Black Sundays

[Milo Black]

"Milo, you're right on time. For once." Mrs. Black wrapped her arms around her much taller son in a hug he endured but didn't return. Roach could count on one hand the number of times he ever had returned one and still have enough fingers left over to clean out a man's pockets.

"And Roach. Do we have you to thank for this rare burst of punctuality?" She turned to him with the sort of smile moms wore in Lifetime movies. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. She'd been skinny once, but had settled with time. There were some grays showing at her hairline and lines around her eyes and mouth that fell into place when she smiled. "You're off the hook for now, but I'll be hugging you goodbye later on. You've been warned."

-----

"Are you fuckin' with my brother?" Oliver Black had volunteered a little too eagerly to show Roach how to find the bathroom. And Mr. Black had nodded his head a little too knowingly. Milo and his mom were the only ones who didn't see this coming.

The boy was a year younger and several inches shorter than the young psionic. And soft. It was obvious he spent more time on the couch than off, indoors than out, but as he stood there blocking access to the toilet and doing a spot-on impression of Milo moments before criminal heads started banging together, details like that weren't important to him. The mental image Roach saw featured an Oliver who was at least a head taller and obviously worked out looming over a shorter, stringier Roach. It was more than a little delusional.

Roach's hands lifted a little ways into the air, surrendering before Mrs. Milo's nice family brunch was ruined. "No. Milo's a good guy, a good friend."

"And he thinks you are, too."

The silence stretched second by awkward second, Oliver glaring up at Roach, Roach still needing to piss.

"I try..." Roach began.

"Did you know you're a damn near perfect human being?"

"I never said--"

"If you screw him over, I will find you and I will kick your ass. You've been warned." He meant it, whether he could physically follow through or not. "And hold the handle down a few seconds when you flush. It's slow."

-----

"Could you give me a hand with these, Roach?"

"He's our guest," Mrs. Black started to protest.

"It'll just take a second, Margie." Mr. Black started piling up the dishes on the table. He worked smoothly, well practiced. He was a fairly tall man, though still shorter than his oldest son, with the same light hair, though his grays were more pronounced. "You and the boys go get comfortable. Dessert'll be out in a minute."

"I don't mind," Roach interjected. It was a pretty lame pretense to get him alone and everyone but Milo saw right through it. Milo could have, but he was preoccupied counting down the minutes until he could leave and plotting out the fastest escape route. "This cleaning up thing's always been sorta fascinatin' to me. Mysterious and shi... stuff."

Mrs. Black smiled that TV-mom smile again. It was hard to believe a smile like that. "Thank you, Roach. Maybe Howard will let you put a few things in the dishwasher. None of the rest of us are allowed to touch it."

By the time Mr. Black said anything aside from a few short 'thank-you's and a couple statements that Roach really didn't have to help, the table was clear and half the dishes were loaded into the machine. The man really was protective of his dishwasher: Everything had a place, and as he worked the pieces started to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. It was one man's orderly protest against a life where so much was out of his control. Or some philosophical shit like that.

"I'm sorry about Oliver. Earlier." He'd been going back and forth over how to start. He was worried about his sons, but weirdly he was worried about Roach almost as much. "He's been protecting his big brother since they were both babies. Doesn't trust anybody else to do it right."

He held up a hand to ward off Roach's reply. "It's... It's not easy, caring about Milo. He's strong in a lot of ways, but... Maybe it's easier for you with what you can do. He seems to care about you, in his way, and that's something. Some days he talks like you hung the moon."

Roach spoke up while Mr. Black floundered. "I don't..." For fuck's sake, they didn't waste any time pouring on the pressure.

"Right, yeah." He dropped the last of the silverware in the basket and closed the dishwasher with a click before pulling a stack of bowls down from the cupboard by the sink. "You probably already know this stuff, but specifics are good. He does better with concrete topics. Not a lot of essay questions, you know? And he'll never disagree with you unless it's important to him." He turned from the open freezer, "Do you like chocolate or vanilla?"

"Vanilla."

Mr. Black pulled two cartons of ice cream out and started scooping. "Has he talked to you about magic?"

"Uh, yeah. Not a fan." Roach picked up a few bowls, deftly stacking them up one arm like he'd seen this waiter do one time.

Howard nodded while he wrestled with one more decision. "Right. I know it's a lot coming at you fast, so... Yeah," he decided, "if you have any questions you wanna ask, you know, down the line, you can call any time. Or just stop by. We've liked having you here today. Just didn't want you getting in too deep without being warned."

"Yeah, I've been warned."