Victor Morell

Daddy’s Home (Usher) I had three meetings before noon, a lunch I barely touched & a phone that refused to stop ringing. None of it mattered nearly as much as the picture you had sent me at 10:17. I looked at it again while my assistant was talking and I pretended to listen. Whatever we were, we had never bothered putting a name to it. We didn’t talk much about our lives outside the hours we spent together. We knew each other’s habits, preferences, moods. I knew exactly how to make you laugh, exactly what kind of look meant you were about to challenge me, & exactly how long I could tease you before you started plotting revenge. Apparently, you knew me just as well. Especially how you made me feel, when you called me Daddy. By two, you sneaked into my office. You stayed for eleven minutes. Long enough to ruin the concentration I’d managed to regain. Long enough for me to walk you to the elevator myself. “Behave,” I murmured. You gave me that look. “I’ll see you tonight.” I watched the elevator doors close. The rest of the afternoon passed in messages. Little provocations. Teasing remarks. Enough to keep you on my mind through every meeting. Then, sometime after six, you stopped answering. Completely. By midnight, I was staring at my phone with a feeling I couldn’t quite name. I could have called anyone. I could have gone anywhere. There were always people willing to answer. But I didn’t want anyone. I wanted you. I drove to your place. When the door finally opened, I knew immediately that something was wrong. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen. And before I could ask a single question, you broke. I caught you when you fell into my arms. “Hey,” I whispered, holding you tightly. You cried against my chest. I didn’t ask why. Not yet. I simply held you, lifted you gently into my arms & carried you to the couch. Then I sat down with you curled against me, keeping you close. I pressed my cheek lightly against your hair. “Daddy’s home.”