Chapter Text
The Byler house was a mess.
Clothes were strewn about, a pile of dishes still waiting to be loaded into the decrepit dishwasher, overflowing ashtrays waiting to be emptied by the family's shared vice, a permanent smell of smoke, cinnamon, and ginger coming from the candles Joyce insisted on lighting every morning to air out the house. At least the pantry and refrigerator were well stocked thanks to Jonathan's sudden burst of enthusiasm for going to the supermarket after getting a promotion at the recording studio, from jack-of-all-trades to junior assistant.
Great progress for everyone.
Joyce had stopped working as a receptionist and was now just a bartender from dusk till dawn, with the bonus of good tips. As for William, he was reasonably satisfied with his job at the record store and his place in the art course at a small gallery. Nothing fancy, but who needed to live like royalty when you had been driving for a week from Indiana to Monterey after turning 14 and running away from an alcoholic father?
William considered himself lucky that his mother and brother had the good sense to get a rundown house close to the beach with at least two bedrooms.
It wasn't a bad life.
He knew it could have been worse. Hawkings was a bloody nightmare.
Joyce had been subjected to judgmental stares ever since she got pregnant as a teenager without being married, Jonathan was a social outcast with no friends, and William was going down the same path, being friends with only one person who wasn't rejected because of prejudice against the Byler virus and the rumors that he was a “fairy.”
But now it was different.
It was six o'clock on a Friday evening, and Joyce was running back and forth across the apartment in her high heels, skinny jeans, and tank top with the bar's logo on her left breast. Her brown curls were a mess, but they went well with her brown eyeshadow and red lipstick. William ignored her as he sat on the sofa scribbling a sketch of a reinterpretation of Harmony in Red, an assignment for his course. His lips moved unconsciously along with Bowie's voice in Moonage Daydream, which was playing on the secondhand stereo he had received as a gift last Christmas.
— Will, honey, I'm leaving — she paused at the door for a moment, rummaging through her bag, talking to her son but not really looking at him. — Sorry, I didn't get anything ready for dinner, but the pantry is full, and, well, we always have pizza, right? See you tomorrow and take care!
And the recorded voice message came to an end, Will thought, rolling his eyes.
Another Friday filled with some unexplored recipe, his endless marathon of dubious movies, and probably a long phone call with Max where they would discuss all the trivialities of the week that couldn't wait until the next day to talk about in person. It was Will's unbreakable ritual.
He greatly valued his alone time, which was practically all the time. But the presence of his mother and brother in the cramped house was like a constant shadow, as persistent as a bleach stain on a black sneaker. Was it possible to love your family immensely but still feel overwhelmed by them and literally develop claustrophobia because of them?
As they began their new life in a new house, new city, new state, everything seemed so promising and at the same time frightening that Joyce kind of freaked out. She realized she had no money (other than what she had managed to steal from Loonie in the dead of night before dragging her children out of bed), no acquaintances or family members other than her minor children—not the best situation for an unemployed single mother. At first, they stayed in a cheap boarding house near the beach where the wooden walls creaked in the wind and the beds smelled like damp clothes.
William went to a school three blocks away, a decent public school where he suffered much less bullying and was considered friendly, intelligent, and cute. He was a kind of mysterious new kid who didn't talk unless someone started a conversation with him and avoided complications.
His first real friend was Maxine, who ran him over with her skateboard like a meteor of orange flames. She was outgoing, electric, brave, smart. What he considered to be his exact opposite.
She showed him everything about everything.
With Maxine, William learned that he didn't have to live up to the standards expected of him, that he could do whatever he wanted. He could listen to music that was different from Jonathan's and even like Fleetwood Mac without fear of his disapproval, he could cut his hair differently from the bowl cut that Joyce liked so much, he could go to a thrift store and buy clothes that really fit him well with the money he earned from the owner of the boarding house for staying at the front desk and greeting guests when she was away. He realized that there was a safe world beyond the moldy room with his family, even if it went against everything his mother had preached since they left her womb.
At first, Joyce hated Maxine, a nosy girl who was introducing her precious youngest child to a world outside her protective bubble. But it wasn't something she worried about all the time, only when she was at home and William wasn't, which happened only once a month when her days off from her two jobs coincided. And Jonathan was also too busy with his two jobs and school (which he dropped out of for good in his third year) to even notice anything beyond his bed when he arrived home well after midnight.
So Will's first two years in Monterey were spent 50% discovering the city through Max's mischievous eyes and 50% learning to be independent from his brother and mother. As a result, at 17 he was a reasonably popular young man, handsome but still reserved, with a keen taste for the arts (in all their forms: literature, Oscar Wilde being his favorite, music that swayed with his mood, and paintings and sculptures, which were his passion).
He was the epitome of the dreams of high school girls who dreamed of a handsome, sensitive, yet reserved boyfriend. And they hated Maxine with all the heat of hatred that a teenager in the prime of her hormones can muster.
It was a battle lost long ago, because Will knew he preferred boys since his first crush at age 12, and Max just taught him to accept it and to know how to choose who was safe and who wasn't to know that about him. He had already made the mistake of sharing this with someone before he knew it was considered wrong, and the memory of that moment still sent a chill down his spine.
With Max, it had been a completely natural and organic experience. They were at the mall, sneakily judging the ice cream vendor with an absurd pompadour who was hitting on customers, hidden behind their raspberry and peanut milkshakes, when Max asked if he had noticed that the guy was wearing lip gloss, and Will replied that he had and that he wouldn't mind trying it (despite the pompadour, Will had a soft spot for big-eyed, sad-looking guys).
The redhead looked at her friend, who had wide eyes as if he had witnessed a crime, and just smiled mischievously, saying that Will could find someone much better than an ice cream vendor.
That's how it was, it was no big deal. It should never be a big deal, and Max made him feel proud that he could say it out loud and not be judged. At least, not by anyone who mattered, and for Will, that was just her and his family.
Jonathan had discovered it at almost the same time as Will, when he found him destroying their room after the only person Will liked in that damn city, who he thought would never think badly of him, looked at him with the same disgust and contempt as everyone else. He was just like the others. And William wasn't. On that rainy night, Jonathan just held his little brother tight against his sobs as they listened to The Clash at full volume so their father wouldn't hear the crying.
Joyce was a little too flighty to notice anything deeply unless she developed an almost unhealthy obsession with it. And as long as her children were in sight and healthy, she left her worries to the accumulated bills and overtime she could afford and maybe, sometimes, a good man who could give her strength.
Will didn't mind Joyce's maternal absence that much; he knew she did the best she could with what she had. And she loved them no matter what they did, defending them even if they committed the most bloody crime in town. Joyce would be there, never giving up on protecting them. So if her son liked to kiss boys, it wouldn't be a surprise or a big deal. She had chosen sunny, liberal California for a reason: so her children could be free.
And so far, it was kind of working.
The experimental recipe Will was finishing that night was fettuccine with marinara sauce, which he had read about last week in a moldy book from the kitchen shelf that came with the house. As he drained the pasta, he listened to Max's angry chatter on the phone, which he balanced on his shoulder and neck.
— God, Max, tell me you're done with that jerk for good! — Will exclaimed indignantly after hearing the latest disgusting sexist comment that the redhead's new ex-boyfriend had made, comparing having sex with her to falling into a coma. — But did he say that to your face?
— No, I caught him talking to some creepy friends of his at the Corner Café. And don't worry, I've had enough of nerdy men who play basketball for this life and the next. Actually, of straight men in general.
— Oh, thank you for not putting me on your blacklist.
— Anytime, Byler.
For a minute, all Will could hear on the other end of the line was Maxine's rapid breathing and some silly sitcom with laugh track in the background on the TV.
— By any chance, would you like to come over for pasta and Ben & Jerry’s for a "boys suck" night?
— Fuck, yeah, thank you! I thought I was going to have to invite myself — Will could already hear her jumping out of bed and grabbing her red backpack covered in buttons. — See you in a bit.
Within half an hour, they were sitting on the green sofa with foam peeking out from the edges, noisily eating pasta swimming in sauce and basil, accompanied by a few glasses of Joyce's cheap wine. Will listened attentively to Max's account of how her ex, Lucas, was a stupid man-child and how she would never date another man in her entire life. She had already told him all this over the phone, but her cheeks flushed red from alcohol and her wide, icy eyes lent much more credibility to her speech in person.
By the time they got to the ice cream, they had moved on from that topic and the redhead was much calmer, now focused on convincing her best friend that he did indeed deserve a memorable 21st birthday.
Will had never cared much about his birthday, or at least he bravely pretended not to, since it was marked on the calendar as just another day that his family always forgot and only remembered three days or a week later. In recent years, he celebrated only with Max, who loved any opportunity for fun. And, God, how she knew that William needed that in his life.
This year, she had already reserved their spots for the launch of a new club downtown in a building that had the best terrace with a view of the sea. Max just wanted this birthday to become a memory that Will would never forget.
And she would nail it.