Work Text:
"John. John, are you still there?" The voice comes out of his phone tinny and slightly staticky.
"Yeah, still here, I was just…"
"Just what?"
John breathes, slow and measured. Alice is stressed from work, he reasons, no point in getting upset over her tone.
"Just checking on Junior."
He lets go of the curtain he'd pulled back to watch his son play in the overgrown front yard. He's by himself. John would be worried about that if he hadn't preferred solitude at that age too.
"How's he adjusting to the move?"
There's some papers rustling on the other side. No doubt she's multi-tasking. She's good at that. John used to love that about her.
He clears his throat, leans back in his chair. "Uh, good. Fine. Better than I expected to be honest. Then again, he never really liked the city, did he?"
He chuckles halfheartedly.
"John." Alice's voice has taken on that iciness John has been hearing way too much of these past few months. "Don't get snippy with me. It's not my fault he had to grow up here."
John swallows the bitter taste creeping up the back of his throat.
She's right, of course. The only reason it took so long for them to move was John's own attachment to his hometown. Even if it is loud and crowded and way too expensive.
He's silent for a moment, at a loss for words.
Recently it seems he's forgotten how to talk to the woman he loves.
On the other end of the line, Alice sighs loudly. "Oh come on, John, don't do this."
John swallows again.
"Do what?"
"Go quiet on me like that."
"I wasn't… I wasn't doing it on purpose."
"Of course you weren't."
She's just stressed, John tells himself, and doesn't believe it. He notices he's started pulling at his eyebrows and quickly lowers his hand to pluck at the seam of his pants instead.
He feels pathetic.
John hears more shuffling. Then the clacking of a keyboard, the almost inaudible muttering of a woman immersed in her work.
Desperate to break this stifling silence, he changes the subject.
"So, how's the campaign coming along?"
Alice huffs, in that way she does when she's annoyed. "Barely. Boss is being willfully obtuse. I keep telling him, the younger demographics are more reliable consumers, but he refuses to cater to them because of traditions and company values."
She spits out those phrases like they burn her tongue. John can almost hear the air quotes she embellishes them with.
It's been a while since he's heard her this passionate about anything other than work. He tries not to wallow in it.
"I've had to redesign this whole ad campaign at least seven times now and he keeps saying it's too modern, too-"
She cuts herself off, sighs.
"Too what?"
There's a heavy pause.
"Too queer."
John winces. "As in…"
"Yeah, presumably. I didn't confront him on it of course. Wouldn't wanna get fired, especially before the big payday."
John has managed to pull free a piece of sewing yarn from it's stitches. He threads it through his fingers.
Alice's voice pipes up again, apologetic. "God, I didn't mean to bring that up to you. I know how uncomfortable you are with that stuff."
"I- what?"
"Oh, you know. The whole homophobia stuff. You care so much about all that."
She's not wrong. But the phrasing gives John pause.
"But… So do you, right?"
"Well, of course I do!" She sounds offended at the implication. "But you've just always been more… sensitive with these things."
And that stings.
His grip on the thread tightens; it cuts into the meat of his fingers.
He tries not to let his voice betray him as he says: "Yeah, I guess so."
Alice continues on. "Honestly, sometimes you can be such a baby."
She laughs her airy laugh, and it twists the knife.
John thinks of all the sleepless nights, all the tears shed in the secrecy of his studio, all those moments when it starts to rain and his whole body freezes up for just a second.
The thread woven between his fingers snaps.
Of course, she's right yet again.
The clacking of the keyboard continues.
John breathes past the lump in his throat.
"So you're really busy, huh?" He tries to force some levity into his tone.
It earns him another sigh.
"John, I just told you about the whole campaign dilemma."
"Yeah, I know, I just- I just thought…"
The clacking stops. Alice is listening. So John carries on.
"You called me, so… I just thought you'd like to know how I've been doing." The bitterness seeps into his words unbidden.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Alice's voice is cutting and John knows he's made a mistake. "You think I don't care about you? You just said it yourself, I called you. You barely ever call me anymore."
Alice returns to clacking away on her computer, nonchalant, and John snaps.
"Oh, and that's my fault? You're always working these days! You get mad at me when I interrupt your workflow, and you get mad at me when I don't call you enough!" He realizes he's on his feet. His cheeks feel hot. "Just- Tell me what you want from me, or stop calling."
The line is silent. John hears his own heavy breathing more than he feels it.
The dread sets in almost immediately. He's not one to yell, has never done so intentionally. And whenever he does yell, in moments like these, when he feels pushed to the brink or backed into a corner, it never ends well for him and Alice.
But instead of firing back, instead of screaming at him or simply hanging up, Alice just exhales, drawn out and restrained.
"Listen, John, it's difficult right now, you know that. I'm busy with the campaign, and I just don't have the time. Don't blame me for doing my job, alright? You know we depend on it, yours barely makes even with all the money you have to spend on parts."
She huffs again. "It's tough, but you'll have to excuse me if I can't always be there for you while I'm making sure this family stays afloat."
John deflates.
He's tired. He's been tired.
He sits back down on the chair in front of the window. Tries to get lost in the pattern of the curtains.
For a while neither of them say anything. John feels like somewhere in the last year something broke between them. And that with every attempt to fix it something else follows.
The sharp-edged shards of whatever it is he broke this time dig into his throat. He swallows around them.
"Junior misses you."
Alice breathes, slow and measured.
"Tell him I miss him too."
Then she hangs up.
The phone in John's hand feels cold and heavy. He lowers it from his ear. From the display a photo of Alice and Junior blinks up at him. He misses the time when his wife would smile at him like she does in that picture, without judgement, without anger.
He misses the time he loved someone it didn't hurt to love.
He rubs the moisture from his eyes and leans forward to peak past the curtain again.
In the front yard Junior is still occupying himself, ignorant to the way the world seems to be crumbling around them.
It looks like he's weaving flower crowns, more or less successfully judging by the countless mangled flower heads strewn around where he sits in the grass. But there's already one finished piece sitting atop his blond hair, and his features are free of frustration. He looks serene.
And despite it all, John can't help but smile.
One day he'll have to tell him. It won't be easy, and he's not sure he can take the damning judgement of his son that is sure to follow, but he thinks of that day after the move, the afternoon spent digging around in his past and the way breathing freely has felt easier since then, and he thinks that maybe they'll be alright.