My Babies and Me

“I’ve got coffee started,” Michael said, helping Seth onto the couch. “I’ll go get him a cup.”

“Pud a liddle whiskey in it, would ya.” Seth’s attempt to point landed in his lap with a thud.

“Forget it, buddy.” Susan wasn’t even a little bit sympathetic.

“Ah, Sus, lighten up.”

“Not till you sober up, Seth, and then we’re going to talk.”

Two cups of coffee later, Seth was a little more manageable, but not much. It was all she and Michael could do to keep him in her living room—he was hell-bent on leaving for someplace that served liquor—while trying to preserve Susan’s belongings in the process. There’d been another casualty after the lamp. A ceramic vase she’d bought in Mexico.

“C’mon, Seth, old man,” Michael said after he’d vacuumed up the shattered pieces of the vase. “It’s cold-shower time.”

“I’on’t need a shower.”

“Yes.” Michael was gritting his teeth as he heaved Seth off the couch, shouldering the majority of the younger man’s weight. “You do.”

Pulling clumsily out of Michael’s grasp, Seth sniffed in the general vicinity of his underarms. “I stink?”

“You’re drunk, man.”

“I know.” Seth smiled happily. “Ain’t it great?”

Frightened by the implications of Seth’s emotional state, Susan got out a clean towel and collected a pair of Michael’s pants. Keeping her eyes averted, she delivered them to the guest bathroom.

“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee,” she said and left the two men to their task.

She owed Michael big-time for this one.

“I got no undies on,” Seth announced, entering the kitchen twenty minutes later. His speech was still slurred, but at least he was walking on his own. More or less.

“Sorry, brother, I don’t share Skivvies.” Michael came up behind him. He was still wearing the twill shorts and polo shirt he’d had on earlier. They were drenched.

Guiding Seth to a chair, he turned to Susan. “I’m going to change.” And then to Seth. “Your sister’s in no state to be chasing after you,” he said sternly. “You stay put until I get back, got it?”

“Yessir.” Seth grinned. “Got it.”

It had been so long since she’d seen that grin on her usually fun-loving, easygoing brother. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. She wondered if she’d ever see it again without its being alcohol-induced.

The more Seth sobered up, the more depressed he became. By ten o’clock that night, the three of them were seated around the kitchen table, not a smiling face in the bunch.

“I’ve looked everywhere I can think of, and there’s nothing,” Seth was saying, staring into yet another cup of coffee. “No decent jobs around here at all.”

In spite of her confidences the day he’d taken her out to the ghettolike home of his ex-girlfriend, Seth was still talking about finding a new job, one that didn’t require as much travel. Sharing a silent communication with Michael, Susan remained silent.

“Sure,” he continued, not looking up. “I can get work, had lots of offers, but nothing that pays enough to support myself properly, let alone anyone else.”

Susan wanted to help him. To tell him that no woman was worth doing this to himself. That there was nothing wrong with his job, with him. That other engineers got married.

Michael reached for her hand under the table, giving it a squeeze. Holding on.

“Funny thing is,” Seth said with a humorless laugh, “I’m not like you, Michael.” He stared up at Michael. “My job isn’t my identification. It’s not everything to me.”

Jaw tight, Michael nodded—and let go of her hand. Susan’s gaze darted from one to the other. Seth saw Michael’s job as his identification? Like he had some kind of emotional—not logical—dependence on it? Was that true? And if it was, why hadn’t she seen it?

“I like what I do,” Seth went on. “Hell, I love what I do. I’m damn good at it.”

“The best.” Susan finally had to say something.