Home by A.H. Haynes

"Ben?"

His dad hesitated as he swung the door open wide. He was surprised at first, Ben thought, then realized he should hug his son, that's what dads and sons do. Then he stopped again, not sure if they were to do what dads and sons do at that moment. Had they ever?

"Hey dad," Ben said, dispensing with the decision-making and going in for the hug himself. Both men attempted to envelop the other, with heavy pats on the back like men do.

"What're you doing here?" his dad said, then, catching himself, "It's great to see you."

He was trying at least. A nice change. "Just thought I'd stop by. Come into town for a

visit."

That was the first lie. It wasn't a visit. He'd been gone a long time, as long as a son could be gone. He'd visited before, but not for a while. He didn't tell his dad that he intended to stay this time around. He didn't plan on leaving this town, where he grew up, where he couldn't wait to leave, ever again. But he didn't tell his dad that. He'd realize that sooner or later.

"That's great, then. Good. I'm glad you did." They walked inside. There was no invite, or come on in. This was Ben's house, too, still after all these years. Even though his room upstairs was empty now, the walls blank, the posters of the Lakers and Green Bay Packers and Switchfoot now gone. They were still there, though, rolled up with rubber bands around them in his closet.

It was still his - with a few of his clothes, his letterman jacket he'd never gotten patches sewn onto, his shoe boxes full of junk. Those were the only evidence he'd ever lived here. But this house was still his, too.

"How long's it been?"

"Awhile."

"About time for a visit, then, sounds like." His dad looked away. Ben could tell he was worried about stepping on a landmine, here, saying something wrong. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Ben spoke up.

"Guess so," Ben said. They both smiled as their wheels fell into the grooves on that well-worn track. That's okay, Ben thought. He'd let the usual conversation, the familiar small talk, carry him through the moment. It was enough just to have that today. Better than nothing.

"You want anything to drink? Cup of coffee?"

He knew his dad kept the fridge pretty empty since his parents split up. Dinner for that week, if even, some lunch meat. No drinks or bottles of water or Topo Chico. Definitely not Topo Chico. Not his dad. But he always had coffee, and it sounded good enough to him.

"Sure," he said, sitting down on the stool at the counter. "Any half and half?" He didn't have any, Ben knew. He never did. But he'd act like he was thinking about it, for some reason, then offer him milk or that God-awful flavored creamer.

"Hmmm," his dad said, squinting his eyes, looking at the floor, "I don't think so." He opened his fridge and looked inside. "I've got some caramel Coffee Mate. Or milk?"

"Milk's good."

"How long you here for?"

"Oh, for a while," he said.

His dad had the coffee machine already set up, grounds inside, and flicked it on.

"That's good. Are you staying with your mom?"

"No. I didn't know what ya'll had going on, so I just got a hotel room."

His dad reacted as if Ben had just said he'd been probed by aliens. "What? How much is that?"

"It's not much. Just didn't want to bother anybody."

"Oh, you know we aren't doing anything. We never really do anything around here."

His dad hadn't invited him to stay there yet, though. In his house. In Ben's own house.

The one with his heights marked off by a pencil on the wall of the front porch. The one with the dented garage door, pockmarked from a million street hockey slap shots twenty years ago. He must have plans this weekend. He'd cancel them for Ben if Ben asked to stay there, but he wasn't going to volunteer that suggestion. Ben could tell he didn't want to bring it up, so he figured why not make him feel uncomfortable about it.

"What're you up to?"

"Right now? Oh, nothing. Just finished up some work at my desk, was going to have lunch in a bit."

"You around this weekend?"

"Oh yeah," he answered, looking away. "I'm supposed to go to a wedding tomorrow evening, but I'll be here." He poured their cups of coffee, waiting for Ben to reply. He didn't, on purpose, until his dad finally said, "You don't need to stay there. You can stay here."

There it was. He'd never stayed there on his visits, even when he'd actually come quite often to visit back then. But he'd sure as hell better be asked to. This was his house, too. "Oh, that's okay, dad. Thanks."

"Is Jesse with you?"

"No. That's not really a thing anymore. I guess we haven't talked in a while."

His dad gave him the look again, the alien probe look. "Really?" He didn't dare ask for any details.

"No. Broke it off just after my birthday. Probably a good thing."

"Well, you're a young guy. You'll be fine. Seeing anyone new?"

"Not right now," he said. Not ever again, he thought.

His dad pressed his lips together in a soft smile and nodded with understanding.

"How's work?"

"Oh, it's fine." Fine was his way of saying Nothing worse than usual is happening and that's been enough for me to not quit. It'd have taken a lot for him to quit, anyway. He had nothing waiting for him, no connections, no big money opportunities. He had only this visit, and nothing more. "You?"

"Same old same."

"You ever retiring?"

His dad raised his eyebrows, contemplating the idea. "Well, yeah, probably soon. But nothing else to do right now but work."

Ben was gulping down his coffee faster than he realized. His dad offered him more, but he waved it away. That gave him away. "Where you headed now?"

"Probably go see Kevin. I think he's off today."

"I heard his kids in their back yard." Kevin lived just a few houses down the street.

"Come back by. I've got nothing besides the wedding tomorrow night."

"I've got nothing either. I'll be around." Ben washed out his empty mug and put it in the dishwasher. He put his left arm around his dad's shoulders, his dad did the opposite to him. They both squeezed.

"Bye, Dad."

"See you later!" his dad said. "Love you, son."

That wasn't the usual. Sure, they said it to each other. All the time. But his dad was always prompted by Ben saying it first. His dad then would throw it in, almost like, Oh, of course, I forgot to say this thing we always say. That was usually good enough for Ben. But this was different. Uncomfortable. But better.

"Love you too, dad."

That would not make this any easier.

The front door shut and he got into his car. The gravel in the driveway crackled under his front tires as he spun the steering wheel and began to back out. He could walk down to Kevin's. But then he'd have to walk back, and he'd already said bye for the day. This visit had a bookend on it already. He didn't want to open it back up.