"Viggo, just relax. He's at a party; he's fine."
"He was supposed to be home forty minutes ago." Viggo tosses his magazine to the floor and leans back against the couch. "I'd call his cell phone again, except that he didn't have it turned on last time."
"I think you're being a bit overprotective," I say with a smile. "You told Henry to be home at midnight and he's a little late. Besides, maybe the kids who are driving him home are the ones who are staying late at the party."
"It was stupid of me to let a friend drive him home."
"His friend is seventeen and has a driver's license."
Viggo sighs. "I'm behaving like a jerk, aren't I?"
"No, you're behaving like a dad," I laugh. "Listen, I'm going back to bed. If you want to stay out here and wait for your tardy son, go right ahead."
He grins and gives me a kiss. "I'll just wait for a few more minutes. Then I'll join you."
"Okay." I go into the bedroom and start getting ready for bed when I hear a car pull into our driveway. Henry's home, so Viggo can relax.
The front door opens and closes, then I can hear Viggo talking with Henry, and after a few minutes I'm joined in our room by my wonderful boyfriend. "Sorry about that," Viggo sighs, looking absolutely exhausted.
"It's okay. What happened? He was just having way too much fun at the party to come home?"
He laughs. "Yeah, that's one way of putting it."
"What's another way of putting it?"
"That he got drunk and wandered away from the party. His friends had to go retrieve him from a neighbor's yard."
"Henry got drunk?!" I exclaim.
"Yes," Viggo says grimly. "I had to escort him into the bathroom just now so he could throw up, then put him to bed so he wouldn't just fall asleep in the hallway."
"Oh my God, he's finally grown up," I laugh.
"What, getting drunk constitutes maturity?" He doesn't look amused by my comment.
"Viggo, virtually every kid drinks before they're supposed to. It's like a rite of passage," I explain. "I did it when I was his age. You did it, too. Henry's got a great head on his shoulders, and he's just walking on the wild side a bit. Now if he did anything beyond this like drugs, I'd flip out; but you really have nothing to worry about if he comes home a little monged after one party. Just tell him that if it becomes a habit, he's in *deep* trouble."
"Are you becoming my voice of reason?" he chuckles.
"Yes. Look, just get some sleep tonight and scold him tomorrow when he has a vicious hangover."
"I can't believe my little baby son is going to have a hangover."
"He's fifteen, not a baby."
Viggo shakes his head. "Orli, when we have a child, you'll understand that no matter how old your child gets, they'll always be your baby." I just smile and give him a kiss before we curl up together.
*****
It's hard to keep a smile off of my face when I hear Henry's somewhat plodding steps coming down the hallway. To tell the truth, I'm actually amazed that that he woke up before noon -- the first time I had a hangover, it took me until the late afternoon to rejoin the waking world. Viggo immediately stops his task of cleaning out the refrigerator and turns to wait for his son to walk into the kitchen, crossing his arms over his chest and putting his best 'stern father' expression on.
"Uh, hi," Henry says sheepishly as he walks into the room.
"Good morning," Viggo tells him in a neutral voice.
"How did you sleep?" I ask, willing to extend a measure of sympathy to the hung-over teenager.
"I slept okay." He eyes us both warily and then decides it's safe to sit down at the table with the comic section of the newspaper.
"Do you want some breakfast?" Viggo asks.
Henry looks a little green at that suggestion. "No thanks. My stomach is still a little queasy."
"I bet you have a headache, too," I offer.
"Yeah." He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. "I already took some Advil." Maude immediately senses that Henry isn't feeling well and goes over to him, placing her head in his lap as a measure of comfort. "Oh Maude, not now," he sighs, dropping a hand to half-heartedly stroke her head.
"I'm going to make you some tea," Viggo declares, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a box of tea bags.
"Dad, you know I don't like that herbal shit," Henry moans.
Viggo fixes him with a glare. "Trust me, this will help. It became the hangover cure of choice for the hobbits and a certain elf back in New Zealand." I shudder at the memory of choking down those horrid teas in order to get rid of throbbing headaches after knocking back one too many the night before.
"Okay, I'll drink it," Henry concedes.
"Good." Viggo puts a kettle of water on and then places the tea into a mug. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"
Henry nods. When Viggo leaves the kitchen, he turns to look at me with tired, worried eyes. "Is Dad really pissed at me?"
"Nah. He's upset and maybe a little disappointed, but not angry."
"I didn't mean to get drunk last night," Henry says earnestly. "The thing is that it only took a few drinks to knock me out."
"Well, that can happen if you're not used to alcohol. So tell me something -- what possessed you to drink in the first place?"
"This is going to make me sound like such an idiot, but I just wanted to be cool," he laughs. "I mean, I'm dating an amazing girl, and my dad is someone who everyone wants to know about, but I feel like *I'm* so terminally uncool most of the time." Oh. Poor Henry. I remember adolescent hell, and I think every kid feels like they're a big dork at some point or another. Having a famous father might mot help, although I'd think that having a nice girlfriend would.
"You're very cool, Henry," I assure him.
"Of course *you* think that."
"I say it because I mean it," I insist as the kettle begins to whistle. I stand up to turn the stove off and fill his mug of tea with hot water, giving him a spoon to stir it around with. "So what, last night you thought that you'd drink to be cool?"
"Yeah. The party was this back-to-school thing, and Jemila and I were, like, the only sophomores there. It was mostly juniors and seniors, and I know that *none* of us were supposed to be drinking, but when one of the seniors gave me a beer . . ."
"You drank it."
"Right." He winces as he chokes down the first sip of Viggo's tea. "Fuck, what is this stuff made of? Gasoline?"
"I've always suspected that it's rubber and nuclear waste," I tell him with a grin.
"You know," he says after another sip of tea, "if that kid had handed me a joint instead of a beer, I wouldn't have taken it. I want to be cool, but I'm not going to get into that shit."
"That's very good to know." I reach over and tousle his shoulder-length hair. "Look, you're a good kid, and both your dad and I know that we can trust your judgment. That's why last night was such a surprise."
He nods. "And now I get to call Exene and tell her all about it. She'll be thrilled. I am *not* looking forward to that conversation."
"Yeah, that should be fun. But that's what you get, kid."
"I know," he sighs, taking another swig of tea.
"Henry!" Both of us jump at the sound of Viggo shouting his son's name, then storming down the hall back into the kitchen. Shit, he does *not* look happy. What happened now?
"D-dad? What's the matter?" Henry looks a bit petrified, and I don't blame him. I've never seen Viggo yell at his son.
"What is this?" Viggo demands, throwing a foil packet down on the table. My eyes widen in shock, and Henry turns a deep shade of crimson. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"
"It's . . . a condom." Something tells me that this is probably the most embarrassing moment of Henry's young life. "Wait a second, where did you get that?"
"It was in your underwear drawer."
"You went through my stuff?!" Henry yells, jumping out of his chair. "You have no right to do that!"
"Yes I do," Viggo says firmly. "And what are you doing with condoms in my house? Are you having sex?"
"That's none of your business!"
"You're my son! Of course it's my business!"
"Okay, neither of you need to be shouting," I say, trying to be helpful.
Viggo takes a deep breath. "Henry, you came home drunk last night even though you still have six years until you can legally drink alcohol. So yes, I went through your room to see if I could find anything."
"What the hell were you looking for?" Henry asks with exasperation. "Vodka? Heroin? Dead bodies?"
"You know, I really don't need sarcasm right now," Viggo tells him.
"Dad, you're acting like I'm the only kid who's ever gotten drunk! You're being a total hypocrite!"
"A hypocrite?"
"Yeah!" Henry throws up his hands in frustration. "Weren't you drunk when you got that stupid scar on your lip? You were only seventeen then, so don't lecture me about this!"
"Fine. I won't lecture you about getting drunk as long as it doesn't happen again while you're living with me or your mother. Once you're an adult, you can do whatever you want, but for now, no more drinking."
"I'm way ahead of you on that one. I've sworn off alcohol for a long time, especially if it means that I have to drink this evil tea the next morning."
"Okay, what about drugs?"
"Dad, I don't do drugs."
"Not at all?"
"No. And I really have no desire to. I mean, I know the shit that can happen if you do stuff like that. You and Exene have told me a hundred times how dangerous drugs are, and I listened to those warnings. Don't you trust me?" Henry looks truly hurt that Viggo is questioning him like this, and I almost feel like smacking my boyfriend upside his head and making him behave like the sensible dad he normally is instead of being overprotective and snooping.
"I want to trust you Henry, but first there was the drunkenness last night, now the condom in your room this morning . . . ." Viggo sighs as he looks at the prophylactic that lies conspicuously on the kitchen table. "What on earth is that doing in your dresser? And be honest with me. I won't be angry; I just want to know so that we can talk about it."
"I'm not having sex," Henry insists. "One of my friends gave me the stupid condom when I started dating Jemila 'just in case' we ever needed it. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I stashed it in my drawer. I guess I could've thrown it away, but I just figured that there was no reason to."
"But you and Jemila aren't sleeping together?" I venture.
"No!" he exclaims, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. "She made a promise to her parents and herself that she wouldn't have sex with anyone at least until she turns seventeen, and I respect that. I'm not dating her for sex."
"Good, because you don't need to be having sex at your age," Viggo tells him.
"Oh, I see. I'm not allowed to have sex at fifteen, but Orli could have sex at fourteen," Henry says.
"What?!" I yelp. "How do you know about that?"
"You told a reporter," he laughs. "You really need to watch what you say. I was surfing the web to see what you talked about in your interviews, and I was like, 'I *so* didn't need to know that!'" Fuck, this is embarrassing.
"Don't follow my example. I had a dissolute youth."
"You didn't have a dissolute youth," Viggo snorts, his irritability with Henry seeming to have faded. "That's an exaggeration."
"Besides, that virginity doesn't count anyway," I explain to Henry. "It was with a girl, and nothing before your dad matters."
"Okay, that's kind of weird but sweet," Henry says with a grin. "But I liked how in the interview you described the girl as a 'beautiful English rose'. What does that make Dad?"
"Um, a sexy Danish tulip?" That might be the lamest thing I ever said. And it sends Viggo and Henry into peals of hysterical laughter. "Stop picking on me," I huff.
"Sorry, Orli," Viggo chuckles. "That was just too funny."
"Seriously, Henry," I say, "you're doing the right thing by not rushing into having sex. There's no rule that says you have to have sex by a certain age. Your dad didn't lose his virginity until he was twenty, and he--"
"Orli!" Viggo exclaims, his face immediately coloring with embarrassment.
"Don't tell me that stuff!" Henry protests.
"Sorry, sorry," I stammer. Will I ever learn to keep my big mouth shut?
"God, that is so much more than I ever wanted to know," Henry groans. "I'm traumatized for life. I'm scarred. I'm damaged."
"You'll get over it," Viggo tells him. "And to help you forget the trauma, I have a radical idea -- go do your homework."
He sighs. "Okay. First I need to call Jemila, though. She was pissed at me for acting like an idiot and getting drunk. I have to see if she's still mad. And then I should call Exene."
"Go ahead. But then you'll do some homework?"
"Yeah." Henry finishes the last of his tea and places the mug in the dishwasher, then looks at both of us contritely. "I'm really sorry, you guys. I'm sorry for coming home late and worrying you, and I'm sorry for getting drunk."
"It's okay," Viggo says, going over to give him a hug. "You're growing up and you're bound to make a few mistakes. Just try not to make this one again, alright?"
Henry nods and returns the hug, which makes me grin since he, like most teenaged boys, isn't prone to big displays of affection towards his parents. "Sorry," he says again.
"You're forgiven," I tell him. "Now get out of here." I give him a playful kick in the bum and he sticks his tongue out at me before going to his room.
"You two are ever so mature," Viggo laughs as he sits down at the table with me.
I grin. "And you know that you love it, my sexy tulip."
"Please don't tell me that's my new nickname."
"Okay, it won't be. Only on the condition that you apologize to Henry for rifling through his room. That was going a little overboard, Viggo."
He sighs and buries his head in his hands. "I know. I just worry. There's no manual on how to be a good dad, and I never know how well I'm doing."
"Yes, you do. You can look at Henry anytime you want a report card on your parenting skills. He is such a terrific kid. So much of that is a reflection of how you and Exene have raised him, the values you've instilled in him and how you've taught him to believe in himself."
"What about when he screws up?"
"Every kid makes mistakes," I laugh. "I don't think getting pissed at a party really means anything. He gets good marks in school, he has wonderful friends and a lovely girlfriend, and he's handling the evils of the teen years much better than a lot of kids. After all, he *doesn't* do drugs, and he's *not* having sex. I think you're doing a terrific job, and I'm sure that Henry would say so, too."
Viggo smiles, reaching out to take my hand in his own. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, although I was just telling the truth."
"No, not for saying that just now. Thank you for calming me down. Thank you for being there for Henry. I don't want to think about how much more insane this would've been without you around."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that," I tell him. "I'm here."
"There's so much joy and beauty and fun involved with being a parent, but the amount of stress that children bring you is unbelievable," he sighs.
"Yeah, I kind of see that," I say with a slight smile.
"And when we have a kid, it won't always be easy. They'll scrape their knees, they'll throw tantrums, they'll refuse to do homework, and they'll apparently even come home drunk from a party."
"I know."
"But you still want to have a child, right?" he asks. "Even with all of that? Even with all of the stress? Because trust me, Orli, there'll be plenty of stress."
I grin and squeeze his hand. "Bring it on."
