a way it hasn't been for years. The sink was filled with dirty pans, the stove was hot and smoke was flying. Peter was in the center of it and he didn't look happy. He looked impatient.
Ted felt a looming desire to jump out the window. And that feeling doubled when he noticed what was scattered across their table- his parenting books.
“Shit.” Ted muttered. He apparently didn't say it loud enough cause Pete turned to him. And god, wasn't that an ugly black eye.
“What the fuck!” every worry, every issue and all of Paul's awful beautiful perfect smiles disappeared and Ted rushed over, “What the hell happened to you, I-touch?”
Peter was a sensitive kid, so the touch rule was a big thing. Maybe he'd grown out of it but boundaries were good. He'd know after half living in Charlotte's house, that boundaries were so fucking important.
Peter blinked, sniffling. And then suddenly his kid brother was in his arms.
Ted shuffled, not sure what to do or say but then Peter was holding him tighter, and he tried not to think at all.
—
What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.
-’ A Color Of The Sky’ by Tony Hoagland.