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After the party, after they decide Scot’s staying, Eric thinks he might be the happiest he’s ever been. He’s not playing hockey, he’s not even reporting on World Juniors, but he’s happier without it. He sweats thinking about that, but he holds off a full-blown freakout.
They open presents on Christmas morning. Together. As a family. Eric’s never been a big Christmas person, aside from making sure to get a good enough present for Sam, but sitting here with the presents around them and snow falling outside, he gets it. He’s like the grumpy villain who’s changed at the end of all the Christmas movies Scot’s been making them watch.
Wrapped up in bed later, Sam mumbles, “We have to re-enroll him in school.”
That takes a second to make any sense to Eric, having to filter through the haze of almost-sleep he’s drifting into, and when it clicks he eloquently says, “Huh?”
“Scot,” Sam clarifies, like that’s the part Eric doesn’t understand. He yawns, breath hot against Eric’s neck. “Pulled him out of school when we thought Billy was taking him, so now we have to put him back in.”
He’s dropping off, so Eric rubs his back until he goes slack and his breaths even out. Eric never thought about pulling Scot out of school or putting him back in. He never thought about enrolling Scot in the first place. Another thing Sam handled on his own while Eric whined and acted like a jackass because he was scared of a 12-year-old in a boa.
“I’ll handle it,” Eric promises in a whisper. Does it still count as a promise if Sam’s asleep and can’t hear it? Whatever, Eric will do it either way. Maybe it’s as important to promise to himself as it is to promise to Sam.
He does not, in fact, end up handling that particular job, because he didn’t realize Sam was planning to do it right away. But this is Eric dropping the ball again; of course Sam was going to do it right away. That’s what Sam does. And it’s definitely best to give the school as much time as possible to be ready for Scot to come back. They all seem to like Scot, but he’s still a force to be reckoned with.
What Eric does handle is taking Scot to school on the first day back. He’s more involved. Scot isn’t Sam’s problem; he’s their problem. No, Scot’s not a problem at all. But he is a responsibility, and Eric’s not leaving it all on Sam.
This new mindset still doesn’t prepare Eric for the night he comes home and finds Sam at the kitchen table, laptop out, muttering under his breath, and asking distractedly, “Can you go to the school council meeting tomorrow? One of my NBA guys just blew out his knee.”
Eric only understands half of this, but that half is bad. “Career ender?” he asks, already wincing.
“Yeah, looks like it,” Sam sighs.
“Shit,” Eric commiserates with whoever this basketball player is. He feels for the guy, he really does, but this potentially career-ending injury is bringing up a lot of questions for Eric. Such as the one he poses to Sam next: “School council?”
“Yeah, for Scot’s school,” Sam says. He turns sideways in his chair to look at Eric. “For the parents and the community and the school.”
Eric’s first inclination is to ask sullenly, “How is this my job?” He holds that back. This is his job because it’s part of parenting, which he agreed to do. Asked to do, in fact. He made that promise to Sam, which Sam still doesn’t know about. He specifically signed up for parenting, which means he signed up for the things that come with parenting, which means he’s going to the smelly junior high gym to listen to some soccer moms talking about bake sales.
Or whatever happens at school council meetings. He has no idea. He’s never been to one, and he can be damn sure his dad never went to any for him or Joan.
But he still can’t hold himself back from asking, “We care about this? We’re—Sam, we’re school council people now?”
“I’m thinking strategically,” Sam says. “How often do you think Scot’s going to be the talk of the teachers and other parents? I figure it’s probably best if they get to know us. Maybe they’ll cut him some slack.”
Eric tips his head, visions of Scot kissing his friends on the cheek swirling through his head. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.” He leans over Sam’s shoulder just to be annoying. “So strategic.”
“Do I need to write it on a whiteboard for you?” Sam teases.
Eric snorts and drops a kiss into Sam’s hair before he eases back. “That is my preferred method of learning strategy.”
“I’m so aware,” Sam promises, back to his computer already.
“Have you been doing these school council meetings all along?” Eric asks. He can’t think of any specific night where Sam mentioned the school council, but it’s definitely possible that Eric wasn’t paying attention.
“No,” Sam says. “I wasn’t going to do it when Scot was just here temporarily. But since he’s staying, we need to be involved.”
Eric looks down at him, but Sam’s still looking at some spreadsheet. As far as Eric can tell, it’s brand names, so he’s guessing it’s the NBA guy’s endorsement deals. “You are glad he’s staying, right?” Eric asks, heart sinking.
It wasn’t exactly a discussion they had before Eric blurted out a speech in front of everyone. Sam hasn’t pushed back at all, but Eric doesn’t want this to be another thing he decides and Sam has to go along with. So much of their life has been Sam putting up with Eric’s decisions and Eric’s fears and Eric’s complaints. That’s something Eric wants to change, too, but it’s slow going.
Sam looks up, surprise across his face. “Eric, of course I am. I wanted him to stay, too.”
“You promise?” Eric asks. He can’t imagine what they’ll do if Sam says no, because shipping Scot off to Billy after all feels cruel. Not to mention Eric’s really loving this whole dad thing.
Sam reaches over and pulls Eric closer by his belt loop. “I promise,” he says, wrapping an arm around Eric’s waist. “You think I’d go to the school council meetings if I was silently resenting all this?”
Yes, Eric does think he’d do that, because Sam does the right thing even when he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t half-ass anything. He’d do everything Scot needs no matter how he felt about Scot staying.
Eric doesn’t say that, though. Sam’s making his point. Instead, Eric asks, “What if they cut him less slack because they don’t like us? What if they’re—” He gestures vaguely between himself and Sam, hoping to convey the nebulous concept of people not liking that they’re together. “You know.”
“If they’re homophobic, they won’t like Scot whether they know us or not,” Sam points out wryly. “And at least we’ll know which ones to look out for.”
Eric sighs. “So no getting out of this, huh?”
“Nope,” Sam says cheerfully, giving Eric’s ass a light slap. Eric rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath while Sam laughs, but it’s all for show. He’s grinning.
His grin doesn’t hold when he loads Scot into the car the next night and heads back to the school, where he’s already been today because he had to drive not only Scot but also Ryan and Carla home. (“Not me, Mr. LaTour, I’m the safety captain and I’ll be here for the rest of the afternoon,” Joey had informed him seriously.) Maybe they’ll get to the school and find the meeting got canceled. There’s something to be optimistic about.
“Why do I have to come to a meeting for parents and teachers?” Scot asks. “I’m not a teacher or a parent. Why doesn’t Sam have to come?”
“Sam has to work,” Eric says. “That’s the answer to both your questions.”
Scot doesn’t question Sam working at 7 pm. Sam has his own things to improve upon, and one of those things is his workaholic tendencies. In this case, though, with a guy facing the end of life as he knows it, Eric’s not going to complain about Sam working outside of regular office hours. He’s a big fan of Sam being a workaholic in that regard, though no one else gets the special attention Eric got.
“Why couldn’t I stay with Mildred?” Scot asks.
“She had book club,” Eric says. He doesn’t tell Scot Mildred’s book club is actually more like a drinking club. There are some things Scot doesn’t need to know about the adults in his life, and Mildred sitting half-slumped in a chair because of her book club’s love of gin and tonic is one of them.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re in there?” Scot asks while Eric peeks his head despairingly into the gym. The meeting has not been canceled.
“Do your homework, Scot,” Eric says.
“I already did it,” Scot says.
Eric sighs. What kind of kid has his homework done by 7 pm? “Read a book?” Eric suggests.
“I didn’t bring one.”
Eric resists the urge to throw up his hands and snap at Scot. If Eric were better at planning, he would’ve foreseen that Scot would need something to do. Sam would’ve had something in place, that’s for sure. He may not have three months ago when Scot first got here, but Sam's a much faster learned than Eric is. He only has to experience something once to figure it out. Eric's a little slower on the uptake when he's not on the ice.
But Scot’s 12. He doesn’t need Eric holding his hand. “Just sit here,” Eric pleads. “Okay, Scot? Sit right here and...write a song.” That’s something Scot likes.
Scot’s eyes light up. “Great idea, Eric.”
“In your head,” Eric adds firmly. It’s not likely Scot’s going to follow that part, but there’s only so much Eric can do about that. He nods and gives Scot a thumb’s up before he pushes the door open and slips into the gym. He was right when he thought it would be smelly, but he doesn't hold that against the school. Junior high kids stink. Not Scot, of course, except for the cloying stench of pink gardenia, but the other kids have a distinct funk that Sam hates. Eric's used to it thanks to decades of locker rooms.
Ms. Patterson is here, of course. Eric wonders if she ever leaves this school. Maybe she lives here. He also recognizes Scot’s teacher, Ms. Paul, but he doesn’t recognize anyone else. He hasn’t been looking around or making introductions the few times he’s come to the school to get Scot.
But he needs to make introductions. That was Sam’s whole plan with this thing. Eric steels himself and pulls up his broadcast smile. He’s been told he can be very charming. Though Sam’s the only one who’s said that, so Eric can’t be positive that’s objective.
“Oh, Mr. McNally!” Ms. Patterson says, waving at him.
“Hi,” Eric says. He comes closer to the group of women and notices, for the first time, he’s the only man in this room. He grits his teeth. Just what he needs—another reminder of Erica. He shakes that thought away and clears his throat. “Hi,” he repeats to the women standing with Ms. Patterson and Ms. Paul. “I’m Eric. McNally. Eric McNally. I’m Scot’s—” He has no idea what to call himself in relation to Scot. “Um, Scot LaTour. New kid? He’s the one...” Eric trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. He’s the one with the makeup, maybe, but he doesn’t know how well that’s going to go over.
“We know Scot,” one of the women assures him. Eric’s not sure he likes her tone. He puts her on his mental list as one to keep an eye on.
“Is your wife coming?” one lady asks.
Eric can’t stop his nose from wrinkling. “My what?” He’s getting very tired of everyone seeing him with Scot and assuming there’s some wife in the picture.
“Mr. McNally doesn’t have a wife,” Ms. Paul says.
“That’s right, he has a...a Sam,” Ms. Patterson adds helpfully.
About fifty heads swivel to look at Eric almost in unison, like everyone in the whole room heard this fun fact about him. He tries not to gulp or bolt, reminding himself, yet again, that he chose this. He’s not sure he chose everyone knowing his business, but if that’s part of keeping Scot around, so be it.
And he’s not hiding Sam anymore. Mostly. He’s trying not to hide Sam anymore. No, that’s not good enough. He raises his chin and says, “Yeah, that’s right. Me and Sam, that’s us. With Scot. The three of us. At home. In our house.”
Not the strong, brave statement he thought he was going to make, but he knows he got his point across from the number of raised eyebrows he’s now facing. There’s a smirk or two in there, too, but he also sees some nods and smiles. His shoulders relax a hair. They do live in one of the highest-rated cities for gay life. He has to remind himself of that a lot. The rest of the world is not the hockey world.
Some woman in the front of the room says into a microphone, “Let’s get started, everyone. For anyone new here, I’m Helen, one of the parents on the school council.” A few more heads turn Eric’s direction at the mention of anyone new here, but he keeps his eyes trained forward.
He wasn’t too far off in what he thought would happen at this meeting. There’s a lot of talk about the end of the year carnival and all the planning they have to do, and there’s a very impassioned discussion about vending machines.
Before Eric knows what’s happening, parents are signing up for things. “We need one more volunteer to call businesses to find sponsors for the carnival,” Helen says, and some woman in the third row raises her hand.
“Did you sign up for something?” a woman to Eric’s left asks him.
“Um...”
Now more women are looking at him. Women are very unnerving to Eric. He’s never been good with women. And they all look judgmental, like Eric’s here crashing the meeting and not pulling his weight, like they all think Eric’s a bad parent. That’s what they must be thinking, right? He’s a man and he’s not even Scot’s dad for real and he hasn’t contributed anything to the school.
“Oranges for the basketball game on Saturday?” Helen asks.
“Right here!” Eric calls, hand shooting into the air.
She nods approvingly and Eric lowers his hand, wondering how the hell he just got peer-pressured into that. Sam definitely has to come to the meeting next time. Eric should not be the representative from their family.
The meeting breaks up and Eric rushes out to get Scot, who is, unsurprisingly, not on the bench where Eric left him. “Oh, come on,” Eric breathes. He heads toward Scot’s classroom, the only other room in this school Eric’s ever been to, and finds Scot next to a bank of lockers. He’s singing to himself. “There you are,” Eric says.
“Oh, hi, Eric,” Scot says brightly. “I didn’t have any paper to write down my songs, so I was going to my locker to get a notebook, but then I remembered I don’t have any notebooks in my locker.”
Eric’s momentarily distracted from his exasperation. “Why don’t you have notebooks?” They can’t be falling down on the parenting job so badly the kid doesn’t have notebooks, can they?
“I took them home,” Scot says.
“Oh,” Eric says, mollified. “Okay, well, keep singing very quietly so you don’t forget.”
Scot’s singing is not what Eric would count as very quietly, but Eric’s going to let it slide. For one thing, he’s distracted by everything that happened at the meeting. For another, he’s learned by now that Scot really only has one volume, and it’s not very quiet.
Sam’s home when they get home, loosened tie thrown over his shoulder and sleeves rolled up while he scrubs a pot Eric knows no one’s used today. That’s never a good sign.
“Hi, Sam!” Scot cries. “I can’t stop to talk, because I don’t want to forget my song.”
“His song?” Sam asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eric says. He comes closer and tugs the pot away from Sam. “You’re cleaning a clean dish, Samuel.”
Sam sighs and lets Eric take it. “Sorry. I just hate when someone has to retire like this.”
“Yeah,” Eric says. He wraps his arms around Sam from behind and hooks his chin over Sam’s shoulder. “Bad memories, huh?”
Sam leans back against him. “Well, they weren’t all bad. I can think of a few memories from your retirement process that are really good.”
Eric laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”
Sam turns around to kiss him and pulls away. Eric notices for the first time Sam’s got an untouched plate of food on the table. Apparently his urge to clean was stronger than his hunger. Eric shakes his head but doesn’t comment.
“How was the meeting?” Sam asks while he takes a bite.
Eric winces, thinking of everyone turning to look at him and how judgmental everyone was. Or felt, anyway. “Um,” he says.
“Oh, boy, that good?” Sam asks, amused.
“We have to take oranges to the basketball game on Saturday,” Eric says.
“What?” Sam asks. “Basketball game? Scot doesn’t play basketball.”
“Yeah, I don’t really know how it happened,” Eric admits faintly. “There were—well, Sam, there were all these people, these parents, right, actually they were just moms, or women, anyway, and they were all—they were looking at me! And it was hot in the gym.”
Sam’s not even trying to hide his laughter. He’s getting a real kick out of this. Eric pouts at him and he laughs harder. “Okay,” Sam says, soothing in a way that feels distinctly condescending. “Oranges it is.”
“I got some stink faces when Ms. Patterson told everyone about us,” Eric says.
Sam stops laughing. “Ms. Patterson told everyone?”
“Well, someone asked if my wife was coming,” Eric says. He rolls his eyes. “She told them all I don’t have a wife, I have a Sam.” He tips his head, smiling now. “Which is true.”
Sam snorts. “I still don’t think she should’ve outed you to the whole group.”
For once, Eric isn’t the one worried about this. He shrugs. “Scot would’ve eventually, anyway.”
“We can tell him to stop telling people,” Sam says. He makes a face. “Well, we can try.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Eric says, though Scot does love to announce this is Eric, he’s gay. “I just meant from all his...” He waves a hand. “Scot-ness.”
“It doesn’t rub off on people, Eric,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.
Eric smirks at him and wiggles his eyebrows. “You rubbed off on me.”
“You’d already rubbed off on plenty of other men before me,” Sam shoots back.
Eric cracks up and leans across the counter to smack a loud kiss against Sam’s cheek. “But none of them stuck until you, Sam.”
“I’m honored,” Sam says dryly, but he grins at Eric so Eric knows he kind of means it.
Eric thinks that’s the end of his school council duties. They’ll swing by the school gym on Saturday with oranges and at most he’ll drop by another meeting in six months or something. If there’s another meeting before then, it’s Sam’s turn.
Like most of Eric’s life, things do not go as planned.
“So I don’t play basketball, but Eric got embarrassed at a meeting and now we have to watch a basketball game?” Scot asks from the backseat.
“We don’t have to watch,” Sam corrects. “We’re leaving these for halftime.” He looks at Eric. “Halftime? Does basketball have halftime?”
“Yes, basketball has halftime,” Eric says. He doesn’t make fun of Sam for not knowing, despite the fact that Sam represents at least seven NBA players. It’s Eric’s job to know sports in this household.
They meant to drop off the bag of sliced oranges with whatever parent looked the most involved at the game, but Scot spots some friend from class and runs off to sit by her. Eric gives Sam a significant look, because so far the only friends Scot has who are boys are Joey and Ryan. Everyone else he talks about from school is a girl. That’s got to mean something.
On the other hand, Eric never hung around a lot of girls. That was because of hockey, though, and because his dad would’ve blown a gasket if Eric was wasting his time and his focus on girls. If his dad had only known the irony in that attitude.
“I didn’t want to watch a junior high basketball game,” Sam says in an undertone.
“I didn’t either,” Eric admits. “You can go tell him we’re leaving.”
“You go tell him,” Sam protests.
“I’m always the mean one, Sam,” Eric complains. That hasn’t been by necessity, but because of Eric’s attitude. He’s changing that now. He wants to be the nice one, but there’s no way he’ll ever be nicer than Sam. He thinks the best he can hope for is being the less-nice parent.
“You’re the one who said he could stay,” Sam says. “That seems pretty nice to me.” Eric has no idea if Sam said that because he could tell Eric was feeling a little down on himself about being mean to Scot. It’s possible; being the nice one seems to come with the ability to figure out everyone’s emotions. Sam pats and Eric’s back and says, “Fine, I’ll go. But next time we do rock, paper, scissors.”
“That’s fair,” Eric agrees.
Sam goes off to get Scot, and then Eric notices a woman walking toward him. It’s Helen, the lady from the school council meeting. Oh, God, Eric just knows this interaction is going to end with him agreeing to something else.
“Hi,” she says brightly. “Eric, right? You’re on TV.”
“Yes, TV,” Eric says, nodding. “Hockey.” He’s doing a bang-up job of demonstrating his broadcast skills.
“And your son is Scot,” Helen says.
“Well...” Eric doesn’t want to say no, but he isn’t sure he’s allowed to call Scot his son. Scot isn’t his son, biologically or legally, and Eric has no idea if they’re at that level...emotionally, or whatever.
“Right, right, I understand the situation,” Helen says. There’s an undercurrent of something in her voice, a passive aggression Eric can’t explain but feels anyway. Maybe he just doesn’t like hearing Scot being called a situation. He crosses his arms. “And I didn’t recognize you at the meeting because I’m used to seeing Sam at the school,” she goes on.
“Oh,” Eric says. Even when he had a bad attitude about Scot, he picked him up from school a few times. “Well—uh, yeah, Sam’s been—but I’m around. I’m going to be around. I’m here, you know, and I’m—” He breaks off and nods.
“Good to hear,” she simpers. “The thing I’m concerned about is something Janice noticed.”
“Janice...?” Eric asks. He doesn’t know who Janice is. He knows Ms. Patterson and Ms. Paul, but he doesn’t know their first names. He knows Ryan’s mom Andrea and he knows Joey's mom Nina and Carla's mom Georgia.
Helen is apparently unconcerned with Eric’s confusion. “She was worried about Scot’s lunches,” she says instead of explaining who they’re talking about. “And how unhealthy they’ve been.”
“She said what?” Eric asks. He doesn’t know what Scot eats for lunch, but he doubts they’re unhealthy. And why does this Janice woman know or give a shit what Scot’s eating, anyway? Wait, why doesn't Eric know? Another thing to add to his list to work on.
“I don’t agree, of course,” Helen says. “Every child has different needs, and Scot must have some very unique needs. But Janice did say Sam doesn’t send nutritious lunches with Scot.”
Eric taps his fingers against his elbow. He’s not loving the weird dig about Scot being unique. Sure, it’s true, but there’s something in her voice that’s making his hackles rise. “Sam does send nutritious lunches with Scot,” he counters. “He follows the food pyramid and everything.” Sam’s never outright mentioned the food pyramid, but he’s a smart guy. He knows what he’s doing.
Helen presses a hand over her heart theatrically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Right,” Eric says. He’s starting to get the feeling maybe she did. Maybe Janice, whoever she is, didn’t say anything at all. Maybe this is coming from Helen herself. And since Eric knows Sam does give Scot good lunches, Helen’s just looking for a reason to talk about him.
“Sometimes it just brings up questions,” Helen says, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “You know, about...well, about whether a child needs a woman in the home. Just whether or not he’s being taken care of. You know how people worry.”
Eric is not equipped to handle this conversation. He swallows hard and darts a look around, but Sam and Scot aren’t coming back yet. And anyway, he doesn’t want either of them hearing this. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. These are the kinds of things he’s always been afraid of people saying about him and Sam having a kid.
Eric can’t promise he’s the best parent in the world. He’s got to be pretty far down that list, actually. But he’s trying. And he’s sure as hell not okay with someone implying Sam’s not good enough for anything Scot needs.
“We take care of Scot,” he says, voice even. “We—we love him. Sam’s a good—Sam’s good at everything, okay, and he knows what Scot needs.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen says again. She’s not sorry. She’s got a little smirk twisting her lips.
Before Eric knows what’s happening, he says, “You know, I’d love to be more involved with the school council. How do I join?” She seems like the type to be on a power trip because of the school council. Maybe Eric can take her down a few pegs.
Helen blinks. She’s as taken aback as Eric is. “It’s an elected position,” she says stiffly.
“Oh, great,” Eric says. “I’m pretty good with people. Being on TV and all.”
Her smile is frozen now, stuck between her smug condescension and the annoyance Eric can tell she wants to hide. “Well, the election’s next month.”
“Okay,” Eric says, staring her down the way he used to do to other teams’ centers. “I’ll get to campaigning.”
“We do love to have more parents involved,” she says, sounding strangled. “Please excuse me.”
He watches her flounce off with his teeth gritted. No, he doesn’t really want to be on this stupid school council board, but if it means staying in her face or, hopefully, unseating her altogether, he’s running and he’s winning.
Sam keeps shooting him little glances on the drive home, obviously able to tell something’s up, but he doesn’t ask with Scot in the car. Scot’s regaling them with his song that he started writing the other night outside the school council meeting.
“What do you think?” Scot asks. “Is the central theme obvious enough?”
Eric scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, Scot, I think we got it.”
“The I’m in love with you chorus really seals the deal,” Sam agrees.
“Scot, is this song, uh...” Eric looks at Scot in the rearview mirror and raises his eyebrows. “About someone in particular?”
Scot rolls his eyes. “Eric, I would never write a song about a specific person,” he says witheringly. “Then if things went badly I’d never be able to perform my song again.”
Sam nods solemnly. “Smart.”
Ryan’s outside when they get home, so Scot runs off to play with him. Eric wonders idly if they need supervision for that, but he decides against it. For one thing, Scot and Ryan have been getting along well since hockey, and for another, Eric sure as hell doesn’t want to stand outside in the snow and watch them throw icicles or whatever they’re going to do out there.
“Are you going to tell me what happened at the basketball game?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound all that concerned, more curious.
Eric doesn’t want to, but there is a part he should probably tell Sam. “Sam, I’m going to run for that school council.”
“You’re...what?” Sam asks.
“I’m running for the school council…board?” Eric says, much less sure of himself this time.
Sam opens his mouth and closes it. He blinks. He shakes his head. After all this buildup, what he asks is, “Why, exactly?”
Eric’s not going to tell him what Helen/maybe Janice said about his lunches. He has to admit it feels a lot less offensive out of the moment, here in the soft light of the kitchen. But it wasn’t about the lunches. It was about her questions and her implication that they’re not enough for Scot. Eric doesn’t want to tell Sam she said that.
“Um,” Eric says. Great start. “To be more—to be involved with Scot?”
“Are you asking me?” Sam asks.
“Does that sound like a good reason?” Eric asks.
“Is that the reason you’re going with?” Sam asks. He can obviously tell Eric’s lying.
“Yeah, I think so,” Eric decides. “I don’t like that Helen lady. She—she’s a gossip, Sam. She talks about people behind their backs.”
“Aren’t you talking about her behind her back right now?” Sam asks. He’s not being accusing or anything; he sounds genuine. Eric knows when Sam’s being pointed or passive-aggressive by now.
“Well, it doesn’t count when I’m telling you,” Eric reasons. “That’s not gossip. I’m just—I’m keeping you in the loop. What am I going to do, not tell you what happened during my day?”
Sam’s laughing at him again, but he pulls Eric closer. “I’m glad I get to be your exception.”
“You’ve always been my exception,” Eric murmurs, realizing the truth of that as he says it. He had a lot of rules for himself before Sam came along, rules to stay hidden. He didn’t follow any of them once he met Sam, and Sam’s the only person who can boss Eric around.
Sam smiles and kisses him. “You’re my exception, too, you know.”
“I know,” Eric says. Sam did not date athletes before Eric. He wasn’t supposed to date clients, either, though they technically solved that when Eric got hurt and fired him.
“What does running for school council board entail?” Sam asks.
Eric pauses. “I...do not know.”
Sam huffs. “Okay.”
“But I will find out!” Eric says. “Don’t do it for me.”
“Oh, I had no plans to,” Sam assures him.
“Well, thanks a lot,” Eric mutters with a snort. He means it, though. He got himself into this mess; he’ll handle it himself.
As it turns out, there isn’t a lot of campaigning he actually has to do. He signs up for the election with Ms. Patterson and the vote will be at the next school council meeting. It’s not like there’s a debate or anything like that.
“I think it’s wonderful you want to be on the council,” Ms. Patterson says when he signs up. “It will show Scot you really plan to be involved.”
Eric’s not sure Scot’s going to care one way or the other, but maybe it’ll at least lodge in his subconscious as something Eric’s doing for him. Positioning himself to always notice what’s going on with Scot. Even if Eric didn’t set out to do this with Scot in mind. Scot doesn’t need to know that part.
“When is this meeting for your election?” Sam asks a few weeks later.
Eric sighs. “Next week.” The longer he goes without seeing that Helen lady, the less he wants to do this. But he reminds himself of what she said about Sam. He’s not letting her get away with that. He’s still a bit fuzzy on what his joining the school council will achieve, exactly, in terms of punishing her, but he’ll figure it out when he gets there.
“And are you ever going to tell me why you’re doing this?” Sam asks. “It wouldn’t have something to do with Felicia’s mom talking to you at the basketball game, would it?”
“Who’s Felicia?” Eric asks, baffled.
“The girl who wants Scot to take band next year,” Sam says wearily.
“We need to keep him away from her,” Eric says, shuddering. The last thing he needs is Scot with a musical instrument. They can hear Scot jumping around and singing right now, and that’s just on the power of his own vocal cords.
“Her mom is on the school council. Helen.”
Eric makes a face before he can stop himself and Sam raises his eyebrows. Eric sighs again. “Okay, Sam, yes, she said something. But it’s—I don’t want you to—don’t worry about it, okay? She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know us. And I’m going to prove it to her. I’m going to run for this school board thing, and I’m going to win, and she can deal with it.”
Sam’s got his brow wrinkled. “What did she say about me?” he asks. “I’ve only talked to her...” He shrugs. “Three times, maybe?”
“She said you—” Eric blows out a breath. “She said you don’t pack healthy lunches for Scot.”
Sam just stares at him for a second and Eric rubs the back of his neck. “Eric,” Sam says. A noise breaks from his lips that Eric can only describe as a guffaw. “You’re doing all this because some woman said I didn’t pack good enough lunches for Scot?”
“Unhealthy,” Eric mumbles, humiliated. This is so stupid. “She said you gave him unhealthy lunches.”
Sam shrugs. “Yeah, maybe they’re not the healthiest.”
Eric’s jaw drops in betrayal. “Sam! I said you’d never give him unhealthy lunches!”
“He’s 12,” Sam says with another shrug. “I give him what he’s going to eat.” He puts his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “And for the record, I’m not tying up my identity in Scot’s lunches. I don’t care if someone criticizes them.”
“It wasn’t about the lunches, Sam,” Eric bursts out. “Sam, it was—she was criticizing you. She was criticizing us. It was—you didn’t hear her, okay, she was being—” He sighs. “You think this is stupid.”
Sam tips his head. “A little,” he says, but he pulls Eric in close and brushes his hand through Eric’s hair. “Thanks for defending my honor,” he says, teasing but sweet about it.
“She said it makes people wonder if...if kids need a woman at home,” Eric confesses quietly.
Sam pulls back. “What?”
“I mean, I know Scot did need his mom, Sam, or he does, and always will and—but it seemed like she was saying—” Eric shrugs. “Like we’re not good enough, because we’re...”
“No, you’re right,” Sam assures him, eyes narrowed. “It sounds like she was being homophobic.”
Eric breathes out, torn between relief at catching it and anger at it happening. “It’s so much easier to deal with when it’s guys calling me Erica and...the other stuff. I can’t crosscheck that lady and just take the penalty.”
Sam huffs. “No, you can’t,” he agrees. He rubs his hands up and down Eric’s arms. “I’m sorry she said that to you.”
“I don’t like her,” Eric says.
“I don’t either,” Sam says. “And I guess you’re going to have to win this election and be on the school council board.”
“It’s not stupid?” Eric asks.
“It’s still kind of stupid,” Sam says. “It’s not like this really solves anything. But we’re doing it and we’re absolutely going to rub her face in it.”
Eric laughs a little, pressing his face to Sam’s shoulder. “You’re being evil.”
“Only for a good cause,” Sam defends himself.
“I like it,” Eric says.
“Oh, good,” Sam says. “Okay, I guess I’ll be your campaign manager.” He gives Eric an up and down look and nods. “We’re going to make all those moms want you.”
“We’re—what?” Eric squawks.
“They’ll vote for you if they think you’re cute. So bring out the dimples, baby,” Sam instructs. “And I’m going to put Scot in charge of wardrobe.”
“Sam,” Eric warns.
“I’ll give him guidelines,” Sam promises. “We’ll stick to blues for your eyes. You focus on being charming.” Eric gives him a pained smile. Sam shakes his head. “You have to do better than that. Come on, Eric, get competitive!” He nods after he says that, because he knows Eric’s good at being competitive. He’s trying to play to Eric’s strengths, and it makes fondness well up in Eric’s chest.
“Okay,” Eric says. He lets his gaze linger on Sam and a smile crosses his face naturally. “Is this better, Sam?”
Sam laughs. “Yes,” he says. “But you can’t give those moms that smile. We don’t want any of them following you home afterward.”
Well, Eric can’t help if his chest puffs out at that. So he enjoys being complimented, sue him. Even Nula laughing at him when he tells her about his election doesn’t bring him down. Not totally, anyway.
“You’re going all in on being a dad, huh?” she teases. “Two months ago you couldn’t wait to get him out of here and now you’re joining the school council.”
“No, two months ago I had mixed feelings,” Eric says defensively. “I was already changing.”
“Yeah, because he started playing hockey,” Nula accuses with a raised eyebrow.
“Anyway,” Eric says, because she’s more or less right but he’s not going to admit it. “I have to show this lady we’re good enough parents for Scot even if Sam does give him chocolate pudding or whatever.” Eric thinks it over. “Pop-Tarts. I think she’s probably mad about the Pop-Tarts. Or the juice, maybe? Are kids not supposed to have juice?”
“Don’t kids always drink juice?” Nula asks. “I think juice commercials are usually about kids. Scot’s probably more worried about nutrition than either of you.”
She does have a point there. They probably only have this year to give Scot fruit snacks and chips before he decides he needs to cook gourmet meals to take with him in his lunch bag. They should embrace the processed packages as much as they can.
“What’s the word?” Greg asks.
“I’m running for the school council thing at Scot’s school,” Eric reports. “Being involved, you know. Stepping up, doing what he needs.” Greg’s a dad. He’ll probably be supportive of this.
“Oh,” Greg says. “That’s great, Eric. But I meant with the features you’re doing on the Leafs’ call-ups.”
“Right,” Eric says. His job. What he’s supposed to be focusing on since he’s here at work and he’s still getting out of the doghouse because of walking out on Worlds. “I am definitely working on that.”
“Glad to hear it,” Greg says dryly as Eric heads back to his office.
Eric didn’t lie; he is working on that. And while he’s at work, there’s really nothing he can do about the election anyway. So he does what he does best and focuses on hockey and does not consider what kind of outfit Scot’s going to put him in.
He shows up to the next school council meeting in a suit with a blue shirt. He even let Scot give him a pocket square, because he seemed to really have his heart set on it and Eric had already shot him down for a bracelet. Besides, for Scot’s style, this suit is downright bland.
“You look very nice, Eric,” Scot praises while they leave him on the bench again. Apparently the school council and Mildred’s book club have the same schedule. “I’m sure a lot of moms will have crushes on you.”
He mostly gets what they’re doing here, but not entirely. Though Sam pretty much said the same thing as his strategy, so maybe he gets it just fine. “Thanks,” Eric says. “Don’t move from this bench, Scot.”
Scot holds up his notebook and pencil. “I’m prepared this time. Sam did a great job of reminding me.”
“He’s good at that,” Eric praises, patting Sam’s back for half a second. No one’s around, but he thinks he’ll still get some brownie points for doing it outside their neighborhood. Sam smiles at him.
“Come get us if you need anything,” Sam tells Scot.
“Good luck, Eric!” Scot chirps, already scribbling furiously in his notebook. Dressing Eric today apparently kicked up his creative juices and gave him another idea for a song. Eric can only imagine what that’s going to be about.
Eric and Sam head into the gym. A few people turn to look at them, which Eric always hates when he walks into a room. Especially with Sam at his side. He doesn’t want to hate people looking at him with Sam at his side, but it’s still his first emotion. He’s working on it. Kind of.
Ms. Paul’s the first one to greet them, probably because she’s constantly trying to make up for talking about Scot needing better role models. “Mr. McNally, it’s so nice to hear you want to be on the board,” she says. “We were a little worried at first because you didn’t seem very—” She cuts herself and laughs awkwardly.
“Um, yeah,” Eric says. She’s not wrong, even if acknowledging it makes shame lodge in his chest and his throat.
“Eric’s been really involved with Scot’s hockey team,” Sam breaks in. “And now this.” Eric glances over at him and smiles his thanks. Sam had plenty to say about how little Eric wanted Scot around at first, but he’s not going to let anyone else say it.
“Right, of course,” Ms. Paul agrees hastily. “And that’s so great. It’s wonderful when parents are interested in what’s going on at school.”
“Just doing my best to be a strong role model,” Eric says. Sam coughs to hide a laugh and Ms. Paul’s smile goes strained. Luckily, Helen gets everyone’s attention before Ms. Paul has to scramble for a response.
“So today’s our special meeting to hold the election,” Helen says. She clears her throat and looks Eric’s way. “And this year we have a new option.” She gestures at him to come forward.
Eric looks at Sam. “I didn’t think I’d have to say anything.”
“Eric, you have to tell them who you are,” Sam points out. “Remember, dimples. Smile. Be charming. Show them why they should vote for you.”
Eric sighs and walks to the front. He doesn’t quite know what he’s going to say, but he’s on TV. He can be charming. He can win people over. And really, like Ms. Paul reminded him, this is about Scot. That was the whole reason Sam wanted them to start coming to these meetings. They need to make things easier for Scot.
“Hi,” Eric says. He makes eye contact with Sam and Sam smiles encouragingly. Eric smiles in return and Sam nods. Right. Dimples. “Well, I’m Eric McNally. Some of you know I’m not—I mean, I’m not really a parent. Not technically. Or not...yet? Because we—um, it was supposed to be temporary. But now we decided it’s not. I—” Eric takes a deep breath. He looks for Sam again to steady himself. “I didn’t ever think I wanted kids. But now we’ve got Scot, and I want—I want to be on the board so I can make sure everything’s going right for him. Scot’s, uh...not always like the other kids.” That gets a few chuckles from people who’ve encountered Scot. “But he’s a great kid. He’s taught us a lot about, you know, ourselves. And how...how we should be. How life should be. It's just not always how life actually is. So I guess I want to be on the board so I can help make sure some things in Scot’s life are how they should be.” He nods. “Um, and for everyone else’s kids too.”
He does not feel charming. But he glances around as he walks back to Sam and gets a lot of smiles in return. That feels positive. And when he gets back to Sam, Sam’s face says it all. Sam’s charmed, if no one else, and right now that feels like it could be enough.
“That was great, Eric,” Sam murmurs.
“I have cue cards at work,” Eric says. “So I sound better.”
Sam shakes his head, still smiling softly. “No, you sounded perfect.”
The other parents must agree, or they fell for Sam’s dimples plan, because after Helen tallies up the votes, Eric’s in. Helen’s still on the board, which doesn’t entirely solve the problem, but Eric shakes her hand and says, “Can’t wait to work together” and relishes the way her lips twist.
“Let’s go home, Eric,” Sam says, loud enough for Helen to hear, and she puffs out a little scoff that makes Eric smirk at Sam.
“Hey, Scot, look at that, right where we left you,” Eric praises when they find Scot on his bench.
“Can we go?” Scot asks. “I need to look at my music books to help me write my songs.”
“Sure thing,” Eric says.
“Oh, did everyone get a crush on you and vote for you?” Scot asks while they walk to the car.
“Yes, they did,” Sam informs him. “Eric won.”
“Congratulations, Eric,” Scot says. “Maybe you’ll need some new looks for your board meetings?”
“I don’t think so,” Eric says. But he decides to throw Scot a bone and says, “Let me think about it.” He’s still not going to let Scot get him a bunch of new clothes, but at least it’ll give Scot something to be happy about.
They get home at the same time the last car drives away from Mildred’s house. She’s out on her driveway and comes closer when she sees them.
“Well?” she asks. “Did you win?” Her cheeks and nose are flushed red, but Eric doesn’t think Scot will notice or understand why.
“He won,” Sam says, shooting a smile Eric’s way. “Now he has to go to all the meetings and help plan the end-of-year carnival.”
“Yeah,” Eric says unenthusiastically.
“I’m really glad,” Scot says. Eric’s just starting to think Ms. Patterson was right, that Scot will feel good that Eric wants to be involved, when Scot adds, “I have a lot of ideas about the carnival and I don’t think I would’ve been heard without Eric there.”
Eric huffs. Less an emotional connection and more a logistical one, but whatever. He’ll take it. “Write them down and I’ll bring them to the board,” he tells Scot.
“Okay!” Scot says. He runs ahead of them into the house, singing to himself. Eric has a feeling a very long concert is in their future so Scot can perform all these songs he’s writing. God help Ryan, who’s going to get roped into playing his Casio for this. Or God help Scot when he asks.
Sam trails a hand across Eric’s back as he moves toward the kitchen. They’d had to leave right after dinner without time to clean, so Sam must be feeling twitchy about that. Eric’s going to go help him with that as soon as he gets out of this suit and tie.
After he changes, he finds half of Scot’s wardrobe in the bathroom. “What the...?” he mutters to himself, glad he found this before Sam. Dirty dishes and clothes all over the bathroom in the same night would’ve sent him into a fit of deciding they have too much stuff, which always ends in Eric having to haul away however many boxes of donations didn’t fit in Sam’s car.
“Scot, you left a bunch of clothes in the bathroom,” Eric says, bringing all these clothes up the stairs.
“Oh, yeah,” Scot says, popping his head over the railing. “I need to choose costumes for my play.”
“Play?” Eric asks.
“That’s what I’m writing the songs for!” Scot says, offended Eric didn’t somehow know this. In fairness, maybe he told Eric and Eric didn’t catch it.
So it’s not a concert he has in store, it’s a play. Eric has to hold back a sigh. “You have your own mirror, though.” He points at it. There used to be a Gretzky poster there, but now it’s a mirror. And that’s fine.
“It’s not big enough,” Scot says. “I have a vanity.”
“Okay,” Eric says, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. “I guess we can get you a bigger one.” He knows Sam would much rather get Scot a bigger mirror than deal with his clothes all over the bathroom.
Scot’s face lights up. “I think that’s a really smart idea,” he says solemnly. “Full length. Heavy duty. We could go shopping for it right now.”
Eric makes the buzzer sound at him. “It’s a school night.”
“Okay, I can wait until the weekend,” Scot says. “Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think capture rhymes well enough with aperture?”
“What’s aperture?” Eric asks. “Did you just make that up to rhyme with capture?”
Scot gives him a pitying look. “It has to do with cameras, Eric. Shouldn’t you know that since you’re on camera for work?”
“I’m not the camera guy,” Eric says with an unconcerned shrug. “Um, sure, that rhymes.” He has no idea what the hell this play’s going to be about. “Good night, Scot.”
“Eric?” Scot asks as Eric’s turning to leave.
“Yeah,” Eric says, hoping he doesn’t sound annoyed. Why can’t Scot just say everything he wants to say in one chunk instead of calling Eric back a hundred times?
“I don’t think Billy would join the school council,” Scot says, almost shy about it.
Eric huffs, thrown a little by such an abrupt change of topic. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Not unless there’s money involved, he hears Sam saying. Not a chance.
“Thanks for doing it,” Scot says quietly. “Not just because of the carnival. I’m glad you...want to notice me.”
Eric’s honest-to-God getting choked up now. He nods and smiles at Scot. “Yeah, I promised. Thanks—thank you, too. You’re welcome. Okay, we’re good.”
Scot’s laughing at him, but he sings out, “Good night, Eric!” He’s good at knocking Eric on his ass emotionally and then just going back to whatever he was doing. Joan says that’s what kids do. She’s going to crack up when Eric tells her he’s on this school council board.
By the time Eric makes it to Sam in the kitchen, he’s loaded the dishwasher and wiped off the table, but Eric gets there in time to dry the pots Sam washes. “Scot’s picking costumes for his play,” Eric reports. “All those songs he’s writing are for a musical.”
“God,” Sam groans quietly. He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s great he’s so creative.” There’s an unspoken but Eric can hear, but neither of them say it.
Eric laughs. “Yeah, Sam, I know.” He’s responding more to the but than Sam’s attempt to uplift Scot’s skills. “I told him we could get him a bigger mirror in his room.”
“Oh, good idea,” Sam says. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that sooner.” It’s mostly because Scot’s room was supposed to be temporary, and now that it’s permanent they’re still figuring out what he needs.
They do the dishes in comfortable silence for a bit. "So, do you have any ideas for the school council?" Eric asks teasingly. Half-teasing. Sam probably does have some good ideas.
Sam laughs. "The first one I can think of is fixing the heat in the gym. The last thing those kids needs is another reason to smell."
Eric laughs, too. "I'll be sure to use that argument."
"That Helen woman will tell everyone we're bullying the kids," Sam says, rolling his eyes.
Eric remembers the look on Helen's face when Sam mentioned going home together and his stomach drops. “Helen—she was—us, I mean, she didn't like us because— you know—”
“Yeah,” Sam says without making Eric elaborate.
“Do you think she’s going to leak stuff to the press?” Eric asks.
Sam inhales sharply. “That wasn’t something I thought about.” He blows out a breath. “She could definitely be the type. Anonymously, I’m sure.” He looks over at Eric. “What do you want to do?”
For once in his life, Eric’s contemplating the world finding out about him and Sam—about him, specifically—and he isn’t panicking. He taps his fingers against the counter, a towel thrown over his shoulder as he stands here doing the dishes with Sam in the house they’ve lived in together for four years, the kid they’re raising together upstairs.
What exactly does he think he’s hiding at this point? Their neighbors have always known. He just stood in front of a roomful of parents at Scot’s school and posited himself as Scot’s dad. He left with Sam at his side. He told his coworkers about Scot and has a picture of Sam in his office now.
Sam’s asking how he wants to handle potentially being outed, but what he’s really asking is how Eric wants to hide. What lie he wants to tell, what denial he wants to hand out to people who saw him with Sam, saw them walk off together with Scot between them. How he wants to explain away their family.
Eric looks at Sam, who’s been by his side for five years, who’s never pushed him or given him an ultimatum, who knows every non-sports fact Eric’s ever asked him and has a laugh that makes Eric smile no matter what else is happening. Sam who’s offering to tell whatever lie Eric wants, who’s built up five years of evasive answers about his home life and his weekend plans.
Eric smiles at him now and shrugs. “Nothing.”
“What?” Sam asks, shocked into dropping the lid of the rice cooker back into the sink. Flecks of soapy water splash onto his shirt and he doesn’t even notice.
Eric eases past him and takes the lid himself. Sam already scrubbed it, so it only needs a rinse. “This is why I was afraid of Scot, right?” he points out softly. “Because there’s really no hiding it with Scot here.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding cautious. “So...?”
“So I’m not afraid anymore,” Eric says. He holds up a hand. “Okay, I’m still afraid.” He’s sure he always will be, at least a little. “But...” He takes a deep breath. “I can do this, Sam.” He puts down the now-clean lid and turns to face Sam. “I don’t—I don’t mind if people know. I’m okay.”
“Eric,” Sam says. “This is...” He laughs incredulously, looking at Eric like he’s crazy. Eric can see where he’s coming from. For his whole life, this has been Eric’s biggest fear, the number one thing he was adamant no one could know. And now he’s changing his mind. “Are you sure?”
“I mean, I’m just saying if it happens,” Eric says. They don’t know that Helen or anything else will say anything. So far no one at Scot’s school has gone public with the information that Eric McNally from TV picks up the kid in makeup that a different guy dropped off. “I’m not saying I’m going to make a statement myself. But I’m, uh...” Eric licks his lips. “Sam, I’m not going to deny it anymore.” He makes himself look in Sam’s eyes. “I’m not going to deny you anymore.”
“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Sam says gently, but a slow smile’s building on his face.
Eric leans in and kisses him. “I don’t know if I am ready,” he admits, almost whispering. “But I’ll be ready if it happens.”
Sam takes the dishtowel off Eric’s shoulder and dries his hands before he puts them in Eric’s hair and kisses him. “Whatever you decide,” he murmurs against Eric’s lips. He’ll always give Eric a way out.
But that strengthens Eric’s resolve that he’s ready. How could he not be, with Sam at his side? That’s a bit too much to say out loud. But maybe he’ll get there someday. He’s ready for all kinds of things these days he never thought he would be.
Eric’s normally a guy who borrows trouble, according to his grandmother’s assessment when he was 11. He worries about things before they happen, before he even knows if they will happen. Of course, his grandmother never knew his biggest worry. It’s what he’s always been afraid of, what he’s laid awake in the middle of the night dreading, what he thought would ruin his life if it ever got out.
Not this time. This time, he’s settled. Calm. He doesn’t know if Helen’s going to tell anyone, and he’s not worried. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, and he’ll do it with Sam and Scot with him. It makes him a hell of a lot more confident to know he won’t be doing it alone.
So he doesn’t freak out and spiral. He kisses Sam in the kitchen and they finish cleaning up, here in their home. Together. As a family, Eric thinks again. It turns out that’s his favorite way to do things, and he’s going to do everything that way from now on.