Three Wishes

Mikey had been up all night. There was a sickness inside of him that he couldn’t ignore anymore. He knew it now. He knew that he was now emotionally invested in this.

Creeping the halls of the house didn’t feel foreign now. It felt like his home.

Watching Bronx sleep soundly in his monster room didn’t feel like babysitting. It felt like family.

Laying in Pete’s bed didn’t feel like crashing at his friend’s. It felt like where he was suppose to be.

He had shaken his head countless times that night, trying to escape the feeling and remember that this was a one time thing for a one time lover, but he couldn’t. This felt real to him. Everything had been leading up to this.

It was around seven when Mikey went to get Bronx. With promises of his favorite cereal, he was finally roused.

Mikey helped him up to the barstool and poured him his brightly colored drug of choice.

“Thank you, Mikey,” Bronx said sleepily, in between gulps of juice from his sippy cup.

“No problem, little man,” Mikey smiled and felt his phone ring in his pocket. He looked at who it was. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped into the hallway, out of earshot, before answering. “Hey.” He whispered, out of paranoia.

“Where are you?” his brother’s voice questioned over the phone.

“I’m at home. Where else would I be?” he tugged at the edge of his sleeve, pulling it over his wrist.

“Well, I went by your house and you didn’t answer. Your car was gone,” he was hinting towards something.

“Oh well, I stepped outside to get some coffee. Must have just missed me,” Mikey lied again, leaning his head up against the wall.

“Mikey,” Gerard’s voice said seriously, “I know you are over there.”

“What?” Mikey whined. “What are you talking about?”

Gerard sighed, “You are at Pete’s. I know you are.”

A crash came from the kitchen. The sound was so loud it made Mikey jump. “Uh, I got to go,” Mikey sputtered out.

“Mikey! Wait-“ Mikey faintly heard Gerard cry but he had already hung up and ran for the kitchen.

Bronx sat in his seat still, the ground coated in cereal, milk, and broken glass.

Just make sure you use one of the plastic bowls cause he has been known to drop glass.

Mikey cursed under his breath and looked up to Bronx.

His lip was quivering and tears began pouring down his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Mikey felt his heartstrings tear in his chest. “Bronx.” He went over and scooped him up in his arms. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Bronx leaned himself onto Mikey’s shoulder and Mikey felt his chest heaving, trying his hardest not to cry.

“No, no, no,” Mikey sighed and setting him down away from the wreckage. Putting his hands on his shoulders. “Don’t cry, Bronx.”

The little boy wiped his eyes and tried to stop his tears, but instead his breaths just came out staggered and loud. “I break …everything.”

Must be a trait from your father’s side.

Mikey bit back the remark.

“Oh, Bronx,” Mikey hugged him tightly and tried to search his head for some words that could remedy the situation. “Some things have to be broken so that we can value them when they are fixed.”

“But,” Bronx babbled. “We can’t fix it.”

Mikey pulled away. “Of course, we can.” He picks Bronx up and sits him on the counter. “Stay up here.”

Mikey squatted down on the ground and began to pick up the bigger pieces of glass, piling them carefully into his hand before tossing them into the trash. “Bronx, hand me the towel.”

Bronx grappled for the dishtowel hanging below his feet and handed it to Mikey.

Mikey sopped up the milk, collecting the small shards of glass and the little bits of cereal. “See. Everything is fixable.”

He stood up, ringing out the dishcloth in the sink and setting it back on the rack.

“Now. Let’s try again,” Mikey picked Bronx up again and places him back on the stool.

He grabs a plastic bowl from the cupboard and pours another serving of cereal, placing it in front of Bronx.

“Better?” Mikey asked, leaning against the counter to cradle his head in his hands.

Bronx nods, face finally returning to its normal porcelain. He crunches lightly on his cereal as he sniffs away the remaining tears.

Mikey sighed. A moment of peace.

Before he could enjoy it, his phone rattled on the countertop. He rolled his eyes and looked to see who it was.

Pete.

He felt his stomach tie in knots. He licked his lips and answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mikey. It’s Pete,” his voice sounded upbeat.

Mikey felt his insides scramble and look for shelter. “Oh hey. How did the meeting go?” he asked leaning over the edge of the counter and watching Bronx nom.

“Good good. It was kinda bullshit cause they basically just wanted to update me on some stuff which they could have done easily on conference call, but whatever. Corporate people, you know?” his words rolled off chaotically.

“Yeah. Well that’s good,” Mikey bit at the edge of his thumb.

“Yup. I’m just waiting for my flight now, so expect me home around one or so,” Mikey suddenly became aware of the sounds of terminals and intercom voices.

“Oh okay,” Mikey looked over at the clock and doing the math in his head. About four more hours.

“Lemme talk to little man,” he said with a twinkle in his voice.

Mikey leaned up and walked the phone over to Bronx. “It’s your dad,” he smiled, handing it to him.

Bronx acted like it was all business and he was used to it. He grabbed the phone from Mikey and haphazardly put it to his ear. “Dad?”

Mikey watched Bronx’s mannerisms. Trying to ignore the fact that everything he did screamed Pete. The way his eyes looked when he was onto something distant was mind-blowingly similar. Extremely pensive for a two year old.

“Mmhm,” Bronx nodded.

Mikey wasn’t interested in their conversation. He was just trying to calculate more characteristics.

“I don’t know. I fell asleep,” he mumbled and leaned back and forth in his chair. “Mhhm. Ok. I love you too.”

Mikey smiled down at his shoes.

Bronx handed the phone back to Mikey and he took it. Bronx continued on his cereal.

“Hey,” he said simply, crossing his arm under his elbow.

“Hey,” Pete said in response a little more broken than before. It made Mikey wished he had paid more attention to what Bronx had said. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple hours. Okay?”

“Yup. See you then,” Mikey murmured before hanging up.

He looked up at Bronx who was done with his breakfast. “All done?”

Bronx nodded. Mikey took his bowl from him and washed it out in the sink. “How about you go get dressed and then we can do something.”

Bronx looked up at him blinking. “But I need you to pick it out,” he sounded scared like he was expected to take on a responsibility he hadn’t mastered.

Mikey should have remembered that. “Of course. I’m coming.” He lifted Bronx off the tall barstool and carried him back to his bedroom.

Mikey dressed him in the clothes that were in the drawers. Most if them were things that Pete would likely buy for himself in scaled down form. Tshirts, hoodies, jeans, and little converse.

After getting dressed, Mikey turned the tv on in the living room. Finding a channel tuned to Yo Gabba Gabba and putting the remote on the shelf. “I’m gonna go get dressed, okay? Stay here.”

Bronx nodded and made himself comfortable on the floor, already transfixed by the television.

Mikey turned back towards the hall. Something caught his eye. The Summer of Like box on the floor where he left it last night. He still had not come to terms with its existence but he couldn’t just leave it there. He bent over and picked it up, carrying it down the hall to Pete’s bedroom. He opened the closet door and found an area of cardboard boxes with other labels scrawled on in Pete’s sharp handwriting. Black Clouds and Underdogs Tour. Honeymoon. Writing in San Diego. were among many others.

There was a square imprint on the carpet where you could tell something had been sitting for a long time. Mikey sighed and placed the box there; aligning the corner so you couldn’t tell it had been moved. He stood back and stared at it. The perfect catalyst in a tragic derailment of issues. Mikey turned away and shut the closet door, desperate to not be reminded of that damn box anymore.

----

“What are dad’s favorite colors?” Bronx asked with the colors all around him. Bronx had begged Mikey to fingerpaint after today’s Yo Gabba Gabba talked all about it. Mikey agreed and got the paints out from the supply closet in the hallway. They had just about every color in the basic rainbow. Mikey had set out a stack of white printer paper and covered the table with rows of taped paper towels, desperate not to make a mess. Paper plates with pools of washable, water based paints sat infront of Bronx as he stared at them wide eyed.

“Ugh,” Mikey looked through his email on his phone, trying to think. “Dad likes purple and red and black and blue,” he pointed the colors out as he thought of them. “Are you gonna make him something?”

Bronx nodded and began dipping his fingers tracing shapes on the crisp white. “Aren’t you gonna make him something, Mikey?”

He let out a small laugh, “why would I make him something?”

Bronx shrugged. “For the refrigerator,” he said simply, as if it was reasoning enough.

Mikey pursed his lips and put down his phone. He reached over Bronx’s creative area and grabbed a piece of paper. “Okay. I’ll make something for the refrigerator.”

Bronx seemed content with this and continued swirling the red and purple on the page until it made this awkward violet color.

Mikey painted his paper in shades of black and brown with his two fingers.
The silence continued for a great while until the talkative one of the two broke it. Because like he said, he breaks everything. “Mikey?”

Mikey nodded, “Yes, Bronx.”

“What was in the box?” he didn’t look up but furrowed his eyebrows at his artwork.

Mikey held his breath a moment. “Just some memories your dad and I have.” It was true and too complex to delve into.

“Like what?” he pushed on.

“Like shows we did together and a couple pictures,” Mikey shook his head as if it was no big deal.

“Were they good memories?” the boy dived forward for more blue.

Mikey hesitated. He wanted to say they weren’t that great. That the stars were just in their eyes. That’s why it didn’t last long, but he had to be honest. “Yeah, they were really good.”

“Is my dad your best friend?” Bronx asked.

Mikey raised his eyebrows, “Uhh. Kinda. We used to be best friends.”

“Why aren’t you best friends anymore?”

“Well,” Mikey had been asking himself the same question for a long time. “We were both really busy with our bands. And then I got married and he got married and we didn’t see each other as much.”

“Do you have a son?” he sat up straight in his chair.

Mikey tensed for a second. Then he realized that he didn’t have a kid. “No, no. I don’t have a son.”

“Do you have a daughter?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No, I don’t actually,” Mikey added a line of blue to his work. “But my brother has a daughter. Her name is Bandit.”

“Is your brother nice?” Bronx’s eyes returned to his paper.

“Yeah, I love my brother. He’s the greatest,” Mikey smiled.

“Is he friends with Dad?”

Mikey tried not to roll his eyes, “Yeah, kinda.” He immediately felt guilty for lying, but what could he do?

“You should bring him over to paint with us,” Bronx dragged his finger through the middle of the paper.

“Oh,” Mikey smiled. “He’d love that. He loves art.”

“Good,” Bronx smiled too. “Look! It’s done!”

Bronx held up his work of art. It looked like the colors Mikey had suggested threw up on the paper. Making random circles and squares and filling in the corner.

“Bronx! Its great!” Mikey smiled.

“It’s our house!” Bronx nodded.

Mikey felt his jaw clench at the word ‘our’.

“Look there is you,” he pointed to a red circle. “and Dad,” he pointed to a purple one next to it. “And me!” he pointed to a smaller blue on next to Mikey.

If Mikey squinted his eyes and cocked his head, he saw it more. Art had never been Pete’s strong suit either. “Oh I see!” Mikey nodded. “Bronx it’s awesome. Your dad will love it.”

“What did you make?” Bronx set his paper down and leaned towards Mikey.

“It’s Hemingway and Rigby,” Mikey said as he held his picture up.

“Ohhh, I see,” Bronx nodded. “I miss Rigby.”

Mikey’s lips twisted. He thought he hadn’t seen her around at all. “Did your mom take her?”

Bronx nodded.

“Do you miss her?” Mikey asked.

Bronx shrugged. “I still get to see her a lot. At least, she is still here.”

Mikey nodded. Mikey was starting to wonder what Bronx DIDN’T inherit from his father. When he’d start seeing Ashlee’s personality or tendencies. Maybe Pete’s just stood out cause Mikey knew the textbook definitions of them.

“Why don’t you say we go hang these on the fridge to dry?” Mikey asked as he wiped the excess paint onto the paper towels.

Bronx nodded and followed Mikey to the kitchen. They hung them up on the fridge and stood back looking at them. “Your dad will love them,” Mikey smiled at the boy. “Now lets watch those hands.” He grabbed Bronx and sat him up on the counter. He grabbed the rag they had used on the milk before and rinsed it in the sink, pumping soap onto it. He wiped his own hands clean first before working on Bronx’s.

He heard the front door open and he tensed immediately.

“Anyone home?” a familiar voice yelled cheerfully. The crash of luggage and the clatter of shoes coming off.

“In the kitchen,” Mikey shouted.

“Hey, guys,” Pete said as he came around the corner.

“Daddy!” Bronx cheered as Mikey wiped his hands.

“What are you up to?” Pete looked at them. Mikey couldn’t help but notice how happy he looked to be home. To be back to Bronx. It made him happy too.

“We were painting. Look,” Bronx pointed to the fridge.

Pete ran over and inspected the painting up close. “Bronx this is great! It’s all of us!”

Mikey stifled out a giggle, knowing that Pete was the only one who could decipher the splotches.

Bronx nodded. “Yup,” he smiled and Mikey helped his down from the counter. He immediately ran to Pete who picked him up quickly.

“Did you have a good time with Mikey?” Pete asked.

Bronx nodded quickly.

Mikey smiled and walked back over to the kitchen table, collecting the paper plates of paint and the paper towels.

“Was he a little trouble maker?” Pete asked Mikey.

Mikey smiled. He threw the supplies in the trash. “No, no. He was perfect.”

“Good,” Pete said. “You should stay for lunch. I mean if you can.”

It was that part where Mikey was supposed to make up an excuse to leave. Get back to his old life, his old house, his pissed brother. But honestly, that wasn’t what he wanted. “I’m starving.”