through training all over again. All the things that worked for you before are starting to have different results. You need to learn to drive all over again.”
“I don’t drive.”
“Well, that’s not the right metaphor for everybody. Let’s just say things are looking very different from what you’re used to. And because this person — this girl — is likely starting to notice you too, it matters more. Suddenly it’s a big deal. You want to look cool. You want to sound smart when you talk to her, but you think you look like a jerk.”
“Yeah — a real jerk.”
“It happens to everyone, Ked. You don’t need to feel bad about it.”
The oil was crackling. Ked scooped a ladleful of batter and let it fall onto the pan where it sizzled on contact. Dan went to the fridge and removed the tin of maple syrup, then grabbed a peach and sliced it into a bowl. Setting everything on the table, he noticed the envelope with the Purolator label: MR. DAN SHARP, SPECIAL PRIVATE INVESTIGATION SERVICES. It sounded awfully formal.
“When did this come?”
“Not sure,” Ked said with a shrug. “It was at the front door when I walked Ralph this morning.”
Dan turned it in his hands. He could just make out the scrawl, but didn’t recognize the sender’s address. He slit the package open and a smaller envelope slid out. No markings, nothing to indicate what it was or who had sent it.
“So how do you know when she likes you?” Ked asked.
Dan picked up the smaller envelope, weighing it in his hands, then set it aside. He turned to his son. “You might see it in her face. The way she looks at you when you pass each other in the hall. Eventually, you’ll know because it becomes the most natural thing in the world to spend time with her. Your heart stops racing and your tongue stops tripping over itself and you begin to like the way she looks at you when you look at her.”
The pan was smoking. Ked seemed lost in thought.
“You might want to turn that down a bit.”
“Oh, shit!”
Ked grabbed the spatula and turned the cakes, carefully, one after another. They were just right, Dan noted. Lacy edges crisping into brown, the centres lighter, off-yellow. A man and his son bonding over cooking. The twenty-first century was such a novelty.
“Why are some people confused about their sexuality?” Ked asked.
Dan flashed on the dream where he was equally revolted and fascinated by the sight of his mother’s nakedness.
“Good question. The verdict’s not entirely in on that one, but I think nature sets up a few taboos. You’ve heard of incest?”
“Of course.”
“Well, genetics will tell you it’s not a healthy thing, in the long run, if ever. So there’s that. It’s also partly because when it comes to sex most people are not properly educated. They’re often told to fear the very things they desire.”
“You’re talking about gay people.”
“I’m talking about sexual desire in general. If we’re repeatedly told that sex is bad and that pleasure is bad then we don’t get a chance to think things through for ourselves. That could be anybody, gay, straight, or other.”
Ked slid the pancakes onto a plate and poured more batter into the pan.
“So, like religion, then.”
“Religion, politics, morality. It doesn’t matter. It’s hard to decide what’s right for you when the facts are distorted by other people’s beliefs.”
“That’s messy. It can screw up your mind.”
“That’s for sure.”
Ked fidgeted in silence for a bit, watching the new batch sizzle.
“What about you and Mom?” he asked quietly.
“What about us?”
He turned to his father. “Did you want to be with her? You know, when …” He shrugged, embarrassed.
“When we conceived you?”
Ked looked down at the pan again. “Yeah.”
Dan considered how to position this one. “That was not entirely desire on my part, but peer pressure. I felt I had to be manly, and at that age I thought being manly meant wanting to have sex with women. Because that’s what I’d been taught to believe.”
Ked flipped the pancakes while he thought that one over.
“But did you want to?”
“Well, I did want to be with her, but not entirely for the usual reasons.”
Dan considered how far to take this conversation. He’d slept with Ked’s mother just once. Kendra had made the first move. Dan followed through because he felt pressured, but also because he was infatuated with her brother, Arman, a fellow student in residence at university. He was saved from having to answer by Kedrick’s further probing.
“What about now?”
“What do you mean?”
This conversation seemed unnecessarily abstruse, Dan thought. Ked was usually more straightforward. He watched as his son placed a stack of pancakes on the table and sat across from him.
“I mean, do you want to be alone? Why don’t you have anyone now? Don’t you have those feelings anymore?”
Dan felt pinned to the wall like a butterfly. “No, I don’t want to be alone. Some days it’s just easier that way.”
Ked stared at him. “But if you found the right person — the right guy — you would know?”
“I hope so.”
Ked speared three pancakes with his fork, hearkening back to the days when they would try to see how many stacked slices they could fit into their mouths at once. He looked up after a moment.
“Dad, what’s it like to be old?”
Dan smiled. “It’s like, one day you look in the mirror and see that you’ve turned into the person you vowed never to become back when you were young.”
He watched his son’s face for signs of amusement. Ked seemed oblivious to irony, particularly when he was in such a serious frame of mind.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Some days I think so.”
Ked nodded. Silence invaded the kitchen. Ralph rolled over again.
Ked picked up the platter and offered it to his father. “Eat some more pancakes. It might make you feel better.”
“Yes, son.”
They finished breakfast in silence. Later, clearing the table, Dan saw he’d drizzled syrup over the envelope. He wiped his hands and opened it. It contained photocopies of newspaper clippings. Most of them were in Chinese, but one was in English. He didn’t need a translator to know they were about the Tiananmen protests of 1989. Each carried a variation of the same photograph: a long line of tanks being held up by a single individual holding a jacket and travel bag in either hand. Tank Man. That was the name he’d gone by, though his true identity had never been confirmed.
Dan counted: there were five articles in total. He shook the envelope, but nothing further fell out. He was mystified. There was no clue as to why he’d been sent the clippings or who had sent them.
He checked his watch: it was getting late. Stashing the envelope in his laptop case, he headed for the door.
Two
Project Management
Donny sat perched on a high stool, chrome modern, overlooking