Fat Dad Club, part 8

‘Hey Dad, what’s up?’

‘Oh, I just… I just wanted to check in. Ask how you’re doing.’

‘I’m good. You don’t wanna FaceTime?’

‘I’ve… just got time for a quick phonecall right now. How’s the studies coming along?’

‘Ugh. We’ve got this test on Friday. I’m up to my ass in papers.’

‘Language, young lady…’

‘Oh God, it’s like a nothing word, Dad, haha. And I’m 21.’

‘April Celeste Harper, you are never too old to… to… to, uh…’

‘… Dad, are you okay?’

‘… Hmm? Oh, sure. Sure. I’m fine… So, uh, when are you coming back home?’

‘Probably after these damned tests are done. We got, like, a whole bunch of ‘em in a row for the next couple weeks. My roommate Marina’s freaking out about it. She had, like, a whole breakdown on TikTok. Oh my God, it was cringe as hell.’

‘I don’t… really know what any of that means, but…’

‘Oh and Mom and Norman wanna come and do, like, a shopping day up here. I don’t have a lot of time, but you know what she’s like.’

‘Oh. Oh, right, yeah…’

‘When are we gonna find you a date, anyway, Dad?’

‘A… A date…?’

‘You can’t just live with that cat forever, haha.’

A wavering exhalation left Carl’s mouth. He might have made a soft, sad noise. He felt his bottom lip going again, his nose blocking.

‘Are you… sure you’re okay?’ his daughter asked over the phone.

A thick, hot tear rolled all the way down Carl’s chubby cheek. He worked hard to keep his voice steady.

‘Oh, I’m… I’m fine, sweetie…’

‘Did something happen?’

(Joe. Gone.)

‘Um… I, uh… No. No, I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.’

‘You work too hard, Dad. How many times have we talked about this?’

‘I know… I know…’

‘Just don’t forget to get out of Grandma’s old apartment once in a while. Get some fresh air, okay?’

(Sharing the bath with Joe during the thunderstorm. Him feeding me donuts. Telling him my old hopes and dreams.)

("You should go, man!")

Carl shuddered, and the tears came thick and fast. He grimaced from the ache in his heart that would surely never end.

‘O-Okay…’

‘We’re heading out in a sec here, so I’d better get going. Love you.’

‘L-Love you too… sweetie… Bye…’

After the rest of the group learned of Joe’s passing, it was decided they would postpone the following Fat Dad Club as a mark of respect. But then meetings for the rest of the month were cancelled one by one. Then the following month. And the next.

Pretty soon there was no more talk of Fat Dad Club.

A solemn quietude fell over Henry’s house, now lacking in assistant, social group and, of course, his dear friend José. The floorboards creaked under his growing stature as he went silently about his business, still preparing overabundances of food, tending to his garden, telephoning his children and, as of late, keeping the place in a tidier state. Sad though he was, Henry reflected on Joe’s presence in his life as a gift of sorts. The young, vibrant, fine-bellied man had swept in out of nowhere and shown Henry and the others a new way of life. He would be sorely, dreadfully missed, and Henry felt it only right, after this period of solemnity, to continue along the path Joe had unveiled to him. And so it was in a state of bittersweet gratitude for this gift, that Henry sought his cellphone, and scrolled to the number he’d been avoiding for far too long.

Café Madrigal was in the Bookseller District; the artsier portion of town often favored by students and creative types. Henry stood outside, a fresh bunch of coreopses clutched in one hand while the other smoothed down his white hair and fiddled needlessly with his tie (despite the summer heat, Henry was wearing a recently taken-out suit for the occasion - that’s just how he was brought up).

He recounted coming to this place with Charles many years past, but back then it was called-

(No. This isn’t about Charles. Not today.)

He took a deep breath and entered. Lively though the café was, Judd was easy to spot; he was the most handsome man in the room. In fact, the summer daylight only served to enhance his features: The broad shoulders, the bulge of his tummy, a stubbled chin showing early signs of doubling underneath his beautiful smile. He stood as Henry approached.

Then there was the awkward dance over whether they would hug or shake hands, all while Henry juggled the bouquet.

‘So good to see you again, Judd,’ he told the younger man, and handed the flowers over. ‘These are-‘

‘Coreopses,’ Judd finished, accepting them with a grin. ‘Just in bloom, looks like. This is their season.’

‘Why… yes,’ Henry replied, rather taken aback. He unbuttoned his suit jacket to seat his enormous girth down. ‘They’re from my garden.’

‘They’re beautiful, thank you,’ said Judd.

‘You know flowers.’ Henry felt a fool for stating what was now an obvious fact, but how wonderful to learn this of Judd.

The young man nodded, his eyes twinkling so brightly. A moment passed when neither fellow spoke, before Judd said,

‘Would you like some coffee? I didn’t know what to order…’

But Henry held up his great thick hand.

‘Please, Judd, if I may for a moment. Before we say any more, I would just like to offer you my full apology. For my behavior… For leaving so suddenly when last we met.’

‘I know,’ Judd almost laughed, and it sounded like music. ‘You said on WhatsApp-‘

‘No, but…,’ Henry went on. ‘You must understand, for an old fogey like me, it’s important that I… say it in person.’

Judd rested, and let his smile return. It truly was gorgeous.

‘I understand,’ he said.

Next came the small talk. Henry wanted to make sure Judd knew he wasn’t always a big flake, which Judd assured him he did. They spoke on Judd’s studies - He was finishing up a post-grad linguistics course, but had fallen in love with Maupinton’s old-world charm and wanted to stay on here afterwards (something that lifted Henry’s heart upon hearing).

But there was another topic - the elephant in the room, as they say. Henry had been reticent to lead with it, but knew in his heart he must speak it aloud sooner or later.

‘You’ll no doubt have, uh, noticed…,’ he began delicately, his thick forefinger tracing a circle around the rim of his coffee cup. ‘I’m, ah, rather… heavier than when you last saw me…’

He left the sentence there, hoping that Judd would pick it up. He prayed for a positive reception.

Oh, how he prayed.

Judd took his time before responding. ‘I had noticed, yeah.’ He nodded.

‘I hope, um…’

(I hope I’m not too fat for you.) That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Henry desperately needed to know, but dreaded the answer.

‘Well, I know… some people don’t… It’s not everyone’s cup of tea…’

‘Henry,’ Judd interrupted, but warmly. ‘You look great.’ His lips curled in that delightful way they had. ‘You’ve been worrying about this?’

‘Oh, I worry about a lot of things.’ Henry exhaled, bringing a handkerchief from his jacket breast to his forehead, in spite of the air-conditioning in this place.

Judd leaned forward. He had a natural beefiness to his arms, though Henry would not permit himself to stare.

‘You’re big,’ Judd said, ‘you’re tall, you’re very handsome, you dress sharply, and from what I know of you so far, you’re a real gentleman. Henry, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.’

Elation was rising inside of Henry. It was hard to temper. He felt his emotions bubbling up. And what’s more - Judd had made no mention of Henry’s wealth.

Here was no Hudson.

‘There is… something more, though,’ Henry added. He was taking the plunge. In for a penny. Better to speak of it now than to risk ruin later. ‘More to it than that…’

‘Okay.’ Judd’s expression was so open, so kind.

‘I’ve gotten bigger since the last time we met because… because…’ Henry swallowed.

(Please understand. Please.)

‘… because I like it. I… I enjoy getting bigger…’

Judd’s expression remained open. Impossible to know what he was thinking. Goodness, he was so very handsome.

Henry continued.

‘Uh, getting bigger and… everything that comes along with it… Lots of eating… I love food, sweet things especially. I, uh, I’m aware it’s bad for me. I’m no fool to that, but this… this is a part of me. It’s very, very important to me. I want to keep… gaining weight… growing my belly larger. I want to get… even heavier.’ He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, relieved to have this out in the open, but filled with the tension of what may come of it. ‘I hope… I hope with all my heart that you don’t think me crazy.’

Much to Henry’s surprise, Judd reached across the table and took his hand, which appeared enormous in the younger man’s. Judd looked him squarely in the eyes, his piercing blue into Henry’s faded green.

‘I don’t think you’re crazy,’ Judd said. ‘I don’t think that at all. In fact…’ He looked about the ceiling for a moment, his gaze questing. ‘When I first met you in the club that night… Henry, I knew who you were. But I don’t want you to think that’s what took my interest. I mean, that’s very cool and all but… It was more that I recognized you and saw… you’d gotten older, and, yeah - bigger. Quite a bit bigger. Aaaand… that actually pushed a lot of buttons for me, if I’m being honest.’

‘… Really…?’

Judd nodded. ‘Mmm-hmm. Yeah. Obviously it’s not the only thing that drew me to you. As I said - there’s a LOT to like, not just your looks. But, uh, an older man growing his belly…?’ Judd blew out his cheeks and bulged his eyes to exaggeration. ‘Hoo, that, uh, that does it for me, yes Sir, haha.’

Henry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘You really mean this?’ He was flabbergasted.

‘I really do.’

Henry gripped Judd’s hand all the tighter. He felt he might burst with joy. He couldn’t even be sure tears of happiness weren’t welling up behind his thick glasses.

‘I’ve discovered this about myself over the last year or so,’ he admitted. ‘It’s become very dear to my heart.’

Judd, keeping ahold of Henry’s hand, scooched his seat further around the table, to draw in closer. ‘Henry, would it be okay to kiss your hand?’ he asked softly.

Henry felt his insides melting and his head nodding. And Judd brought Henry’s mighty hand up to his lips and let them rest against the skin. It was magical.

Henry soaked up this moment for all it was worth, freewheeling in the delight of it. But he felt compelled to add,

‘You know I recently entered my 60s? You being - was it 28, you said? You being 28, that’s quite the difference…’

Judd smiled, wrecking Henry’s heart all over again. ‘I don’t care one bit,’ he whispered, then laughed.

And nor did Henry. He really didn’t. His entire, huge body felt packed to the brim with warmth. He wanted to hold Judd’s hand all day long.

‘How… How would… uh… That is…,’ Henry needed to get this next part out. ‘Since we’re being candid… I wonder, would you ever consider the possibility… of feeding me…?’

Instead of replying, Judd kissed his hand again, long and tender.

‘I would love to,’ he replied afterwards. ‘I actually love to cook and bake, too.’

‘Oh God…,’ Henry uttered, in overload now.

Before questioning himself, he reached over and kissed Judd firmly on the lips. Before he knew it, Judd’s hand was on his big, round cheek, kissing back with so much passion and sincerity.

When they parted, both smiling like idiots, the younger man asked,

‘Do you wanna stay out for the day? If you’ve got the time, I mean. We could… make a day of it, if you wanted?’

Henry kissed him again, for a long time.

‘I should like very much,’ he replied.

That night, a summer storm took hold of Maupinton. Boony heard the rainfall pounding the roof of the house as he sat before his computer, ignored emails from the divorce lawyer open in one window, his unfinished science fiction novel in the next. He hoped the storm wouldn’t wake Penny.

Dipping his hand into one of several bowls of chips he’d put out for himself, he thought not for the first time about the guys. He hoped they were doing okay. It’d been months since they lost Joe; Boony missed him greatly but knew it was hitting Carl the hardest - he’d gone all but silent on the Facebook group chat. Now with the original instigator of Fat Dad Club in withdrawal, the group had just… fizzled out.

Boony wiped crumbs from the voluptuous shelf his belly had become, enjoying the smooth curves of it. More and more folks were taking note of his size these days, not just at school but at the store, the gas station, the teacher-parent evenings, the fund-raisers. Someone at the supermarket last weekend said, ‘Woah, ‘scuse me, big fella,’ and had given Boony a ridiculously wide berth in the isle. That, at least, was a source of happiness for him, even pride, in this dour time.

Now, if only he could apply the effort he expended on feeding himself toward finishing this damned book. He’d resumed the long-dormant project as a way of alleviating his mind of the current divorce proceedings and the loss of his friend, but it wasn’t working particularly well. The blinking text icon sat unmoved at the top of a fresh blank page. He chomped and stared.

BRRRRRR!!!

The front doorbell, at this hour. Boony quickly checked the doorcam feed on his phone, but the torrential downpour was obscuring whoever it was out there. So he cleaned off any excess chips from his XXXXL teacher-sweater and stood.

When he opened the door, there was Gus, soaked to his skin, hiding under the meager canopy their porch provided.

‘Oh!’ Boony exclaimed in shock. ‘Gus…!’

‘Hi,’ Gus said over the sound of the rain.

‘What - What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.’

‘Hudson left me.’

‘Oh.’

(Oh…)

Gus heaved a sigh in his sopping clothes. He laid out his hands in resignation.

‘When he found out the play was a flop - the play flopped by the way - he got all… disillusioned, I guess. Turns out he’d had it in his head I was this hotshot Broadway director… He thought I was rolling in dough. Ha!’

The divorce was costing them both and arm and a leg, that was true enough. There wasn’t much left in the pot; Boony knew this would be just as true for Gus as it was for him.

‘Soooo then he just… packed his bags, left me high and dry, just like that. Said he needed more “stability” if you can believe that?’

Boony nodded softly. He said, ‘Right…’

‘So anyway…’ Gus looked forlorn, all the bravado stripped of him. ‘Could I maybe come in?’

Boony faltered, taking a beat.

‘Penny’s asleep,’ he explained, not coldly.

‘Oh,’ said Gus. ‘I’ll be quiet…’

Boony had never seen him this way, all vulnerability and shoe-gazing.

‘Well, also we shouldn’t… cos of the divorce,’ Boony added. It felt cruel to say. He didn’t mean it as a dig, but again, it was true. The lawyers had instructed for them not to speak to one another.

‘I know, but maybe… maybe we could…’ Gus wiped some rain from his face. He hadn’t lost any weight at all over the last year. He still looked round and handsome as ever. ‘Maybe we could forget about all that…’

Forget about the divorce for tonight, or for good? It wasn’t totally clear.

‘Uhhh…,’ Boony began.

‘C’mon, Boon, I’m getting soaked out here,’ Gus implored. Then he took his tone right down. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I - I fucked up. I know I fucked up. It was a bad call. And… I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I’m sorry.’ Gus had his hands up in the air. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

Boony held the door, winced, feeling his husband’s words keenly. He felt his own pulse working through his big fat body. He looked down. His breaths were guttering and he couldn’t stop that.

But in time he said, ‘Goodnight, Gus.’

And he slowly closed the door.

In another part of town, a Meatball Bolognaise For One spun slowly around in Carl’s microwave. He poured himself a Diet Coke, topped off generously with bourbon (a common accompaniment nowadays), and waited for the ding. He’d already queued up Star Trek on the TV; his usual armchair was waiting for him.

But when the pasta ceased rotating, Carl remained planted there, in the kitchen, sipping on whiskey and coke, staring into space.

Spot didn’t like storms, and kept curling himself nervously around Carl’s legs, unnoticed and unattended.

There were no tears left inside Carl. It was like they were all spent, leaving nothing but a vacuum. The pasta would get cold if he didn’t snap out of it, but he didn’t much care.

(Joe kissing me for the first time.

Joe feeding me every muffin from the pantry.

…

Joe gone.)

Carl blinked, took his meal and plodded into the living room, hitting the Play button on his remote. It was a Borg-centric episode, one of the better ones. He watched the opening play out, then Picard’s monologue and the cast credits over the theme song, not really absorbing any of it. The meal tasted like nothing.

Outside, a fit of thunder rumbled behind the rainfall and Spot mewed in angst.

Hadn’t been a storm like this in a long while. Not since…

Carl put down his fork. He wasn’t interested in the rest. He couldn’t think anyway. It was all a grey, lifeless fog. He muted a conversation between Geordi La Forge and Data, sipped down more Diet Coke and bourbon.

But in that instance he was struck by a thought, maybe brought on by the storm. Or… not that exactly, but-

Carl reached for his cellphone in the pocket of his 58” slacks and unlocked the screen with the keypad (since its facial recognition was having a hard time with all his extra chins and everything lately). Not giving himself time to second-guess, he dialed for his boss Christopher. It rang four times, and then,

‘Carl? This is late for you, everything okay?’

‘Chris, I’m sorry to call at this hour,’ Carl told him, this new thought seizing him ever the stronger, reaching through the fog. It had come from nowhere. Maybe… ‘I want to ask you a favor. Have you got a minute?’

‘We were just watching Squid Game - not my choice - but sure. Go ahead.’

This was the first time in months Carl had felt so lucid. It’d just… hit him…

‘How much notice do I need to give before taking a sabbatical?’

‘Sabbatical?’ Chris exclaimed over the speaker. ‘You’re… Really?’

‘Really really.’

‘God, I don’t, uh… You’re the best we’ve got, so…’

Carl knew this. He’d been an adviser with the financial firm for years, almost never took a sick day. It’s how he could be so sure his boss would approve this, maybe even at short notice.

‘I know, and I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.’

And it was. Suddenly it was very important.

‘Well, I guess if I moved some people around…,’ Chris was thinking out loud, something he did often. ‘Honestly, Carl, I probably wouldn’t even consider this for anyone else.’

‘And I appreciate that a lot,’ Carl told him.

‘What’s all this about, if you don’t mind my asking? Cos obviously there’ll be paperwork to fill out, probably a bunch of it,’ Chris said. ‘You planning a trip somewhere, or…?’

‘Something like that.’

Outside, the thunder and rain kept up in waves.

‘Well, where are you going?’

(That night in the bathtub, with the storm outside… Joe’s words…

"You should go, man!")

Carl told his boss.

‘Everywhere.’