A Billionaire for Christmas

It was easier not to think about. Easier to just watch and sink.

They made an odd tableau, the two of them. Ellen, who stood on the upper side of average, barraging Aaron, who nearly stood as tall as she did these days, with her verbal onslaught. How long before she lost all control over him? Soon, if she wasn’t careful. Soon if she hadn’t already.

But could I even judge her parenting? Was I any better of a father, absent as I was? And, truth be told, I would have been yelling myself hoarse if she hadn’t taken the lead. If I weren’t drowning in my emotions. If I weren’t remembering Audrey’s last words to me—Listen to what he has to say.

So far, he hadn’t much to say at all. Or, rather, Ellen hadn’t given him much chance for a defense. She didn’t let up, in fact, until she seemed to remember the police were on the case. She stormed out of the room to retrieve her phone and make the call.

Left alone together, Aaron chanced a glance in my direction. I could feel the frown on my face. Could imagine the disappointment he saw on my features. It was no surprise that he hung his head sullenly in response.

I took a breath and forced the tension from my body. “Aaron…” I began carefully.

“I know already,” he snapped, throwing his beanie on his desk. He unzipped his coat and threw it over the back of the chair. “Mom said everything, okay. You don’t need to be involved. Why are you even here?”

Because I’m your father. Because I love you, you idiot.

I forgot, sometimes, that the teenager method of communication was very often brutal and unforgiving.

Another breath. Another careful start. “You went to a YouTube thing? What sort of event was this?”

“Just a thing that the guys from the AV club were going to.” His back was to me, but I felt his eagerness to share as well as his reluctance to do so.

“Was it a concert? A seminar?”

With a sigh that resembled so many of my own, Aaron turned to me. “Just a YouTube personality. Two of them, actually. Jacksepticeye and Markiplier. They’re friends so sometimes they do their meetups together.”

“And you get their autographs? Is it like those comic conventions?” I was so out of touch with today’s culture.

He gave me a frustrated glare. “No, Dad. It’s like...they’re YouTubers. They do shows. They’re famous.”

“Oh.” I didn’t have any better understanding now than before. “Are they inappropriate? Was that why your mother didn’t want you to go?”

“Not really. They’re just...normal. They comment on video games while they play. Mom didn’t want me to go because she said I needed to get my homework done tonight since I wouldn’t get any done tomorrow because of Thanksgiving and then after that you and I are doing that ski trip.” He paused as he toed off his shoes. “I would have rather skipped Connecticut, but nobody asked me.”

Again, that cruelty. I wondered how much of his ability to hurt me had been learned from his mother. How much he’d inherited from me. How two broken people could raise a boy to become a whole man.

Ellen had defeated me that way. She’d destroyed parts of me that I’d never have back. She’d made me bitter and cruel in return.

I vowed not to be that man to my son.

“You could have told me. I would have canceled my dinner plans tonight to take you to the event.”

His eyes lifted to meet mine, surprised and curious.

“And we can cut Connecticut short. Come back Saturday night instead. If you’d like. So you can get caught up on your homework on Sunday.”

“Really?” He grinned. “Thanks, Dad. That would help.”

“No worries.” I stepped forward to tousle his hair. It was as much physical affection as he allowed these days, and even that he often pulled away from. This time he tolerated it, and it made up for the disappointment at losing an entire day of his company.

And I couldn’t say I’d been completely selfless in giving up the day with him, anyway. I had other ideas of how I wanted to spend that time.I shut the door to the den behind me and slumped against it. “Well, that was terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” said Donovan, who had led me to his father’s office with the promise of “fucking escape.” He surely needed it more than I did—this was his parent’s house, not mine. The Thanksgiving meal we’d suffered through with all its pomp and circumstance had to be more of an affront to him, and I had been quite offended.

“Are all people this terrible?” I asked, crossing over to the bar to scour for a decent alcohol.

Donovan finished cutting the cap off a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. “Rich people are.”