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Upon meeting Sean Astin, Dom found him both immediately likeable and slightly annoying. He could see how this man fit well in this profession, being sweet faced and soft around the edges and hardcore on safety issues. He had steadfastly refused to start the car before Dom put on his belt, which proved only the beginning. Even the annoyance was one that went away after a few days work, finding it just the way Sean was, a stoic man, a patient mentor, and a sympathetic friend. He was prone to bouts of wild excitement on certain subjects and periods of sulking that had little explanation.
The first time Dom was asked round to his place for dinner, he discovered Sean also had an incredible little piece of heaven to go home to as well. Christine was Sean’s opposing match ounce for ounce, a woman who took Sean’s fussiness in stride. And then there was Alexandra, who at two had Sean completely and utterly wrapped around her chubby little finger. The man’s eyes went watery and vague at the mere mention of her name.
They were sat on Sean’s terrace with the end of the wine bottle between them, after Sean had put the toddler to bed and Chris tidied up.
“It’s amazing, you know?” Sean told him, “It’s like, one minute you’re futzing your way through college and barely pulling your weight and then suddenly there’s this incredible little person you’re responsible for. And that sounds bad but… it’s not. It’s the best thing in the world.”
Dom picked at the wine bottle’s label, remembering the week they’d just had at work, and the doubts he still harbored about this career choice. “Not everyone thinks that way.”
“Yeah,” Sean nodded, sobering, “D’you want kids?”
Dom looked down at the tiled surface of the terrace in the dark, hesitating before he spoke. “I don’t know.”
“You’re what, though… twenty-something?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Sheesh. I had no idea then too,” said Sean. “But one of these days you’ll meet a girl and everything changes.”
“I’m gay,” said Dom. He still steeled himself when divulging this fact, especially to someone who had potential to make it difficult for a long time to come.
Sean shrugged, “This is New York, man. Doesn’t make a difference. You could meet a guy you want to be with forever, and there are any number of ways you could have kids.”
Dom nodded, listening to the bustling sounds of said city, seeing the glow of the lights in the southeast that drowned out the stars. He loved children. He wouldn’t have taken an interest in child welfare if he didn’t. “I don’t know that I’d be good at it.”
Sean in a moment of stoic calm chose not to take the route Dom could see whirling in his mentor’s head, expressing his own doubts. Sean had shelves full of books on parenting, and seemed to be doing well for it.
“I never did ask you,” Sean spoke at length, “Why this job? What are you doing here?”
And there was Sean’s propensity of annoyance. One moment he chose his words and the next, he didn’t know when to rein himself in.
“Why are you here?” Dom countered, looking up to meet Sean’s gaze.
“I asked first.”
Dom smiled and peeled the label from the bottle, trying to get it in one piece, trying to find and answer that worked. The label ripped.
“Nobody goes into this end of social work without a reason, Dominic.” Sean said, his tone quiet and serious. “My mom’s bipolar. Undiagnosed for years and really… acute, you know? She didn’t mean the things she said and… what she did to us sometimes. It’s hereditary.”
Dom absorbed this. It explained the prescription bottles out in public view in the kitchen instead of hidden away in a bathroom cabinet. Sean had spoken as one who had accepted and forgiven and was managing well, but Dom could still imagine him as a wavy haired, frustrated and frightened boy who didn’t understand why his parent acted the way she did. Sean had a family that supported him entirely, and that went a long way.
Dom wasn’t a boy anymore, but his hurt still ran deep. “My dad meant everything he said to me,” he muttered lowly to the scraps of paper in his hands. “Still does.”
He paused and shrugged, going back to the previous subject. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be any better at parenting than him. I’m afraid I’d be worse.”