Lucy

Her name was Lucy.

They adopted her when she was five.

They fell in love with her on the spot. She was so perky and happy and cute and just so fucking adorable. And she loved them right off the bat, no questions asked about having two dads. She loved it, reveled in the idea that she got two daddies, while all the other kids in the neighborhood only got one. (And she was really sure that Paul down the street would be super jealous, since he got two moms and no dad at all.) She was their idea of perfection.

But nothing perfect can really exist, can it? Something always has to happen, something that destroys it.

When she was seven, there was an accident. It wasn’t his fault, honestly, but Alex blamed himself. He was driving when the drunk driver ran a stop sign and rammed into their car. He’d walked away with barely a scratch. Lucy hadn’t survived the impact. Jack wasn’t in the car, and he hated himself a little more every day for that.

And now, they were starting to drift apart, when they should have been desperately clinging to one another. They were dealing with their sadness in different ways, and it wasn’t really working for either one, but what else could they do?

“Lex,” Jack called softly. “It, it, it’s her birthday, and I’m gonna, I’m gonna go visit her.” He didn’t mean to stutter so much. It was a simple statement, but the words got stuck between his throat and his lips, sticking to his tongue, becoming almost impossible to get out.

“Okay,” Alex replied, not looking up from the papers he had spread out across the table.

He took a deep breath, knowing he was pushing his luck by asking, “Um, do you, do you think you could come with me?”

“I’m kind of busy here,” he snapped.

“Right. Of course. I figured, but it was worth a shot.” He started towards the door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex asked, finally taking a look at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was fight. “I’m gonna go. I’ll be back later.”

“No, I want you to tell me what you meant by ‘I figured.’”

Jack sighed. “I just, it feels like every time I suggest we do anything, go out to dinner, go put flowers on Lucy’s grave, go to bed early to watch a movie together, you’re busy. You don’t want to do anything with me anymore, and I get that you’re sad, but Alex, fuck, I’m sad too. I’m breaking into a million pieces over here. I’ve already lost her, but I’m losing you, too, and I can’t take that.”

Alex didn’t say anything. He just stared at him. Jack could feel himself on the verge of tears, so he took the last couple of steps across the room and left, closing the door gently behind him. He wasn’t a door slammer.

When he got to the cemetery, he sat by Lucy’s tombstone, crying. It was okay to cry in front of Lucy, because she wouldn’t give him that piercing stare he got if he cried in front of Alex. “Hey Luce,” he whispered. “Happy eighth birthday. Damn it, why’d you have to go?”

He wished so much that he’d been in the car with them that day. He was sick, had the flu, and had stayed home while they went to the park. The flu wasn’t even that bad, honestly. He should’ve played through it, gone with them anyway

They had a tradition, something they always did when the three of them were in the car. Whoever wasn’t driving would sit in the back with Lucy and play games with her, made sure she never ever got bored. Yes, they spoiled her, but she was all theirs and nobody could take her from them and she was perfect and deserved to be spoiled. But if he hadn’t been sick, he would’ve been in the car with them, in the backseat, and he could’ve softened the blow…or it could’ve been him instead. And that, that was why he felt so. Fucking. Guilty. He could barely live with himself on his best days.

I’ve gotta live with the choices I made. And I can’t live with myself today.

——

As soon as Jack left, Alex stood up and in one motion, he whirled and punched the wall. Then tears sprung to his eyes and without any warning, he was crying his eyes out. This was how it was for him. It wasn’t acceptable to cry where Jack could see him, because Jack didn’t understand. Jack wasn’t the one driving when their perfect little girl died. He could never grasp the pain and the guilt that Alex felt.

He hated himself, he really did. No, he wasn’t the drunk driver that hit them, but fuck…surely there was something he could’ve done differently. He didn’t just hate himself for driving that day, but also for taking her from Jack. Jack loved her so much; everyone did—it was hard not to. But Jack was her favorite of the two of them. She was daddy’s little girl. (Alex was Dad and Jack was Daddy. She decided that from day one.) They had that bond between them that most parents want their entire lives and never have with their children.

I’d give up all the world to see that little piece of heaven looking back at me.

Damn it, they were supposed to have years with her, and they only got two. How was that fair?

Their relationship was crumbling, and Alex blamed himself for that. Jack was right. He’d been acting pretty awful since Lucy died, but he couldn’t help it. He felt so shitty about the whole thing. But in feeling sorry for himself and dealing with it in his own way, he’d neglected Jack. Jack was hurting too, more outwardly visible than Alex. He cried late into the night and would tear up at the smallest things—blueberry pancakes, for example, Lucy’s favorite food. But it had gotten to the point, Alex noticed, where Jack rarely cried in front of him. Was he embarrassed?

Alex should have been there for him these past few months. And hell, he should’ve let Jack be there for him, ‘cause he really could’ve used the support he kept pushing away. And here he was, on a day he definitely should’ve gone with him to give Lulu flowers, sitting at home and pretending he had to do work.

It was time to change something before he lost Jack for good.

——

Jack didn’t see Alex coming until he was standing over him, holding a bouquet of roses. He gave him a sad glance of acknowledgement. “Those for Luce?” he asked, voice thick with tears.

“No,” Alex replied gently, dropping to his knees in the grass next to Jack. “They’re for you.”

All I’ve got are these roses to give. And they can’t help me make amends.

“For me? Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, wrapping his arms around Jack’s thin frame, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I love you. And I know I haven’t shown it lately, and I’m really fucking sorry. But I love you Jack, I really, really love you. I’ve been pushing you away and fuck, it’s made the past few months even worse than they should’ve been. I miss Lulu so, so much. It’s hard to even get up most days. But I also miss you, and I’m gonna stop shutting you out.”

Jack sighed with as much content as one could have while they were at their daughter’s grave. “I miss you, too, Lex. So much.” A small smile—but a smile nonetheless—crept its way onto his face. “And for the last time, you can’t call her Lulu! That’s something you’d name your cat.”

“Oh, like Luce is so much better?” he responded sarcastically, grinning for the first time in weeks. “What kind of name is Luce?” He gave Jack a light shove.

“A hell of a better name than Lulu!”

And then, just like that, they were play-fighting, pushing and shoving each other, rolling around in the grass and dirt. Just like old times. Laughter bubbled up in their throats, escaping in short bursts, and it was a breath of fresh air. It was that gasp you take when you wake up from a dream that you’re falling, when you sit upright and realize you’re still alive. It was the sudden breath when you surface after being unexpectedly dunked in water. It was like they were having the oxygen pumped back into their lungs after being lifeless. It felt wonderful.

A middle-aged woman passed, lines set deep in her face as she scowled at them. “Have you no respect for the dead?” she snapped.

“We do,” Alex assured her. With a quick look at Jack, he explained, “This is how she would’ve wanted it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, smiling like sunshine. “I think this is exactly what she wants.”