Ciar and Porter 3 - Meeting Porter's Family
Ciar felt like he wanted to pay Porter back for their mall trip the day prior, so he was actually the one who reached out first the next morning.
CIAR: Hey, how about I come over to your house? My apartment is trashed, but maybe we could hang out or something?
Porter was scrambling to type back a coherent reply.
PORTER: OMG yeah!! i mean my house sucks but you can come over!! im sure my parents and sisters wouldnt mind!!
Hesitating a bit, Ciar thought about how he wanted to respond.
CIAR: Is that okay? I don’t want to bother your family.
PORTER: its totes fine, theyre not gonna care
PORTER: come over whenever!! just let me know when youre on your way
With a yawn, Ciar rolled out of bed, still wearing the T-shirt Porter had bought him. He figured since he was a smelly mess the day before, he ought to clean up a little bit. He slouched his way to the bathroom and tossed off his clothes, stepping into the shower. Sure, he was using cheap soap and three-in-one haircare products, but they smelled pretty good. As rude as he’d been yesterday, he really did owe it to Porter to put in a little more effort. The guy had seen him at his worst and was nothing but kind and supportive. He could show some of his nice side too.
Once he was clean, he shut off the water and toweled himself dry. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, taking a moment to pick at his face in the mirror before drifting back to his bedroom. Clean underwear and socks, obviously, and maybe a fresh pair of jeans. Would it be weird to wear one of the shirts Porter had gotten him? Nah, he’d probably be overjoyed to see it. Ciar picked out a brightly patterned button-up and put it on, leaving the top couple of buttons open the way he liked it. Just because he was wearing clothes that fit him properly did not mean he had to completely change the way he dressed.
As he stepped back to the bathroom to put on some deodorant, it occurred to him that he might be meeting Porter’s family today. All the better reason to clean up, right? He wanted to make a good first impression. Porter hadn’t talked much about them, but they all lived together, so he didn’t want to make things weird by showing up with stinky, worn out clothes and unwashed hair. Who was to say what Porter may or may not have already told them about him? Even if he’d only known Porter a few days, he seemed like the type who needed to tell everybody he knew when something big happened to him, and having his life saved was a pretty significant deal.
Ciar stuffed his wallet and phone in his pockets, using his keys to lock his front door before hooking them to his belt loop with a carabiner. The weather outside was fairly mild. Good for driving. Maybe he’d crack the window on the way there to help dry his hair out.
CIAR: I’m heading to yours.
His phone pinged before he even reached his car.
PORTER: see you soon!! :D
Pulling into Porter’s driveway–he knew the route by now–Ciar had a moment to study the house he’d be visiting. It was kind of modest considering that several people lived there. How many sisters did Porter say he had again? There was also a bit of built up clutter around the outside of the porch. The bikes he remembered seeing on his first night here, but also a chest freezer that wasn’t plugged in, some plastic barrels, and a number of other miscellaneous objects that looked like the exact thing that an adventurous dad at a yard sale might take home. He stepped out of his car, approaching the porch where he could see the front door. Before he made it, Porter burst outside to enthusiastically greet him. He was wearing a dark patterned crop top and baggy jeans with chains on them, coupled with a brightly colored belt. Apparently he’d also decided to dress up for their little hangout.
“Come in, come in!” he exclaimed, grabbing Ciar’s wrist and pulling him toward the house. He took a moment to admire Ciar’s shirt before opening the door and letting him through.
The inside of the house was…busy. Ciar would never throw stones considering his own mess of an apartment, but this space was very definitely lived in. The entryway was a small patch of tile that was bordered by plush carpet, faded with age, next to a beaten-down couch. Ciar took off his shoes, walking behind Porter as he led the way deeper inside. Every surface had some kind of knick-knack or evidence of people, like mail or a forgotten mug of coffee. There were also tons of photos lining the walls they passed. Counting in his head, Ciar determined that Porter had at least four sisters. Did they all live under the same roof? Even with a whole house, that seemed uncomfortable at best. They had to be knocking elbows constantly.
As if to answer Ciar’s question, Porter was stopped by a young woman who shared his mop of wavy blonde hair. She blinked at Ciar, then waved.
“Who’s this?” she asked Porter.
Beaming, Porter threw an arm around Ciar, pulling him into a one-armed hug that Ciar visibly recoiled away from. “This, dear sister, is the man who saved my life!”
“Oh right, the hero!” She grinned. “Hey there! Thanks for stopping Porter from getting squished like an ant!”
Evidently he had been talking about Ciar. Blushing and glancing away, Ciar cleared his throat.
“Hello,” he greeted quietly. “I’m…Ciar.”
“Marcy,” the girl said brightly, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he murmured.
Marcy chuckled. “Quiet guy? He’s pretty scrawny compared to you, Port. I’m shocked he managed to push you off the tracks.”
“He jumped, Marce! Like through the air! It was pure animal force!” Porter gushed, squeezing Ciar’s shoulder for emphasis.
Ciar was looking like he very much wanted to change the topic of conversation. “Porter mentioned that he lived with his sisters and parents. Are you all here today?”
“Chelsea doesn’t live here, but the rest of us do,” Marcy explained. “Mom’s at work but she should be home in an hour or so. Dad said he was going to run errands before picking her up. I don’t know about Taylor or Kendra. Kennie has been seeing this new guy so she might be out with him. Probably took her bike.”
Apparently hearing her name, a girl then shouted from another room. “I’m here! I’m washing dishes!”
Marcy nodded. “Taylor’s in the kitchen.”
Porter finally let go of Ciar’s shoulder. “We’re gonna go hang out in my room. Don’t bother us.”
Marcy stuck out her tongue. “I don’t want to bother you. Ciar, you’re welcome here as far as I’m concerned. Make yourself at home.”
Ciar gave her a timid smile. “Thanks. I won’t take up too much space.”
“You’re good,” Marcy assured him. Then she flipped the bird to her brother and wandered off in the other direction.
Porter rolled his eyes and kept walking, Ciar trailing behind him. They headed down a small hallway past a few closed doors, stopping at the last one on the right. Porter opened it, stepping aside so Ciar could walk in past him.
“Welcome to the Porter shack!” he declared, puffing out his chest proudly.
The space definitely screamed “Porter”.
Every wall was completely covered in expressive posters of various bands, some amateur art pieces, and a veritable collage of photographs which seemed to mostly be of Porter and his friends. There were a couple of skateboards hanging up near the ceiling, along with some string lights and several sports flags. Also notable was a large dresser with a couple of open jewelry boxes, a basket of apparently used laundry, and a closet almost bursting with different clothes. Ciar was kind of astonished that it all managed to fit into such a tiny room. He took a few steps onto the visible patches of floor. There was nowhere to really sit except on Porter’s bed, which he noted had an actual frame, unlike his own floorbound mattress. The posts at the end were home to a ton of bracelets and necklaces, and what appeared to be paper bands from various concerts or shows.
“Wow,” Ciar commented, drinking it all in. “It’s…packed.”
Porter nodded. “This is the only space in the house that’s mine. I’ve filled it with all of my things.”
Ciar studied his surroundings a bit more. “It’s…kind of cool. You can see a whole lifetime of experiences in all this stuff. Not a lot of room to walk around though.”
Smiling, Porter took a seat on the bed, patting the open spot next to him in invitation. “I don’t spend a lot of time at home. I mostly hang out with my friends or go to work.”
Deciding it was better than standing, Ciar sat down beside him. “Do you have work today?”
Porter shook his head. “Nope. Not until tomorrow.”
Ciar awkwardly looked down at his hands. He had intended to spend some time with Porter to make up for yesterday, but he realized he didn’t really have any plans for what to do. He kind of stared at the floor, noticing that despite the clutter, Porter’s room was weirdly clean. Everything was stacked neatly and there wasn’t any loose garbage or dishes like in his own room. It might just be that he didn’t tend to hang around here often.
“Oh hey,” Porter started. “Are you feeling any better than yesterday?”
Flushing, Ciar replied with a shy, “Uh, yeah. Thanks for…all that. It was really embarrassing.”
“What do you mean?” Porter wondered. “You were having a medical episode. You can’t help something like that. I'm glad I was there to help you.”
“It’s…I mean…” Ciar huffed. “I don’t like people seeing me like that. Especially people I don’t know very well.”
Porter bumped his shoulder against Ciar’s. “Don’t even worry about it, man. Like I said, it was no trouble sitting with you until it was over. Don’t beat yourself up, okay? It’s no skin off my nose.”
Ciar figured since the topic was already out there, he could push past the weird feelings to actually properly make it up to Porter. “I wanted to come over today and kind of redo our…whatever yesterday was. Our hangout thing. We can do whatever you like today, okay?”
A big dumb grin spread across Porter’s face. “Anything I want?”
Ciar got the sneaking suspicion that saying that was a bad idea.
Porter got to his feet, hands on his hips.
“Do you know how to skateboard?”
Ciar raised his eyebrows.
Reaching up to the wall, Porter grabbed a board and handed it to Ciar.
“Well today you’re going to learn.”
All the color drained from Ciar’s face.
“You said anything,” Porter reminded him.
Ciar stared at the board, then back up at Porter.
“I don’t think endangering my life is a good way to pay me back for saving yours.”
Laughing, Porter grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, at least come with me to the ramp in the back! I can show you a few cool tricks!”
Ciar, now a bit curious, held the skateboard as he followed behind Porter, the pair stopping to grab their shoes. “You have a ramp?”
“Yeah, my dad built it when we were kids,” Porter explained. “It’s a little small, but it’s a good place to practice.”
As they made their way out the back door and into the yard, Ciar was astonished to see that yes, there was an actual skateboard ramp off to the side, surrounded by grass that would hopefully cushion an inevitable fall. He swallowed nervously as Porter ventured off to the garage, opening the huge scrolling door and stepping in to grab his own board before returning. He also, thankfully, had a couple of helmets in his other hand.
“You’ll have to use Marcy’s helmet, but she probably won’t mind,” he said chipperly.
He plopped the light blue helmet onto Ciar’s head. Ciar irritably adjusted his glasses, shifting the straps so he could buckle them under his chin.
“What about my elbows and knees? My wrists?” he pressed, looking exasperated.
“You’ll be fiiine,” Porter insisted. “C’mon, it’s not hard. I’ll show you the ropes.”
He stepped out onto the ramp, walking up until he was at one of the peaks. With one foot on his board, he dropped down, skating the length of the ramp and popping up on the opposite side, grinding along the edge until he could turn and drift in the other direction. Ciar watched him ride the board back and forth, the chains on his pants jingling. He’d occasionally get some air where he’d grab the deck, pulling his legs in before planting his feet back down. Considering Ciar had no idea how to do this, it was moderately impressive.
“I can do way cooler tricks at an actual skate park,” Porter assured him, glancing where Ciar was standing in the grass. “You want to give it a try?”
Ciar held his own board firmly to his stomach. “No.”
Stopping at the high end of the ramp, Porter picked up his board and climbed back down. He approached Ciar, setting the board aside and extending a hand.
“C’mon! You said anything,” he insisted.
Nostrils flaring, Ciar ignored his hand and walked out onto the ramp, dropping the board wheels-down at his feet. He certainly wasn’t going to be performing any tricks, but just standing on the board shouldn’t be that hard, right? As he placed one foot on it, he felt it immediately wobbling. Trying to steady his balance only got him so far. Each time he lifted his other shoe for even a second, the board threatened to go flying out from under him. How exactly was he supposed to do this?
“Do you want help?” Porter offered.
Ciar furrowed his eyebrows. “No, I can do it.”
He continued to raise his foot slightly, then lower it again. Over and over. Growing increasingly frustrated as he was unable to stand on the board. Porter watched, lip bitten, trying not to laugh at how visibly angry he was getting.
Heaving a sigh, Ciar took his foot off the board. “Just tell me how to do it.”
Porter approached him, again holding out his hand. This time Ciar begrudgingly took it.
“Okay, start by centering your weight. You need to turn your front foot forward a bit more. Then once you’re ready, quickly lift up your other foot. You got it?”
Ciar clung to him more than he would admit, using Porter to keep steady as he placed his first foot, then lifted the other. After a moment of shaking legs, he was able to stand somewhat solidly on the board.
“Hey, there we go,” he said with relief.
Porter grinned. “See? Not so hard.”
Immediately after this feat was accomplished, Ciar stepped off the board completely.
“I don’t want to get a concussion. Standing on the board was plenty,” he snipped.
Shoulders slumping, Porter conceded defeat. “Alright, maybe not today. Thanks for giving it a shot at least.”
Ciar took off his helmet and handed it to Porter. “Next time we’ll go to an ice rink. Then I won’t look like an idiot.”
Porter perked up. “You ice skate?”
“Yeah, a lot better than I can stand on a plank of wood with wheels. It’s too stressful not having it connected to your feet.”
“Do you roller skate?” Porter asked.
Ciar touched his chin thoughtfully. “I used to. Roller blade, actually. It’s been a few years since I’ve done it though.”
“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” Porter blurted, putting the helmet back on Ciar’s head.
He ran over to the garage, dug around inside for a moment, then came back holding a pair of faded white roller blades. They were well-worn, but still in decent condition.
“Do you know your size? These are Taylor’s but they look like they might fit you.”
Ciar, more inclined to try something he was familiar with, took a seat at the nearby picnic table. He removed his shoes and pulled on the skates, lacing them before properly fastening his helmet. They did actually fit pretty well.
“Yeah, this is more my speed,” he said, sounding pleased.
He toddled slowly across the grass, already more on-balance with the roller blades, and stepped onto the skate ramp. With a few minutes of getting his bearings, he was able to glide with relative ease, dipping back and forth on the smooth wood. Porter whistled, clapping his hands.
“I didn’t think you had a sporty bone in your body!” he teased.
Ciar braked and crossed his arms. “I do some stuff besides just sitting in my room all day. When I was a kid I wanted to be a figure skater. I got a lot of practice time in when I was growing up since my dad worked pretty close to a public rink. He’d drop me off when I didn’t have school and my mom would pick me up a few hours later.”
Smiling wide, Porter collected his skateboard and joined him on the ramp. “That’s awesome. Why didn’t you pursue it?”
Shrugging, Ciar started moving across the wood again. “I wasn’t very athletic. I had good form but no stamina, and I didn’t have the structure to keep at it like a professional skater. It was just something I enjoyed doing in my off time.”
Porter watched him roll smoothly over the lip of the ramp, turning and drifting back to the other side. “You’re pretty graceful, even if you’re out of practice. I bet you could pick it back up.”
“Eh, not as a pro. But for fun, sure.” Ciar stopped beside him, looking visibly perkier since he’d gotten a chance to show off a little. “We’ll go to an ice rink soon. I can watch you fall on your ass.”
“Hey, I know how to skate!” Porter protested. “I’ve done it before!”
Ciar smirked. “How recently? Were you any good?”
“Like…when I was ten! And I didn’t even fall that much!”
Chuckling, Ciar poked him in the arm. “Let’s get you back in practice then. You come with me to an ice rink, I’ll go with you to a skate park. Just ask Taylor if I can borrow these.”
Porter was grinning wide. “Deal!”
Suddenly, a shout came from the back door as an older woman poked her head out. “Porter, Marcy said you have a friend over? Did you guys want some pizza?”
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Porter answered before Ciar got a chance to. “Yeah, thanks Mom! Grab two plates!”
Ciar took off his helmet, glancing at Porter. “That’s nice of you guys. I don’t have to eat while I’m here, you know.”
Porter rolled his eyes. “Have you never been a guest at someone’s house before? You’re getting pizza. Now take off your skates so we can have some before the girls eat it all.”
They packed up their skating equipment, Porter stowing what went in the garage before grabbing Ciar’s abandoned board and leading the way inside.
“I’ll take this to my room. Meet you in the kitchen!”
And so Ciar was left alone for a moment. He looked around, not quite familiar with where the kitchen was. He wandered toward where he could hear talking, peeking around a corner to find Porter’s mother talking to Marcy and another girl he hadn’t met yet. Likely Taylor. As he made himself visible, they stopped their conversation to acknowledge him.
“So you’re Ciar!” Porter’s mother chuckled, her wide smile a perfect match with her son’s. “We’ve heard so much about you the past couple of days!”
Ciar blushed, glancing away. “Ah, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Sorry? You saved Portapotty’s life!” Taylor shrilled, already holding a paper plate with a few slices of pepperoni. “Though it is getting annoying. He keeps retelling the whole thing with even more stupid details, like how a flock of doves flew out behind you when you leapt for him. You’d think he actually met god.”
Flushing even darker, Ciar kept his eyes on the floor. “It wasn’t a huge deal. It was an impulse thing, and he’s already paid me back.”
“Yeah well, I think it’s sweet. He like, idolizes you,” Marcy offered, picking up her own plate.
Did he really have that big of an impact on Porter? What he’d done was pretty brave, he had to admit, but if Porter really hadn’t shut up about him for the past several days, he must have been pretty taken with Ciar. No wonder he was so insistent on staying in touch.
On cue, Porter walked into the kitchen, striding right to the paper plates. “Yup, Ciar’s pretty great. He’s a real hero.”
Normally Ciar would have hidden his face in his collar, but he was wearing a shirt that actually fit him properly. Instead, he just kept his head down and shuffled into line for pizza, hoping that the conversation wouldn’t focus on him too long.
A louder, masculine voice echoed from the other room, and an adult man followed in to join the discussion. He was broad, rosy-faced, and had dark brown hair that was graying at the temples. Unlike Porter’s mother, who bore a striking resemblance to her son, Ciar had to determine from context clues that this was his father. Except for their complexion and maybe their ears–Porter’s slightly stretched out from his plugs–they didn’t really look alike. They were also both tall, but considering that Marcy was on eye level with Ciar, this was likely just a fairly tall family. The man approached Ciar, staring him down inquisitively, making him feel quite exposed. After a moment, the man’s mustache quirked up in a wide smirk.
“Nice job, son. If Porter’s word is anything to go by, you really stuck your neck out for him.”
Porter’s father clapped Ciar on the shoulder, clearly a behavior that Porter had adopted himself. There was an atmosphere about this man that seemed to alter the air in the room. Ciar noticed that Porter had become a bit more stiff, and the idle chatter between the girls had gone quiet. It made Ciar feel even more uncomfortable speaking to him.
“I’m sure he’s embellished the story,” Ciar murmured, not meeting the man’s eye.
Smile widening, Porter’s father stepped over to one of the counters, leaning back against it.
“So, what do you do for work?” he inquired.
They were immediately starting on a touchy subject. Ciar briefly met Porter’s eyes, exchanging some indistinguishable mutual thought, before he turned to look up at Porter’s father. This was the type of man with whom first impressions were everything. Alright. He could navigate this.
“I work in insurance sales. Customer service, mostly from home but I occasionally go into the office,” he blatantly lied.
Porter’s dad chuckled. “Sounds like busy work! But it probably pays the bills alright, eh?”
Ciar shrugged, quickly falling into character. “Yeah. I enjoy it well enough.”
“Y-yeah! He’s told me all about it,” Porter added. “He uh…he sells lots of great insurance plans. It’s a robust profession.”
At least Porter was willing to corroborate his fib. His father stepped brazenly in front of both of them, ignoring the line and grabbing a few slices of pizza for himself.
“Maybe you can show Porter how to draw up a budget,” he joked, winking at his son.
Porter visibly deflated a little. “Ah ha, yeah.”
“I’m pretty good at math, I’d be happy to help,” Ciar replied smoothly. It was a lot easier to keep his head up when he was lying than when he had a spotlight shone on his authentic self. Being called a hero made him feel sheepish. Pretending he had a decent career? That he could handle. He was privately glad that Porter had talked him into getting some well-fitting clothes–he couldn’t imagine selling his image as a working man in a tattered oversized smock.
Collecting his lunch, Porter’s dad wandered to the adjacent dining room. The large wooden table was covered in clutter, so he set his plate in an open area and began grabbing stacks of things off the surface, setting them on other nearby furniture.
“Let’s eat in here today. I want to get to know Porter’s friend better,” he decided.
There was a murmuring of agreement from the girls, and they followed behind to help clear off the table. Ciar, grateful for a chance to help, also grabbed a few piles of miscellaneous items and placed them somewhere else. Porter took his chance to snag a few slices of pizza, only joining after the table had been exhumed.
Anyone who hadn’t grabbed food returned to the kitchen, and after a moment, they were all sitting in chairs around the table. It was evident immediately that this was not something they normally did. Nobody was making eye contact, and both Marcy and Taylor had started eating without saying a word. Ciar turned to Porter, who also had taken a large bite, staring off into space and not acknowledging the rest of his family. Ciar, who ate meals with his mother and brother as frequently as he was able, felt palpable tension in the air. Were they just not accustomed to all hanging out together?
“So,” Porter’s father continued, barely acknowledging the general unease. “I ought to introduce myself. I’m Duncan. You’ve already met my wife Emilia, and our girls Marcy and Taylor. Now tell me your name.”
Ciar faltered a bit but managed to maintain eye contact. “I’m Ciar.”
“Ciar! That’s an odd name,” Duncan chuckled. “Where are you from, son?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Ciar gave him a somewhat confused, “Here, sir. I grew up in a neighboring town and moved to this city when I was a teenager.”
Unlike Ciar’s placid demeanor, Porter seemed noticeably agitated. He kept glancing at Ciar, giving him a searching, “what is going on?” look. Ciar just lightly inclined his head toward Duncan, in what he hoped was an “I’m handling it” gesture. Entirely unfazed by their silent exchange, Porter’s father took a hearty bite of pizza, speaking through his full mouth.
“It’d be awfully nice of you to put in a good word at your company for Porter,” he suggested. “He could use a proper job.”
Porter grimaced. “An insurance company isn’t going to hire someone without a GED, Dad.”
“Then maybe you should get on that, huh?”
Ah. Duncan was clearly the type of person who wanted things a certain way and wasn’t shy about making that known. Ciar determined that it was the correct decision to outright lie to him. He probably wouldn’t take too kindly to knowing that Porter’s new friend was unemployed.
An awkward silence fell over the table, only broken after a long moment by Marcy piping up. “How did skateboarding go, you guys? I saw you from the window.”
“Ah, not bad,” Ciar noted. “I stood on the board.”
Visibly pleased for a change in topic, Porter turned his full attention to Marcy. “He’s no skateboarder, but I dug Taylor’s old roller blades out of the garage and he’s pretty good on them! Apparently Ciar is an ice skater, right?”
Ciar nodded. “I’ve been skating since I was a kid. Don’t ask me to get on any kind of board though. I’m worried I’ll fall and crack my skull open.”
Duncan took another bite of pizza. “Did you graduate from high school, Ciar?”
A heavy weight was back on the entire table. Ciar glanced up, astonished at how this man had no tact for what was clearly an uncomfortable topic for his son. Was he trying to embarrass him or something?
“Yeah, I did,” Ciar said blandly.
“Any college?” Duncan prodded.
“No, I couldn’t afford it. I just started working right out of school.”
Tutting with disappointment, Duncan replied, “Shame, you seem like a smart guy. How about helping Porter study then? Get him out of janitorial and into something respectable.”
“How about we change the subject?” Porter blurted, narrowing his eyes.
Emilia, now aware that her son and husband were starting to glare at each other, interjected with a cheerful, “Did you boys get a chance to see the garden outside? It’s just a little side project, but with the warm weather I’m getting a lot of new sprouts!”
Ciar immediately took the line. “I don’t think we went to that part of the yard, but I’ll ask Porter to show me. Are you growing flowers or vegetables?”
“Mostly herbs, but I’m trying my hand at some tomatoes and zucchinis this season,” Emilia explained. “Apparently they’re pretty easy, but I don’t have a ton of practice with gardening, so it’s sort of a test run for a proper crop next year.”
“Speaking of crop,” Duncan started. “That’s a nice shirt, Ciar. Covers your stomach. I appreciate that.”
Porter curled his lip. Ciar could tell this conversation was already getting out of hand.
“Porter bought it for me, actually. It was a very kind thing for him to do.”
Taylor jumped into the conversation to keep things on track. “It looks so comfortable, and I love that pattern! Where’d you get it, Port?”
Still maintaining eye contact with his dad, Porter said tersely, “The mall, that one outlet store on the far end. It was on sale.”
“Ooh, I love that place!” Taylor chirped. “Take me next time, okay? They have the best skirts this time of year!”
“Yeah, they do,” Porter agreed with a very deliberate tone.
Duncan scoffed. “They don’t come in men’s sizes.”
Finally at his breaking point, Porter stood up, picking his plate up off the table. “I’m going to go eat in my room. Ciar? Feel free to pop by if you want to join me.”
He stomped out of the dining room and back down the hallway, shutting his door loudly behind him. As soon as he was out of earshot, Emilia heaved a sigh.
“Duncan, do you have to pick a fight with him while we have company over?” she groaned.
Duncan was unbothered. “He has his belly sticking out like a teenage girl. If he didn’t want me to say anything, he shouldn’t wear that crap.”
Taylor winced. “Dad, Porter’s an adult. He can wear whatever he wants.”
“Not in my house,” Duncan snorted. He then turned his attention to Ciar, catching him very off guard. “You did a good thing saving our boy, but my god, can you whip some sense into him? All he does is smoke and pull pranks and wear women’s clothing. It’s an embarrassment.”
Ciar felt his face getting hot, and a tightness pulling in his neck.
“Porter is not an embarrassment.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Duncan stopped mid-bite to look back at him with intrigue.
“He’s a very kind man,” Ciar continued, surprised at his own building anger. “Maybe he doesn’t have the most glamorous job. That doesn’t make him a failure. He’s an expressive and interesting person and he’s done a lot to help me since I’ve met him. I don’t appreciate you talking about him that way.”
Chucking, Duncan gave him an imperious smirk. “He’s my son, I’ll say what I like about him. Maybe he left a good first impression on you, but you’ll get to know him and see how lazy and unmotivated he is. Hopefully having someone like you around will give him something to strive for.”
Ciar clenched a fist on his jeans. “You know what? I lied to you earlier. I don’t have a job.”
“You don’t?” Emilia chirped, surprised.
“No. I’m trying to get disability. I don’t work. I’ve been relying on favors and credit to get by. If anyone’s a lazy, unmotivated person, it’s me.”
Duncan met Ciar’s fierce glare, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Well that figures. Porter found himself another winner to hang out with.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, you said your piece. Go ahead and sulk in his room with him if you have such a high opinion of him. I’m done with this conversation.”
Unwilling to entertain him any further, Ciar got to his feet and grabbed his plate. He skulked wordlessly out of the dining room, approaching Porter’s door and knocking sharply. After a moment, Porter opened it, sitting back down as Ciar stepped inside and shut it behind him.
“So you’ve met the folks,” Porter said grimly.
Ciar looked like he was ready to punch a wall. “Does your dad hate you?”
Shrugging, Porter picked up a slice of pizza and took a contemplative bite. “Maybe. He certainly doesn’t like me.”
Ciar took a seat beside him on the bed, staring at his own plate of food. “I just…it’s like all he wants to talk about is what he thinks is wrong with you.”
“Yeah, that’s dad,” Porter sighed.
They both chewed for a moment, letting some tension settle in the quiet little room. In the distance, they heard a new conversation sparking up, too far away to understand but enough to know that Emilia was clearly annoyed with her husband. Porter finished what was left of his pizza and set the plate aside, leaning so his back was to the wall behind his bed.
Porter gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re gonna find out that I’m not put together at all. I’m all talk, all looks. I’ve got nothing going on upstairs.”
Ciar could hear the sting in his voice. His own tone was somewhere between gentle and incredulous. “What are you talking about? You might be kind of an airhead but you’re not some worthless idiot.”
Porter laughed, shaking his head. “All I do is fuck around, man. I’ve been working shitty dead end job after shitty dead end job, jumping to something new when I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve never even tried to finish high school. I smoke weed all the time and spend all my money just because I have nothing else to do. I’m not an accomplished person, like, in any way.”
“What’s wrong with fucking around?” Ciar countered.
“It’s a waste of time?” Porter offered.
Ciar scoffed, setting down his own unfinished plate of food. “Porter, you actually go out and do things. Look at all this stuff! Photos, concert bands, memorabilia, you’re actually living your life! Who gives a shit what job you work?”
“My dad, evidently,” Porter huffed.
Ciar leaned in a bit, frustrated. “You know what I’ve been doing the last few years? I get up, I drag my ass to the kitchen, and then I eat meals in bed while rewatching old TV shows. Every day. Sometimes I go to the grocery store. Today was the first time I’ve put on any kind of skates in ages. I do not give a shit if you’re a janitor. That’s not even a bad job to have. You are living your life as best as you can, Porter! Who gives a shit what your dad says?”
Porter, a little taken aback, met his intense gaze.
“I mean…I’m pretty useless. Yeah I’m fun, I make jokes, but I’m not very good at anything that matters, you know?”
Ciar shook his head vigorously. “Porter, if you hadn’t been there yesterday…listen, I know I felt like that whole episode was humiliating, but you handled it so well. You kept me from leaving the mall. You kept me safe and took care of me. We barely know each other!” He reached out and grabbed Porter’s wrist, squeezing like he’d done for him the day before. “You are not some idiot fuckup, Porter. You are a very kind person.”
Struck with emotion, Porter turned away, his cheeks flushing and his eyes welling up slightly. He managed to avoid crying, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
“I…thanks,” he murmured. “I…I felt like…”
Ciar took his hand back, but kept his eyes on Porter. “Go ahead.”
Porter almost seemed embarrassed to admit what he was saying. “I kind of felt lately like I wasn’t worth anything. You saved my life, and I…I kind of didn’t care about it.” He looked back at Ciar, his eyes watery. “I felt like, why bother, right? But it was such a meaningful thing to do. You gave me a second chance, and I felt like…if I could pay you back, it might make up for…how I am.”
Gently, Ciar placed a hand on his shoulder. Physical contact didn’t come naturally to him, but it clearly meant something to Porter, as he unconsciously leaned into the touch.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Ciar insisted. “Are you annoying and pushy? Are you way too energetic and lacking in self-preservation skills? Yes. But you are a good person, Porter. A worthwhile person. You don’t need some impressive title or a wife and kids or whatever else to prove that. I only met you a few days ago and I can already see how much you have to offer the world.”
Sniffing a bit, Porter smiled. “I feel like I’m guilting you into being nice to me.”
“Believe me, if I didn’t want to be nice to you, I wouldn’t. I’m very good at that.”
Despite himself, Porter barked out a laugh, and straightened up.
“I’ve really taken you out of your element, huh?”
Ciar patted him more firmly on the arm. “Yeah. You’re making me be friends with you when I pretty adamantly didn’t want to.”
At this, Porter’s smile widened.
Ciar fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I guess. At this point we’d have to be, right? We’re already making plans to go skating and other stuff together. It’d be weird if we were doing it as like…acquaintances.”
Porter nodded. “Yeah. That’s what dating is for.”
A very odd pause echoed between them. Realizing what he’d said, Porter backpedaled immediately.
“Uh, I mean…you know,” he fumbled, making a rolling gesture with his hands. “Getting to know somebody, you know? Right? Like you go on outings together to learn about each other? You know what I meant, right?”
Ciar gave him a quizzical look but ultimately returned his awkward smile.
“Yeah…I think I follow. We’re past the weird introductory phase and now we’re getting into kind of friends territory. We’ve both seen each other in some uncomfortable situations, anyway.”
Relieved that he wasn’t making things weird, Porter clapped his hands together.
“Okay. Well since we’re friends and this place sucks, I vote we blow this popsicle stand,” he announced.
Ciar picked up his plate again. “Can I finish my pizza first?”
“Yeah, go for it. I can wait.”
After pizza was eaten and the conversation was carrying on in the dining room, Porter and Ciar crept around to the back door, collecting their shoes and deciding to exit through the yard where they wouldn’t be seen. Ciar was sure to stop by Emilia’s garden, admiring the new sprouts, before they headed to the black sedan parked in the driveway.
“Where do you want to go?” Ciar asked, climbing into the driver’s side.
Porter hopped into the passenger’s seat. “I don’t care, man. Maybe back to yours?”
“Ah…it’s not ready,” Ciar admitted. “I’d be embarrassed having you see my place like this.”
Porter quirked an eyebrow. “Bro, you got to see me being pretty damn embarrassed today. I think it’s fair to even the score a little.”
The day was still pretty young. Maybe Ciar could have Porter wait out in the car while he tidied up inside for a few minutes?
“Uh…I…sure,” he conceded. “Just…don’t judge me, okay?”
Smiling, Porter relaxed back into his seat. “Don’t worry, I won’t. You saw my messy room. I’m sure yours isn’t much worse.”
Ciar winced. He had no idea what he was in for.
“Yeah. Well. Let’s get going.”
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