Craig swallowed hard and looked at the plane tickets, the European itinerary. The expectations that seemed to go along with it. He looked at his father’s familiar face and felt the familiar thread of fear. The restaurant wanted to close around him, the thick velvet drapes, the thick linen tablecloth draped over his knees. He could still feel his heart beating hard from the mad dash he’d done to get here. Joey was late. So that made him late. And he knew how his father felt about that.

“It will give us a chance to get acclimated,” Albert said, and Craig smiled and nodded, the tickets in his hand. Acclimated. That was just like his father to use a word like that. He spoke like a book. Joey never talked like that.

“Yeah,” Craig said, hoping he couldn’t hear the shakiness in his voice. Acclimated. So he was going back. He knew staying with Joey couldn’t last. He’d known.

“Joey’s was necessary for awhile but it’s time you came home,” Albert said, and Craig looked down, felt the swallow caught in his throat. Home. That big house, no Angie, no Joey craziness. No friends in and out. No garage where he could go and be alone.

“Yeah,” Craig said, and swallowed the lump caught in his throat. Well, what had he thought? Did he think it would last forever? He blinked, looked at the candlelight shining in his periphery. It flickered at the other tables just like it flickered at theirs, causing the shadows to undulate softly. Maybe things would be different. Maybe. His dad had had time to get over it. To deal with his issues. To go to anger management. And now he knew that he had another place to go. Maybe it would be different.

The meal was done and Albert scooped the tickets up and put them back into his jacket. Craig sipped his water, little sips just to be doing something. He didn’t think he wanted to go to Europe and move back in with his dad. Not at all.

Joey was folding clothes and the kitchen had that warm comforting smell of the dryer. Craig opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joey said, using the same form of address his father sometimes used. Craig didn’t like that overlap. But he pulled in his breath and sighed, said hi.

“What’s wrong?” Joey said, glancing over at him. Craig realized he hadn’t even told Joey he’d been seeing his father at all and now he was going to be moving back in with him.

“N-nothing,” Joey noticed the stutter, something he hadn’t heard in months. He knew it signaled extreme distress on Craig’s part. He looked at him squinting as though that would make whatever the problem was clear to him.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go to bed,” Craig said, and Joey glanced at the clock. Nine. That was it. This was a kid who could stay up till dawn watching movies on T.V. Going to bed now?

“Craig, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Really, Joey, it’s nothing,”

He didn’t believe him, and he could sense something was wrong in the stiffness of his posture. He watched him head off, leave the room and go up the stairs. He shook his head. Kids. Teenagers. Jesus, what did you do with them?

Sleep wouldn’t come. Craig laid on his bed with the pillow across his face, and he felt its soft suffocating weight. He could see his father, the way he looked at dinner, reasonable and calm. That’s how it would be when he moved back in with him. There’d be no more of the narrowed eyed, twisted anger look. There’d be no more struggling in his grasp, feeling himself lifted off the floor. No more kicks to the ribs, kicks to the stomach. No more doubling up in pain on the floor. No more walking on egg shells. No more wondering what sort of mood his father would be in tonight. That was all solved. Anger management and his absence had solved it all.

How would he tell Joey? He was in the curious position of having two fathers to please. He couldn’t please them both. They were opposite ends of the spectrum. One was clear and one was opaque. He could see the precision neatness of his father’s house, the happy chaos of Joey’s.

“What is wrong?” Ashley. She stood in all her goth glory beside his locker. He looked at the dark eye shadow, the black nail polish. It was sort of a twist on how Ellie looked.

“Nothing,”

“C’mon. What is it?” Her tone implied she was willing to put up with no bullshit. He had to tell someone, anyways.

“Okay. I’m moving back in with my dad,” He could feel the naked expression on his face. He felt so vulnerable, somehow. He hated feeling that way.

“Really?” She was cautiously non-judgmental. She lifted some of the black lace of her dress with one black fingernail.

“Yeah. We’re going to Europe this summer and then I’m moving back in with him,”

“Wow. Europe?” Europe is what she focuses on? He didn’t care about Europe.

“Yeah. But Joey doesn’t know yet, and I don’t know how to tell him,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. Sean wandered by. He willed him not to stop. Sean would not be pleased about this.

He walked by and Craig let out his breath. He wasn’t up for any strenuous protests.

“Joey doesn’t know?” Ashley sounded puzzled. He wished for one second that he had her parents. Her living mother and her perfect father. Supportive. Caring. There for her. He didn’t quite know what that was like.

“No. He doesn’t even know that I’ve been seeing my dad lately,” It occurred to him, standing in the sunlit hall, that Joey might not let him move back. He knew he wouldn’t have let him see his father this soon. He knew it. He closed his eyes. This was so screwed up.