Denim Jackets and Good Intentions

Chapter Six

They ate the spaghetti all together, Thomas sitting at the head of the table as per usual. Henry was on his second plate, hair pushed back from his face by one of Mary's headbands. He wasn't happy about wearing it, but it was either that or a ponytail. They talked, Thomas still interested in learning more about the new presence in his house. He adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses on his face and looked at the boy.

"You got shit eyes too, huh?" he chuckled, nodding to the glasses perched on Douglas' nose.

"Your eyes are shit cause you're old," Eric told his father, earning a swat of rolled up newspaper in his general direction.

"What did you say you were studying, Sweetheart?" Mary asked, taking a sip of her drink as she waited for an answer.

The boy flushed, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. Eric's eyes caught the movement and he grinned, looking down at his plate and shoveling more food into his mouth. Douglas' hair was longer than Eric's grown out buzzcut, but shorter than Henry's mop. It curled at the back of his neck and behind his ears, little strands tickling his earlobes when they got in the way.

"Philosophy," he said.

Mary nodded.

"What are you gonna go into?" asked Thomas, blowing on his spaghetti.

"I'd like to do something to help people, a...rehabilitation counselor or...or a social worker maybe."

"Like CPS?"

"One time I called them on Dad cause he wouldn't let me have some of his Rice Krispies," Eric chuckled.

Thomas rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up with his calloused thumb.

"Why?" Henry asked, "why social worker?"

"I like helping people," the phrase made Eric nod down at his spaghetti in approval.

They went on and talked more about Douglas' college experience so far, the whole time Mary was hinting towards a community college and nudging Eric's feet underneath the table. He just blew each little clue off like a piece of dust on his shoulder. No college, not even a community one, was interested in someone who failed their junior year the first time around. Douglas offered to do the dishes while the others dispersed into their respective activities.

Henry played outside with the neighbor boy, little Ricardo. Mary sat with Thomas, curled up against him underneath a blanket while they watched some sitcom of her choosing. Eric lingered in the kitchen doorway and watched the stack of plates and cups slowly disappear as they were washed. He glanced back at his parents briefly before walking into the kitchen and sauntering over to Douglas slowly. He stood behind him, hands in his pockets. He glanced at the window in front of him, seeing Eric's faint reflection in the pane. He glanced over his shoulder momentarily, then returned his attention to the dishes. The taller of the two rested his chin on the top of the brunet's head, chuckling as he watched the other scrub ruthlessly at a piece of food stuck to the plate.

"Dude, just let it soak in some hot water," he said.

He nudged Douglas aside and handed him one of the hand towels, filling one side of the sink with hot, soapy water and plugging the drain before setting the dishes into the concoction. He snatched the towel from the other's hands and dried off, tossing it aside before closing the half-loaded dishwasher. Douglas moved to start it, but he gripped his wrist seconds before anything was pushed.

"We ain't made of money, save it until it's all loaded up."

He nodded and followed the blond back to his bedroom down the hall, closing the door quietly behind them and walking over to the closet, grabbing his pajamas. Eric sat down on his bed and smirked slightly, leaning back on his elbows and watching as the older boy turned to look at him expectantly.