Donuts and Beer

Doug was sugared up; now he was ready.

He sat in the pub at his usual spot, awaiting her arrival. The six donuts he’d downed on the way over had been followed up by the three pints of beer that would serve him as a psychic equivalent of a flak jacket. This time of year, any assault from her could be particularly ferocious.

She arrived; she made her way over to him through the crowds of late-year partygoers, and sat down in the booth across from him. "Hello, Doug," she said, soundlessly. Or at least, whatever sound she made was swallowed up in the music and exuberance of those around them. Consequently, he leaned across the table, pantomiming cupping his hand to his ear. She leaned forward, and repeated her greeting.

"So... how have you been?"

"I'm well. Jake's well too."

"Is he, now?" He was never sure just how to take that kind of thing. Was she just making small talk, was she trying to be kind and be reassuring, or was she trying, in her own subtle way, to let him know that they were both doing fine without him? Maybe it was all those things.

"He got 85 on his Christmas essay," she told him

"What was it about?"

"I haven't read it yet. He just told me what the mark was. He hasn't brought it home yet."

Something about that struck him as unlikely. Jake had told her the mark, but hadn’t brought the paper home? If he had the mark, it stood to reason he had the paper back. Why not bring it home? It wasn’t worth fighting over. He wasn't about to bring up his misgivings. Things were tough enough as it was.

"Well, I’d love to read it when he does bring it home," he said, quietly enough that it might be lost in the ambient noise. He could always say he offered.

"I wanted to tell you that I’m taking Jake to see my parents for Christmas this year," she told him. "We should be back on the 27th. I was hoping you might drop by to see him."

"Yeah, I'm sure... I don't think that'll be a problem." There was a time when he would have raised a fuss. Made an issue of the whole thing. Laid a lot of guilt on her; basically ruined her holidays, her time with her parents. He supposed that was why she left him in the first place; that kind of thing. He’d learned a little bit late not to do it. He’d learned how to give in, how to compromise, only after the war was over. And there were no clear winners.

She seemed to recognize the change; she smiled slightly. "Thanks," she said.

He wondered if he would ever see his son open Christmas presents again. Had there really been a time when that seemed like such a hassle? Had it really only been a couple years ago?

"Scott is coming with us."

He closed his eyes. There it was. The bullet he’d been armoring himself against all evening. His blood pressure soared. It rose to his face. He wanted to leap up, grab her by the shoulders, call her terrible things. It wasn't so much that she was replacing him as a husband. It was the sure and sinking notion that he was being systematically replaced as a father. Here it was, just two years later, and already some other man was going to watch his son open those presents.

But the beer sloshed in like some emergency squad, and put out those fires almost as quickly as they had been lit. It all just washed away. Well, nearly. He simply nodded.

She stared across the table at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Pensive. Silent. Almost as though she were demanding some kind of reaction. None was forthcoming. "Are you okay with that?"

He allowed himself this much dignity: "Would it matter if I weren’t?"

Her face darkened, but only slightly. "Of course it would matter."

Yeah, sure it would. It would matter only so much, only so far, as it ignited another flight; drove another wedge between him and what was left of his family. Right now, if he never saw her again, it wouldn't faze him. But he knew in his heart that every one of these arguments was one more stake that she could point to in the further alienation of him from Jake; until they were no longer stakes at all but a fence, a wall, the bastions raised between him and his son; and that small, fertile, beautiful patch of ground would be forbidden to him forever. No. No, that he would not allow. He had that much control. He exercised it.

He raised his head, looked at her, put on this best ten dollar smile, and he told her, "I'm really okay with it."

Something conciliatory seemed to be in the air. After a moment, she said, "Do you have any plans for New Year's Eve?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

"Well, Scott and I were thinking about going out... if you're not doing anything, maybe you can come by and look after Jake? You can stay over. You can ring in the new year together."

The start of the new year with his son. There had been a time when the whole idea was to get away from Jake for New Year's Eve. He couldn't help smiling. A date with his son on New Year's Eve. "Yeah, I'd like that. Be nice to spend some time with him."

She slid out of the booth. She moved to leave. She actually put her hand on his shoulder. "Let’s consider it penciled in," she said. "I’ll give you a call in a couple of days to confirm, okay?"

He patted her hand. He nodded.

She lingered for a moment. "Talk to you in a couple of days." She drifted back out through the crowds.

Donuts and beer. Donuts, beer, and the knowledge that everything was different now; everything had changed.