Our Boy's Growing Up

Leonard was a man of refinement. It showed in his choice of tie, a blue and silver affair - the silver was just an arcing ribbon near the bottom - it showed in his matching blazer of deep blue, and the equally deep red of his button-up shirt. When he picked his clothes he would consider how they looked, how they made him look, and how that would make others feel. He ran it by his wife before the purchase, to ensure he didn't miss something that would be obvious to the layman.

As his fingers fumbled with the tie's knot, his eyes staring blankly to let his mind focused on the task, he realized that he rarely tied his own tie. His wife usually did it. Standing in middle of the spacious master bedroom, Lenoard looked over to where Abbigale was sitting in a small wooden stool, painting by the light of the open window. The thin, sheer curtains were pushed aside, and a breeze would tousle them, time to time. He watched her stroking the canvas and dabbing at the paints on the palette, and then she'd dab the canvas instead, and the paints on the palette she'd stroke.

"Honey," Leonard said. "Do you suppose Jason's prepared?" That's all he'd intended to say, but as the thought came to him, he added, "Do you think I'm doing the right thing? Do you think I did the right thing," he said furthermore.

"Darling," Abbigale said, squinting one eye at a stroke of white in a black, glossy pool, "fretting is fine, but do try to fret about one thing at a time."

The tie was not being agreeable. Leonard's fingers were getting all caught in the knot, and they seemed to be shaking uncontrollably. "Well," he murmured, "I want to ensure the boy's prepared. You know, he's, I- confound it." Leonard never raised his voice before his wife. His interjections were not expressions of emotion as much as statements.

Abbigale, having discretely set aside her paints and brush, had stood from her stool and was now placing her fingers delicately upon her husband's hand. "Oh, look at you," she reproved in her fussing, caring way. "You're so flustered you can't even get your tie on. It's alright, let me do it. Try to relax. You know, the problem is that he's not a boy. He's a young man."

Leonard watched his wife work, felt the tugs and brushes of her fingers and smelled the scent of her hair, all braided into a tail that swished against her lower back. "He's not going to be happy with me," he said quietly.

"He loves you. He'll understand the situation, I'm sure. Just like you with your father. A little confusion and frustration won't break those bonds. There." Finished with his tie, Abbigale pressed her palms onto Leonard's cheeks. "You'll be fine. So will he."

"I know."

Leonard held gently and firmly to his wife's waist, forestalling her as she was beginning to turn back toward her paints at the window. She looked into his eyes to see what he wanted, and he was smiling. "It's a good day. Our boy's gonna learn about the family business."