#ft. saul weissberg

[micahweissberg]

closed starter , @saulweissberg weissberg law firm, late evening.

his phone has been lighting up all day, even as the evening wore on and it was just the two of them inside the office, possibly even on the block. there's this girl he'd matched with who'd taken a special kind of liking to a six-foot-one bird-watching wannabe comedian trying to get through law school, and micah thought it odd that she'd been so eager to set a date to meet up within thirty-six hours of first speaking to each other.

don't know how much longer i have to stay at the office. can we reschedule? well can u get out by 10?

the wall clock behind him reads 9:47pm. his father hadn't left his office in almost six hours. he wonders if the man even remembers he had somebody else in the building with him. he wonders if this is how thalia had felt when the firm first opened, then remembers that the feeling also easily translates from birthdays and soccer games he never wanted to take part of in the first place. the familiarity leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he gets up to get some water to rinse it off, his chair scraping against the pristine wooden floor with a harrowing screech. he's distractedly leaning against the cooler while he tries to compose another text to his tinder date with one hand when the door to his father's office opens, his figure looking much smaller in the door frame. it's sad to think of your parents aging. "it's almost 10pm," he says, like anybody had asked, like he thought it mattered at all to his father.

[mohanmax]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @saulweissberg, saul's home in oak gardens, late night.

‎ THERE'S A GAME ON THE TV. max is pretty sure it was just basketball a minute ago, now the cubs are playing against the dodgers and when did that happen? max isn't sure. his eyeballs feel heavy in their sockets bearing down against his skull, against the couch. saul's couch. he has to remind himself that he's not in his own home, and where is saul, anyway?

"oh, fuck, there you are," max drawls when saul returns. from the bathroom or some other business that had slipped his mind. he can't even remember if saul had said anything, it's also likely the guy just got up and left. not that it really matters anymore, he's here now. peeling his back off the cushions is a herculean effort, but he manages, a hand reaching for the table to grab the joint, of which they'd already shared two between them, off the ashtray. he lights it with the gas stove lighter saul had provided in the absence of a regular lighter. classy as always. "mm, fuck. hey, d'you wanna watch the cubs with me this saturday? i can get us tickets. you can bring a friend, if you want."

[micahweissberg]

‎ HE WILL REMEMBER THIS MOMENT: this slant of light, the faint smell of lemon pastries wafting across the house, a distant grumbling of voices from their family downstairs, michael hutchence's gritty vocals calling all nations to sing to the rhythm of a catchy guitar riff. his father sitting next to him on the floor of his childhood bedroom, indulging him in a story he wishes were longer. a warmth in his chest. a lump in his throat. moments like this were just a myth. like the top of the everest or a man on the moon.

he chuckles softly, bowing his head. pushes himself back against the edge of the bed, pulls his knees closer. "he seems like the kind of guy who'd go hard," he says, amused and simultaneously envious of the weissberg twins' close relationship. he'd never had that, not with a brother or a sister. not with somebody who shares the same forgotten trauma of going through the same birth canal before there was ever light in your eyes and and to live to tell the tale. no fighting over the remote, no pointing fingers at the scene of a broken family heirloom or mud tracks on the kitchen floor, no red-faced, snotty-nosed holiday candids stuck to the refrigerator door, no blanket forts over broken hearts or stubborn promises of growing old together or never growing up at all.

micah weissberg was the only person in the world.

"gideon showed me this picture of you and uncle levi in simon and garfunkel-inspired halloween costumes once, when we were in college. said he wanted to do the same thing at this, like, campus halloween party. wasn't sure if he wanted to go as simon and garfunkel or the weissberg twins dressed up as simon and garfunkel. i think he just wanted an excuse to show me that photo. you guys were little. i don't think you even had your bar mitzvahs yet." having lived in a lowenstein household, micah had mostly only seen photos of his mother and uncles when they were younger. glimpses into saul weissberg's childhood were rare, though he often wondered if it shared any similarity to his, if his father felt the same feelings he did, had liked the same stuff. perhaps, as a way of preempting those answers, he'd taken it upon himself to take an interest in the things he already knew he did. maybe then they'd have something to talk about, even if it takes twenty summers later and his heart broken a thousand times.

"was it your dad who liked simon and garfunkel?"

they never talk about his father's father. most of the time, it takes micah a second to even recall his name before he remembers that his cousin had been named after him. he wonders if his father had ever thought of it for his son, if only micah was born a couple of days earlier, though he concedes that his cousin fits the name better than he ever could. alas, he was named after lanky-limbed plant grazers who get shotgunned for sport or preyed on by lions and wolves and bears. sharp claws and even sharper teeth. the gideons of the world.

“hm,” saul hummed in response, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. his son’s current outfit wasn’t up to edna perlmutter weissberg’s standards, but he was just happy micah looked presentable—not out of embarrassment, but out of relief that he didn’t have to fight with micah to put on something else. he knew better. if there was something that micah didn’t want to do, he wouldn’t do it, and any pleas from saul would be met with further obstinance.  if there was anything saul knew—as a lawyer and as a father—it was when to pick his battles. his mother may have something different to say, but micah would hear no further word against it from saul. 

he had been looking around the room when micah informed him of what album he had been listening to. kick had been part of the soundtrack to his junior year in high school, and he didn’t want to tell micah about how many times he cried while listening to never tear us apart back then, thinking about his confusing feelings for his friend aharon. he smiled softly down at his son. “it’s their best album.” his surprise was brief on his face when micah offered the other earphone, and it took less than a moment for saul to kneel down next to micah on the floor, his knees cracking in protest. 

at his question, saul shrugged. “we both appreciated rock—this was before nirvana and the whole grunge scene, y’know—but levi was more into metal than i was. i listened to all sorts of stuff, like inxs and madonna and prince, just based on my mood and where i was at the time. i didn’t really limit myself to just one genre, but uncle levi was a pretty staunch rock-only guy. he got mad at me once because i said if i wanted to listen to nerds rant about swords and princesses, i’d just go to the local dungeons & dragons meetup instead of an iron maiden concert. he wouldn’t talk to me for a whole weekend.” saul laughed at the memory, though it had been a big deal when it happened in 1985. he supposed that was just the nature of brothers, especially twins—constantly pissing each other off, then acting like nothing happened five minutes later. micah didn’t have that experience, and saul mourned that, but not as much as he would have mourned failing a second child.

[hvneymelons]

Dilara 📱 Saul W.

DEE: Good afternoon, Saul! DEE: I'm quite sad I'll have to miss your luncheon this coming weekend. I've got surgery early that day, but I'd still love to make a contribution. DEE: Who or where should I address a check to? @saulweissberg

[micahweissberg]

closed starter for @saulweissberg, parking lot @ cantwell country club, weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

it's a strange feeling, waiting for his father to come out from the banquet hall's entrance as if he were an absent parent waiting for his child at the end of a school day to take them out for ice cream. he tries to recall if his father had ever done that for him. surely, he had, he must have. but he's probably still a little stoned and he doesn't trust his memory most of the time as it is, having to make up a lot of it in his head that he no longer remembers which ones are real and which ones are fake.

he's smoking a cigarette—a real one this time, not the kind he'd passed between himself and the bartender earlier with little discretion—sitting on a parking block next to his father's lexus, parked among a sparse section of glossy coupes and imposing luxury vehicles. and then, just behind him, loud goodbyes are exchanged, embellished with phony laughter at a joke that probably wasn't even that funny. micah looks over his shoulder at the two men shaking hands. the one in the light brown suit makes towards his direction and micah straightens himself, pushes himself off of the block of cement still with the lit cigarette in his hand as he prepares to face his father. from this distance, saul weissberg looks much older than he is, shoulders thinner, hair grayer. micah couldn't remember much of his father as a younger man. suddenly, he is filled with a deep melancholy at the thought any one of these could be the last time he sees his parents.

[hvneymelons]

Closed Starter: @saulweissberg at Dee's house

Sleep didn’t come easy to Dilara, and while Saul had done an amazing job of exhausting her physically, her mind soon drove back to thoughts she couldn’t escape and memories of the past. After about four hours of honest sleep, she pulled the blankets down and let out a breathe. It was always the same when she had a couple of days off work. Luckily she was returning later that night for a full sixteen hour shift. Climbing gently out of the bed as to not disturb his sleep, Dee found a large t-shirt in her drawer and slipped it atop her naked body. It was early in the morning - about seven thirty or so Dee assumed - so she made way towards her chicken coup to refill the feed and collect her daily eggs. It had only taken her about a week to get used to doing it all on her own. The collecting of the egg being the scariest part for her as she had to reach into and sometimes beneath the chickens in order to retrieve them, but once she got over the fear of her hand being pecked off it had become much easier. She had Terry to thank for that. Eggs in hand, Dee moved towards the kitchen and began the rigorous process that was her cooking. Pulling everything she needed out of the fridge, portioning and organizing it all before her just as he had taught her. Steak and eggs was on her mind for that morning so she turn on her coffee maker and got to seasoning and cooking her meat. It wasn't long before she heard the unfamiliar sound of footsteps walking down her stairs. She offered a smile and uttered a quick, "Good Morning." turning towards freshly brewed coffee kettle and pouring him a mug. "Breakfast should be done soon, if you're hungry." Dilara had made enough for both naturally as she often met friends out for breakfast and never spared the time to cook just for herself.

[yasdogan]

As they arrived downtown, Yasemin was grateful for the brief moment of time in the car when Saul got out, giving her just a second to breathe and gather herself. Already her mind was starting to whirl with the concern that at any moment she could be walking right into another confrontation with Sage. As much as she'd like to think she was quite capable and strong and able to handle her emotions, seeing Sage was just difficult. Were it up to Yas, she might have never left her house again to make it easier on herself. All of her worries were pushed aside as she exited the car, happily taking Saul's arm to let him lead the way inside. "You should come by the hospital sometime for sure, it's always easy to catch him on lunch there," she suggested with a nod, though selfishly a part of the invitation was just to get Saul to come and visit her at work.

Though Yas was much less convinced that getting out and seeing other people was something she was ready for, she also knew that she wanted to make this transition as quickly as she could. The less time it took to get past everything with Sage, the less of her life she'd end up wasting on someone that was never going to end up with her. "Yeah, yeah you're right. Even if nothing comes of it, a bit of practice getting back out there couldn't hurt," she agreed. It had been awhile since she'd been out on a date. Things with Sage had sort of closed her off to it all, left her uninterested in anyone else when the one person she wanted was right there. Luckily, Saul was right, there were loads of cute people in town, she just had to be willing to open herself up to them. "You are indeed the cutest person in town, Saul. Must you ruin everyone else in town for me?" she teased, leaning over against his shoulder with a playful laugh. Her gaze started to shift along the crowd, evaluating and looking out to see who might be of interest. "I don't have anyone in mind, but - I'm not super picky, I think? Everyone has something to offer, so I could...I guess give anyone a chance?" Even if just one date, there was never any harm to trying. At this point it wasn't as if anyone could get much worse than trying to pursue her best friend's sister. "No chance you have any attractive, successful attorneys you work with? Anything other than a bartender this time."

@saulweissberg

if he was to be honest, saul was just humoring yas. he was curious about this doctor she spoke of, but he intended to spend the night hanging out with her. at least until it was time to go to the movies with dean, but before that, he was all hers. he’d ply her with wine and try to distract her from her troubles, or listen while she cried (again). he’d buy her whatever she wanted from the stalls and get her any sort of food she desired. and, above all, beg god to keep sage away from downtown for the night. “hmm, well, you know how much i love to have all eyes on me.” saul chortled, wagging his brows. “maybe i’ll have to stop by the hospital for lunch some time, if he’s not hanging around town tonight.” pulling into the public parking for the market festival, he stopped the car near the entrance and leapt out of the car, then hurried to the other side to offer his arm to yas. 

moving through the crowd, saul took in the scenery. though his office had been downtown for years, he hadn’t attended the last two spring events the town held. he had worried he wasn’t integrated into society yet, that his ex-in-laws would have a problem with him joining in on the festivities. this year, he had decided he wasn’t going to let that stop him. it was busier than he expected, but it was opening night. perhaps things would calm down in a few hours. saul turned his attention back to yas. “ah, that’s the spirit. even if it doesn’t go beyond one date or bloom into a real relationship, you should at least try and see what’s out there.” there had to be someone better than her best friend’s older sister. if she was willing to think of someone for him, he’d have to think of someone that was single for her. he could pull someone from town or back home in manhattan, or maybe one of his younger cousins spread throughout the states. the thought of yasemin joining the weissberg clan was heartwarming, actually. “oh, there’s loads of cute people in town! me, for instance.” saul used his other hand to gesture towards his face and flashed a cheesy grin. “i’ll bet there’s someone here that’s good for a night. point them out, i’ll bring them to you.”

@yasdogan

[hvneymelons]

Closed Starter:  @saulweissberg at Dee’s home

Having had left work early that day, and since they weren’t able to meet the night of the luncheon, Dilara invited Saul over for some dinner. It’d definitely been a couple of weeks since she cooked a proper meal so she took the liberty of doing so for them that night. Most of it was already done, lasagna off in the oven as well as the garlic bread she had struggled to replicate from her mother’s recipe. Dee was often too heavy handed when it came to garlic, loved the taste so much that she overdid it, but - with a heavy heart - for once she had followed the instructions as written. Taking one last look in the oven, Dee put a timer for the garlic breads and quickly returned to his side. “Alright,” she said, reaching to grab her glass of champagne before sliding beside him on the couch. “While we still have some time before dinner, tell me it all. How did it go? I heard a lot of people showed up.” She had done her best to wait, wanted to give them until after dinner, but her curiosity got the best of her. Dee figured it would be a hit - if not for the charity itself, then for the need to dress up and mingle - but she hoped it was a successful evening all around. And because she couldn't help herself she added yet another question to the pile, “Were you guys able to meet donations?”

[micahweissberg]

MICAH: Chicago sounds nice actually MICAH: Maybe we can go see a show at The Den or Laugh Factory? If you're feeling up to it. But idk if we can get tickets. Or if u wanna sit thru the Friday traffic MICAH: Or we can just do drive thru or something if you're busy idk I'm chill with whatever MICAH: Yeah he did like 3 weeks ago

SAUL: You're welcome. SAUL: La Galleria is my go-to but maybe The Silk Road or Tres Amigos would be nice? It's your birthday LOL SAUL: We can drive up to Chicago too if you want, I won't mind the drive. SAUL: Did Ravi go home?

[hvneymelons]

Instead of offering a response, Dee playfully rolled her eyes and grinned. They were well aware of each other's leads and hints. After all, she hadn't randomly brought up her home for no reason. Saul, much like her, was one who didn't like wasted time, and she banked on that each and every time. Made the entire getting together after much easier when he took the lead. Being in charge in her field of work was something that Dee loved and excelled in, but outside of that space she enjoyed letting someone else take the reign. Perhaps it was that which attracted her about Saul. He catered to her womanhood, made her feel as delicate as a rose. She was old fashion like that so the hook easily caught. The best of both world, even if it did take her a good few years to get into that mindset. Dating after Leon was not something she put much thought into for years. Dilara didn't want to ever feel that way again. Long for somebody the way she longed for him. If she were honest, she would admit that perhaps she was punishing herself for the way things happened. Refusing to allow herself to feel happiness with someone else which made cutting things off before they got too serious much simpler. Blame it all on work. Well, with Saul it was the best of both worlds. She could enjoy sex and flirting, and not worry about emotions. "You ass!" Dilara half laughed and pushed his shoulder, as droplets of her martini dripped out the side of her lips.

END

“ah, glad to know i’m of some use to you.” saul teased back, head tossing back a little. though he was secure in their friendship—and it had just been friendship, a strictly platonic relationship despite their regular clandestine meetings—he was truly flattered any time dilara flirted back. it was nice to feel wanted, especially as he grew older. saul had never thought of himself as particularly handsome, but there was a charm about him from a young age that enticed others, and it gave him a natural confidence that hadn’t been shaken, even now at fifty-two. he tried to think of the man in the mirror with gray hair and wrinkles around the eyes as distinguished. he’d even hazard to say he classified as a silver fox. of course, he waited for someone else to call him that instead of stating it himself, but was it wrong to still feel confident in his looks? especially when dilara was looking at him like that. 

his pulse quicked a little at her offer. “oh, are you sure?” saul asked with faux-modesty, like he hadn’t pretty blatantly suggested it a moment before. it was part of the game, the mating ritual. it was always better to act like it was all their idea instead of his own, an illusion of control on their end. it helped in his legal career as well; he didn’t remember if he learned it first at work or with his first girlfriend in high school. thinking of it in clinical terms made it easier not to get trapped inside his own head, and he had no use for shyness anymore. he knew what he wanted, and tonight, he wanted dee. she wanted him back, just like many times before. “sounds good to me.” saul brought his glass to his lips and drank a hearty sip of it, then placed his other hand under dee’s glass and jokingly pushed it towards her mouth.

[yasdogan]

For as long as Yasemin could remember, she had done everything for herself and it was rare that she ever had someone else step in to do something for her. When Saul had not only spent the day with her at the festival trying to cheer her up, but then followed it up with the surprise of a weekend away at a beach resort, Yas hadn't known what to do. From the moment it had been offered, she'd been nothing but effusive with her thank yous to Saul, going out of her way as much as she could to make sure that he was having just as good of a vacation as she was. It was easy for Yas to separate from everything back home, to focus on nothing more than the beach in front of her and the endless supply of margaritas that the cute cabana boy was delivering with perfect timing.

Stretched out in the lounge chair she had taken up residence in for the afternoon, Yas had her shades on, hovering between a nap and casual conversation with Saul. "And here I was going to suggest that we say we booked the trip to celebrate my dad's retirement," she teased back, lowering her sunglasses on her nose to look over at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "But, no way they think that. They're definitely all convinced you're some eccentric millionaire that came here on vacation with his fourth wife." Whatever assumptions people were making, Yas couldn't have cared less. She was in a tropical paradise with a good friend and there was no chance that she would have to run into or confront Sage for the next few days. "I was going to book a surf session later today, you want to come with me? I can teach you if you've never done it before."

@saulweissberg

availability / @yasdogan setting / the beach outside the villa del palmar resort in cancún, mexico.

the warm breeze coming off the ocean was such a nice change from the frigid mountains of colorado. true, it had been warming up in providence peak, but it was not nearly as pleasant as their current situation. after attempting to cheer yas up post-breakup with sage at the spring festival hadn’t worked as well as he wanted, he knew he had to take extreme measures. though they joked about a yacht trip, it did get his gears turning; while he did make good money, he didn't make enough to be a charter guest à la below deck. the next best thing? a beach vacation, obviously. he had surprised yasemin with two plane tickets and a reservation for a two bedroom suite at the villa del palmar resort in cancún. it was an extravagant gift, but saul loved to splurge on his friends, and hadn't yasemin deserved it?

the resort was absolutely beautiful and he intended to enjoy himself as much as possible. he could only enjoy himself, however, if yasemin was in better spirits. sitting by the pool, saul had been reading an article on his ipad when a server came by and asked him if he wanted a drink. after putting in an order for a mimosa, he turned to look at yas, “y’know, i’m pretty sure they think i’m your dad.” he laughed, though there was a hint of offense in his tone; he couldn’t help a bit of sensitivity over his age. “should we tell them this is your college graduation present? maybe we’ll get a free dessert. you could pass for a recent college grad.”

[micahweissberg]

the clanging of the steel fork against saul's plate makes micah's shoulders jerk slightly. then comes the glare. the original, one that micah's must've been patterned after where words fail to be enough. my address may be in illinois, but i'm not local. micah tries not to look too pleased by this, hadn't intended for his comment to elicit this reaction, though counts it a small victory, if anything, that he'd gotten under his father's skin. "okay," he feigns acquiescence with raised eyebrows and a shrug, suppressing a smile by shoving his spoon into his mouth. "whatever you say."

and he's a little disappointed that his father doesn't press further—but i really am not local!—where he would've loved to blatantly dismiss his pleas and insist that he'd fully assimilated into the midwestern culture despite how it couldn't be any further from the truth, but instead, saul shifts his attention to the subject of micah and law. fair play. touché. "dunno," he answers, and would've been happy to leave it at that, but instinct drives him to say more, happier that his father is here to ask questions at all despite not having an answer that he knows his father would like. opts for, "uh... environmental law, maybe?" like he'd been asked to estimate the time he'd left the house or what he had for dinner three days ago.

"i mean, i should hope so, or mom wouldn't have taken up a teaching spot here," he says with a small, amused huff at the mention of bhu, though he knows his mother is much less concerned with the prestige of something that they're getting their name involved in than the man currently sitting across from him. if anything, terry probably just liked the buildings' architecture.

the idea of extending his stay to finish his studies (not the first time it's been put on the table) is brought up, completely on his own terms, as his father makes it abundantly clear— makes sure of it even, like the good lawyer he is. and while it should be an ideal scenario, to be given the freedom to decide for himself, it only serves to piss him off. for most, if not all his life, he'd been given too much freedom. the burden of making choices, even bad ones, especially bad ones, from a young age had not only put him dangerous positions but had also put him in this position: almost thirty with no tangible career prospects on the horizon, relentlessly starting over, lying to his therapist, lying to himself, lying to everybody. never really knowing what he wants, taking off whenever he feels like it, coming on stage for half an hour to feel better and coming home to wallow in self-pity.

and he's so tempted to throw the question back at his father: do you want me to? much like he had before, but he's tired and there's no more cereal left in his bowl and he doesn't really feel like ordering coffee just to sit here longer and pick at the intricacies of his sordid future. there's still time, he might still end up seeing the girl if she's up for it, but if she's anything like him, she might be.

"no, thanks. i'm good."

whether or not it's a good or bad decision doesn't matter— what's important is that it's a decision, as he's expected to make, so that's what he gives his father. doesn't even try to pretend that he'll think about it because he won't, because if he thinks about it any more than he already has, he'll probably stay.

leaning back, he dabs his mouth with a napkin which he crumples up and tosses into the bowl. "should we get the check?" he asks, glancing at his father's still unfinished plate, but he waves at the waitress and mouths for the check, anyway, making a little rectangle with his hand. he pulls out his wallet, deciding at the last minute that he will be the one to pay for their meal. he doesn't mention that he'd recently gotten paid from his last gig in chicago; it hadn't been much, and he definitely wouldn't survive the cost of living in new york, but it can certainly pay for a bowl of cereal and a plate of sausages. he thanks the waitress when she brings the bill over, glances at the total, and starts thumbing at a few bills in his wallet, counting in his head.

"so, i think i'm gonna take a cab from here," he says, already putting down the amount, plus tip, on the leatherette bill holder which the waitress quickly counts. the tip is unimpressive, but that's comedy money for you. "i could still probably make my date. but you finish up, i'll wait."

with the topic of micah leaving put to bed, the two settled into a brief silence as they ate their breakfast-for-dinner. saul was thankful for just a moment of peace when micah said something that might as well have been an arrow straight to the heart.

you sound local, thought it would've taken longer for this place to beat the new york out of you.

saul dropped his fork on his plate, looking up from his meal to glare at his son. out of all the things micah had said to him in twenty-nine years, that was most offensive. “my address may be in illinois, but i’m not local.” sometimes, saul lied to himself and pretended that he was going to move back home someday, but with his firm growing exponentially and owning his home in oak gardens, his roots were firmly planted. that would never mean that he was some midwestern yokel, though! new yorkers wore the title with pride and honor, and despite his three years living in blue harbor, he’d never consider it to be his true home. he used to have the excuse of his heart—namely, micah—being back in new york, but with micah sitting right in front of him, the excuse had grown flimsy. the only loved ones he had back home were his twin brother, levi’s children, theodora, and to an extent, his second wife, cassie. there wasn’t much anymore that kept him from claiming blue harbor as his home, except for one crucial fact: it just wasn’t as cool as being from manhattan.

he knew saying anything more to indicate his offense would make micah just do it more, always looking for some fresh material to bother saul with, so he went back to his pancakes as micah spoke of his classes, sounding a little exasperated. “have you thought about which area of law you want to practice after graduation?” saul assumed there was very little chance that micah would choose to go into family law like he had, but criminal defense or prosecution didn’t seem to be his speed either. in fact, there wasn’t really any specialization he could see his son in, because he had his suspicions that micah was just humoring him, and that finishing his law degree was just a formality to get his parents off his back about his future. saul was willing to pretend for as long as micah wanted, though.

“bhu is a good school.” he commented after a long sip of his coffee. sure, it wasn’t ivy league, but micah only had a few more semesters to go anyway, and the weissberg name alone would’ve opened doors at harvard, yale, and princeton if he had wanted. micah never seemed very comfortable with his father’s family’s wealth, a very lowenstein-like trait, so he didn’t offer to pull some strings. while it would’ve pleased him if micah attended columbia law, he hesitated to encourage him any further. wasn’t college where micah’s problems started? well, not where they started—as saul had done an exceptional job fucking his son up—but where they were exacerbated? saul worried that micah would slip away from him completely if he returned to new york. of course, he couldn’t voice this, and he knew his son wouldn’t have appreciated it if he had—too late, not good enough, something or other. so, he broached the topic softly: “you could finish out the semester here, if you wanted, and go back home in the spring.” he knew getting micah to stay permanently was a long shot, but he still had to try. he still had to make it clear that micah was wanted and welcomed for the rest of time. “and you've got a place in my firm any time you want it.”

[micahweissberg]

was that what he really wanted to hear? for his father to explicitly tell him that he didn't want him to go? or would it have been better if he'd told him to stay? it doesn't feel as good as he thought it would. maybe it's a syntax issue. or maybe nothing his dad does will ever be enough. saul weissberg, the sisyphus to his son's zeus. it's a greek tragedy 29 years in the making, and fated to never end until the ground collapses or he's crushed by the weight of the boulder. either way, it seems this is a hill his father will die on.

"alright." and just like that, he stays. because he wants to, not because he was told to, and acts as if it's a favor, no less, with a small sigh that escapes his lips in between chewing, like it's an inconvenience to sit here when he's the one who'd not just agreed, but wanted to come here in the first place. he didn't have to say yes to dinner. he didn't have to get in the car. and yet, this is how it had happened, how he's sitting here trying to punish his father for wanting to try and try and try.

he stirs the cereal a little, waits for the fibers to absorb the milk just a tad to make it easier to chew, though the act of breaking down his food does give him something to focus on other than anticipating small talk. when he decides his cereal is soft enough, he hunches forward and continues to eat, snorting at his father's remark about figuring out the balance between dating and his career, milk almost spurting out of his nose. you dated your career, you douche, he wants to say, but shoves that silent snark back with the spoon, keeping his head down as he works through the cereal.

"you sound local," he says, mouth half-full with whole grain wheat at his father's comment about another local diner he favors over the one he'd chosen for the occasion. is he just trying to return the spite? attempting to undo the dent from his bruised ego? or is he simply answering a question he'd been asked? "thought it would've taken longer for this place to beat the new york out of you." he's exaggerating; of course his father is still as manhattan as they come. it's just weird that he now considers illinois his home. or, at the very least, his permanent address. "i guess?" he remembers his dad asking him the same question a few times before, most recently last week while waiting to fill his water bottle at the cooler. he remembers this because he remembers how he'd accidentally filled his bottle all the way up with hot water, distracted by the fact that it had been the third time that week the same question had been asked by the same person. "i'm still taking evidence and criminal procedure. i'm still attending twice a week. i don't...?" there's no point to his confusion. there's only so much small talk his father can make before he starts rehashing old material. it's not much different from being a comedian, he supposes. at least he doesn't do it in front of the same crowd. "i mean, it's no columbia, but," he shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, "i might transfer back there in the fall, anyway." a staunch reminder that they're running on borrowed time.

it had to be purposeful, the way micah seemed to take umbrage with anything he had to say. saul could claim it was nighttime and micah would find a way to argue that it was actually very late evening, and while he had made a whole career out of his love for arguments, he didn’t want to engage in that with his son. he didn’t want to, but still did. from the lilt of his son’s tone and his weighty stare, he knew micah was testing him. provoking saul to say the wrong thing, to prove once again that he was a terrible father and deserved any little comment micah made about him to his face and behind his back. saul turned inward, partly in effort to keep himself from saying something he’d regret and never be able to take back, and partly because he knew he deserved it. his son hated him plainly, and it was warranted. there was nothing he could do to change it, the time had passed long ago to fix it, but he couldn’t give up. not completely. g-ddamn it, micah was his son. he could hate him all he wanted, but that fact wouldn’t change.

“no, i do not want you to go, micah.” saul responded firmly, his brow arching. he was just trying to meet him halfway, because it was obvious just how little micah wanted to be in his presence, and maybe he hoped they could bond a little over the concept of women. saul had an extensive dating history, his three marriages notwithstanding. plenty of boyfriends and girlfriends and friends-with-benefits and any other relationship that didn’t have a pithy name. saul had spent most of his life as a hedonist, something he never felt the need to apologize for—why be ashamed of enjoying life to the fullest, why be ashamed of having some fucking fun?—but learned not to bring around his son quickly, lest he damage his son any further.

he knew not to introduce any long term partners he had during the gaps between each marriage to micah because saul knew that he’d make every interaction with whichever one he had at the time as awkward as possible on purpose, and those relationships never lasted for very long anyway. he knew his own track record; if he truly loved someone enough to want to marry them, then he didn’t wait. any partner he had that went more than a year without some form of a marriage proposal was just a time filler. harsh, but true. maybe, for once, he hoped to gossip about girls or some shit with micah, just to open up an avenue for conversation since every other word they exchanged was stilted and filled with hurt.

no, he did not want micah to go, even if they only spoke in sentence fragments and micah looked to be about seconds away from a childlike tantrum. he couldn’t let him go. every parting between the two weissberg men felt like cleaving off another part of saul and soon he’d be left without any pieces to make up a body. to let micah go all angry just hastened his dismembering, and he feared the day micah decided to finally leave him for good. so, his pointed tone made it clear: don’t you dare ask me a ridiculous question like that again, you little shit. which probably would just encourage micah to piss him off further. it was a cycle they couldn’t break out of, and saul should’ve just been thankful his son was still there to participate in such a cycle at all. he sighed lowly and pressed his fingers against his temples to alleviate his growing headache.

after his soliloquy on meeting terry for the first time, saul had expected… something. gratitude that micah took after his mother, since he hated being half-weissberg so much? a fond smile imagining how saul and terry had looked during their collegiate love affair, once so obsessed with each other that they forgoed tradition in order to elope and start their lives as husband-and-wife as quickly as possible? instead, micah said nothing. did nothing. not even a twitch of a smile. if anything, he looked disappointed. saul thought he would’ve been ecstatic—here you go, son, confirmation that the only thing weissbergian about you is your last name… and your height. wasn’t that what every boy wanted? proof that he’d never end up like his father? that was what saul had wanted when he was a teenager until a patch of ice one winter stole his father away forever, now he longed for any resemblance in body or manner to the late, great gideon weissberg. 

“mm.” saul hummed, unconvinced. “well, i figured it out.” it helped to date within the firm (even though it was against the employee code of conduct) and former clients (as long as he was no longer their lawyer, it was ethically dubious but not altogether forbidden), but saul mainly found his partners through the club scene when he was in his mid twenties, then high society parties in his late thirties. sleeping only about four hours a night helped in that regard, too, and who could forget the lovely assistance of cocaine and caffeine?

the arrival of their server and their respective meals—though saul had never believed cereal constituted as a meal—saved him from the topic of his dating history. he gave another perfunctory thanks to their waitress and spared micah a glance over the noisy opening of the raisin bran box, but said nothing more as he readied his own meal. smothering the plate in butter and syrup, mostly to distract himself from the silence, its broken by micah’s question.

“hm?” saul looked up quizzically, though he heard micah just fine the first time. there was evidently nothing he could fucking do to humor micah. “i like pancakes. i prefer rise ‘n’ dine, though.” he went there a few times a month with phoebe yates, but he thought their pancake batter was fluffier and their syrup was genuine maple. there was nothing he could do about it being closed so late at night, though, and it had been micah’s choice for their dinner venue. “you can eat them any time of day, micah. there’s no rules.” he shoved a forkful into his mouth to make a point and to force a silence between them, then swallowed noisily. “so, are you liking your classes?” saul asked, attempting to play nice.

[micahweissberg]

micah frowns, unsure of what to make of his father's reaction to the context of the message he'd received, and is further unimpressed at what might've been considered a generous offer of letting him go and giving him a ride to wherever he was supposed to meet his date. and sure, in the rational part of micah's brain, maybe it was meant as a kind gesture, a mutual understanding that a man has needs that must be met, that if he was anything like his father, he would pursue this rendezvous no matter the time of day — or night. but the angry 11-year old inside his head suggests otherwise.

"well, do you want me to go?" a loaded question, shoulders slowly shifting upwards and quickly dropping as he sinks deeper against the booth, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that purports his nonchalance about leaving. if he could grow roots, they would have already dug into the greasy linoleum floor, past the slab of rock on which this establishment stands, the river on which the rock floats, the soil and minerals on which the river flows, the crust on which the minerals form, plunging straight into the core which makes all life on earth possible.

plus, he's tired, anyway, and his interest in the girl isn't enough to replenish his already depleted energy reserve, but it's fun to think of leaving the choice up to his father. it was always his choice, wasn't it?

genuine curiosity riddled the question about his mother (though, admittedly, laced with his sneaky brand of snark meant to summon discomfort upon all those unfortunate enough to sit in a crowd or across from him in a diner booth) and so it is with genuine interest that he listens to his retelling of what love looked like for saul weissberg in the 90s. which, as it happens, was a mousy architecture student, a beautiful daughter of a shochet. and then, micah realizes, had it really been love? all his father had done was describe how his mother looked like back then, which is easy enough to do— he could describe what their waitress looked like and he'd barely glanced at her for five seconds. doesn't mean he should start a family with her, let alone love her, regardless of whether or not she has enchanting eyes.

like your eyes, mikey.

he doesn't mean to look so dejected at this news, but something within him shatters. he always thought he had his father's eyes. had desperately searched for any semblance of him in front of a mirror and eventually deduced that he had his mother's smile and his grandfather's ears. but the upper half of his face was all weissberg. he took comfort in that fact. he'd always thought of him as a vain man, after all, and figured he might love him a little more if he looked in his eyes and saw himself.

it's a small wonder, then, how he'd grown so far from him, if all he saw was his mother.

he blinks, suddenly self-conscious of his eyes as his gaze scrambles towards the man in the next table, the one in the ripped, sleeveless plaid shirt and the matted auburn beard, nursing what looks like his third cup of coffee if the dried ring stains on the table are any indication. he wonders if he has children of his own, if they look anything like him. if they adore him for working so hard. if they resent him for staying out so late. if they know him at all.

he huffs amusedly at his father's question, can hear the offense he takes at his disparaging, if not ambiguous remark.

"i just meant you didn't have time to date. you know, as an up-and-coming lawyer and all." he could've been more honest, a lot more scathing in his bluntness: that he was already in a romantic affair with his work, that he was probably too coked out of his brain to get off on anything other than the idea of a civil lawsuit, or, adversely, that he didn't need any dating apparatus to fuck anything with two legs, that he could skip the dating stage entirely and get right into looking for the next rabbi available at the end of sabbath and a decently-sized reception hall in manhattan on such short notice.

and micah would've said all these things, if he didn't see their food coming out from the kitchen so soon. he makes room, moving his phone to the side as the waitress sets their orders down. "thanks," micah mumbles his gratitude and starts to tear through the single-serve box of raisin bran. he callously pours it into his bowl, causing a few heads to turn at the peculiar sound so late at night. he follows the cereal with the milk and doesn't wait for his father to get settled with his order before he starts scooping up spoonfuls like a tired law intern whose last meal had been almost ten hours ago. this really might as well have been breakfast.

as he chews—and he'd almost forgotten how much work this is, especially since the grains had barely softened before he'd started plowing through the bowl—he surveys his father and his big breakfast plate, his cup of coffee. he can't remember the last time he's ever had breakfast with his father even though the guy looks like an idiot at 11:30 in the evening.

"did you really want pancakes? or are you just trying to humor me?"

what did it even mean to be a father? was he not supposed to want better for his son, for micah to surpass him in every area? he wanted success for him, he wanted micah to be happy. he knew the very idea of becoming a lawyer didn’t make micah happy. he knew being near him didn’t make micah happy. how incredibly selfish of him, then, because all he wanted was to be near micah. he just didn’t know how to explain that, or make it happen organically. especially when he knew that micah barely wanted anything to do with him anymore. the window to fix their relationship was closing; saul felt like his fingers were moments away from being smashed under the frame, while micah was pushing down on the pane with all his might. so, when saul became afraid of rejection, he said nothing. only looked straight at micah, concerned.

“thanks,” saul said absentmindedly to the server that dropped off their waters, barely sparing her a glance. his heart rate had ascended, then slowly calmed down as micah hemmed and hawed about the alarming text he received. a thousand terrible scenarios flitted through his mind: terry had an accident back in new york, the firm burnt down (though he supposed he’d be the first point of contact if that happened, g-d forbid), the cats had gotten out of his house somehow and were causing havoc around oak gardens (again, saul would be the only person contacted about this, but rationality was not prevailing), or maybe he had a secret wife and child that he never told saul about. somehow, that last one seemed the most likely out of all of his irrational worries.

i was supposed to meet somebody tonight.  

“oh!” saul exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter. shit, would micah take that the wrong way? as if saul was so surprised that micah could land himself a date? because he wasn’t. his surprise came from the fact that micah blew off his date to have dinner—or breakfast, as it were—with his dad. in his features, micah was mostly—but not all—lowenstein. in his mannerisms, he favored his mother again, but there were identical gestures the two weissberg men currently sat across from each other shared. their behavior, too. micah didn’t inherit much from his father’s side, but the bits that he did were undeniably weissberg. that included, apparently, forgoing dates for other pressing meetings.

was he supposed to be proud, or ashamed that his son resembled him at that moment? saul wanted to laugh at the commonality, but feared that would be taken the wrong way, and it made him a little sad anyway. he wanted more for micah than three ex-wives and only a career to cling to in the end. “well… you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” saul offered feebly, knowing their food was bound to come out soon. “i can drop you off somewhere after this, if you want.” half of saul’s long dating life included seedy bars at midnight or sneaking off to hook up with his paramour-of-the-week greenwich village apartment after a long day of work; if micah was like his father, then starting a date so late at night wasn't a foreign concept. 

speaking of dating… saul nearly choked on his cup of coffee, trying to cough and swallow all at once. he hadn’t expected micah to bring up his mother, mostly because saul would do everything in his power to ignore that particular topic. he hesitated a moment before he began to answer, then lost himself to memory: “no, we didn’t have the internet like that yet… and well, i don’t think your mother and i technically dated anyway. we met at this campus party a little bit before graduation. she had this, like… giant mass of black hair, all soft waves. and she was really pale, like more than usual for spring in manhattan, but it made her radiant like a porcelain doll or something. and these eyes… like i had never seen before. green, brown, and gray at the same time. light and dark at the same time. i don’t know.” saul sighed. his gaze had drifted the more he spoke, staring off towards the other side of the restaurant. he snapped his attention back to micah, suddenly uncomfortable with his unprecedented wistfulness. “like your eyes, mikey.”  

maybe levi wasn’t the only poetic twin.

“anyway, we pretty quickly got together after that party and then we got married, had you, so on and so forth. not exactly traditional.” whether saul had been overcome with lust or infatuation or simply love then, the two college students had been nearly inseparable from the moment they met. then they separated for good four years later. “we might’ve used tinder or whatever if we had it at the time.” saul supplied with a small shrug, still a bit verklempt. those memories of terry were deeply buried within him. to have them drudged up again had him turning solemn. they had been so innocent back then. stupid, too. just two idiots that had no idea what the world had in store for them. he could’ve cried if he thought about it for too long. he hated that when he was in his son’s presence, he often felt that urge. there had to be happier things to talk about. safer topics… but then micah’s next statement had saul furrowing his brow. “what is that supposed to mean?” was his son implying that he was some sort of whore? 

[micahweissberg]

he slumps back against the booth, pulling his phone towards the egde of the table and tipping it slightly, just enough so he can glance at the message previews in a tilted angle, swiping his forefinger across the hairline fractures on his screen to close the notifications. easier to say nothing than to have to explain how easily the date—let alone a single lousy reply—had slipped his mind when it's barely been over two hours at most since they'd last spoken. what is he supposed to say?

sorry i forgot to message you back - my dad, whose volatile presence in my life for thirty years, remembered that i was just in the next room and wanted to get dinner. you matter way less in the big picture. in fact, you're not really even in the picture. i would still love to get together if you're still in the area next week. actually, can we do next next week? big exam coming up, makes up for a huge chunk of my grade. it's my criminal procedure class. did i mention i'm studying to become a lawyer? it's to gain the approval of my dad, the one who's taking me out to dinner. see, we're already halfway there! anyway, i'd suggest to see you next weekend, but i can't promise i'll be in the mood by then. hope you understand.

this is how he imagines his parents started dating. which will work out great, especially if she's carrying the same dysfunction in her genes. maybe they'll get to make another micah. because that's just what the world needs, right? more children of divorce who turn out to be bad comedians.

"...what?"

despite the perceived cluelessness, he knows his father had watched the whole thing unravel. he's made sure of it.

"oh, it's just..." he shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking as he straightens up. the waitress returns with two glasses of ice water (and no cute, witty remark, thank god) and two straws on top of a small pile of napkins, punctuating micah's response with a perfect set of ellipses. he uses the opportunity to busy his hands in freeing the straw from the confines of the paper wrapper it came with, drops it into the glass, wedging it between the ice cubes and purposefully stretches the suspense as he takes his time sipping the water.

when he's finished, he leans back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. overcompensating casualness as one would amidst a celebrity at the risk of acting like a starstruck idiot.

"i was supposed to meet somebody tonight." he doesn't add the i forgot. on one hand, it could go without saying. but on the other hand it could also mean that he'd deliberately chosen to blow his date off to bite his father's offer. he's quietly hoping for the latter, though his initial reaction at receiving the message, and the fact that he is his father's son makes it more likely to be the former. "but it's fine. we're here. could always set another date." he blinks at his father, studying his reaction. "you didn't have dating websites when you and mom were still dating, did you?" over the years, mentions of his parents' past relationship, even addressed to the involved parties, had diminished potency. at least, on micah's end. it's like saying the same word over and over again — at some point, it just stops making sense. "guess you wouldn't need 'em, anyway." it's a trojan horse in six words, housing within it an army of insinuations. micah is a little proud of himself for it.

normally one to entertain any waitress, bartender, or receptionist with flirty banter, saul found their server’s presence increasingly exhausting. though he generally loved to elicit a smile or giggle out of a pretty girl, right now, she just felt like an intruder. saul smiled benignly at her, nodding as she quipped about their breakfast for dinner. he gave her a little pity chuckle, too, just so she wouldn’t feel like her customers were completely ignoring her. not like micah was, at least. once his son confirmed his order, saul handed his menu to her. “that’ll be all, thank you.” pathologically polite to customer service workers, he had grown up always minding his pleases and thank yous. he knew the reputation that men of his stature had—what was it called now, being a karen? or was that only for women?—but it had never been true for saul, or really any weissberg. despite their money, their status, they were outsiders in their own world. historically excluded because of their religion, it gave the family a profound humility when it came to people that served them—after all, if it weren’t for their money, then they’d be the waiter, or the front desk agent. (like the lowensteins, for example.)

the boy in front of him—rather, the man, as saul kept trying to remind himself—was more like his mother than his father. he supposed that was a good thing, in the end. micah didn’t have to live up to impossible standards of the weissbergs… as much. things were expected out of him, namely success and wealth, but he had always been slightly out of saul's family’s reach. any influence they had on him after a weekend at their martha’s vineyard vacation home or a sleepover with levi's kids had been quickly overturned once he returned to his mother. even cassie, in her infinite warmth, had more influence than saul and his relatives did. once again, his own fault. it wasn’t by design, rather by accident, or maybe unintentionally designed. saul had acted like all the men before him: obsessed with work. to the point that it likely killed his father—micah’s grandfather’s car accident had been blamed on the wintry conditions, but saul had assumed that the late gideon had probably been thinking about some case or trial preparation just before the car hydroplaned into a tree. he saw none of that drive within his son.

yes, beyond their physical similarities, dry humors, and capacity for self-sabotage, they were total opposites. almost unrelated.

but they were. they were related. micah would always be his son. even if he denounced his father, never spoke to saul again, his blood would forever run through micah’s veins. he would always be half-weissberg, even if he didn’t want to be. saul clung to that fact any time he felt like fucking crying over how much micah hated him, over how badly he had failed at being a father. his only respite was that he only fucked up one kid. despite it all, despite all the pain and the hurt, despite the end of his second marriage due to the fact he refused to impregnate cassie, that had to be a blessing. and, well, that was one thing he had over his twin brother. gideon and eliana had their own plethora of problems due to their upbringing and parentage. that was an unkind thought, though, and as much as levi irritated the fuck out of him for the past fifty-two years, he’d die defending his brother. they were built-in best friends, two halves of one soul, one heart.

though if half of his heart existed in levi back in new york, then the other half was sitting opposite him right now. that, of course, left him with no heart inside himself—something that terry might’ve accused him of a few times over the past three decades, or opposing counsel on a particularly acrimonious case might’ve cursed behind his back. if that meant it existed outside of his body, if that meant he was always part of micah no matter where his son went, then saul could accept that. he could be proud of it, even. he just wished he could express that to micah. he wished that micah would be receptive to it. history had shown, however, that micah never wanted to hear anything out of saul. or, rather, saul never said what he wanted to hear. just like his mother, micah was an enigma to saul, and just like with terry, he was becoming accustomed to never understanding micah.

saul was staring, he realized. it was sort of hard not to. any time the two were in close proximity, saul stole any glance he could, to really prove to himself that micah was there. that micah was actually right in front of him, and not some guilt-based hallucination. it was the only reason why he wasn’t completely startled by micah’s outburst. his brow creased, toying with the empty sugar packet for his coffee. from the way he had fumbled for his phone and his soft cursing, something bad happened. “are you alright?” saul asked, growing increasingly concerned. he leaned forward, alarmed. “did something happen with your mother?” truthfully, he didn’t know who else would be texting micah at such a late hour. come to think of it, did micah even have any friends?

[micahweissberg]

"mm, you'd be surprised," is the waitress' response at his father's playful banter. micah rolls his eyes, keeps his head down and focused on the menu just to keep himself occupied while his father decides what to get. and when he does, he raises his brows at the order, lifting his head slightly to see if his dad is serious. pancakes and turkey sausage? what's his play here?

"what, you folks skip breakfast?" the waitress chimes with an amused huff, but jots the order down regardless. saul doesn't humor her, much to micah's satisfaction.

micah slides the menu away, not wanting to drag this out any further than it has to be, though the waitress' presence does well in diffusing some of the awkwardness between him and his father. "yeah, i'm good." not because he's okay with choosing one of the least expensive items on the menu, but because heavy dinners aren't really his thing. it makes him feel bloated when he runs in the morning. he slides the menu towards the waitress, glancing towards his father to see if he'd change his mind about his order at the last minute.

"alrightie, well... i'll be right back." the waitress rips off a page from her notepad and collects the menus, giving both men one final look before she turns to leave. a strange pair, one she'll definitely have to tell her friend about. this the lawyer you were gushin' about, brenda?

it's when his phone vibrates in his pocket that micah remembers about his date. eyes growing wide, he quickly fumbles for it, earphones still attached and sees that he had, in fact, received four unanswered messages.

"shit..." he hisses quietly to himself and takes a moment to think about a response, running a hand over his face in mild distress. he can't believe he'd forgotten about the girl! was his father's disease that contagious that being in such close proximity to the guy had rendered him unable to follow through with commitments?

badum-tss.

micah scoffed, and saul’s jaw clenched. he had been hearing that sound from his son for decades now, and though he often deserved it, the sound always smarted him. saul could remind himself how much he deserved it every single time, but it still hurt. he tried not to dwell on it too much, just let it go and pretend he never heard it, but sometimes he just wanted to snap. sometimes, he just wanted micah to fucking grow up. when saul was micah’s age, he was on his second marriage and a father to a toddler, a few years away from making partner. the weissberg men that came before them were in similar stations at even younger ages, and it had been expected out of micah as well. success was synonymous with the weissberg name, and though the elders that cared more about their family image were increasingly dying off, it was still an upheld expectation. comparison was the thief of joy, though, as some therapist once told him, and it wasn’t a productive thought to be annoyed with a reaction that was (probably) warranted.

he was just trying to be nice, though. fatherly. yes, many decades had passed, the pain ran down deep into the bone for micah, but was he just supposed to stop caring? he was not supposed to worry over his son making it safely into the big city, no matter how old micah had become? at least he had apologized, but saul waved it off. “s’fine.” he nodded in micah’s direction, eyes still on the road. “just let me know if you change your mind.” saul said with finality, tone forcibly polite. he hoped micah knew that if he needed him, if he really needed him, saul would drop everything and drive to chicago at any hour of the night, but said nothing to that effect. he just always hoped that micah understood.

“okay, thanks. i’m sure the dummies would be happy to see you.” he commented with a small smile, trying to show he was only joking. saul loved his cats very much, but it was a rule of pet ownership that only the owner could affectionately call their pets names. micah’s acceptance turned his mood around a little, happy that he said yes. though phoebe loved to watch his cats whenever he went out of town, he feared it would hurt micah if he had asked someone else when his son was close by. despite his horrible track record, he never wanted to hurt micah, it just seemed to happen.

pulling into the waterway diner’s parking lot, the weissberg men made quick work of exiting the car and entering the restaurant. it had never been his favorite in blue harbor, preferring rise ‘n’ dine for his casual dining establishments, but the breakfast spot had limited hours and it was mikey’s choice on location. settling into their booth, it didn’t take long before they were greeted by the waitress. tefi, the newest waitress at the waterway, must’ve been off for the night, or they hadn’t been sat in her section. that was fine with saul, since she always seemed to forget the creamer for his coffee as if this wasn’t a diner. the mug was already on the table ready to be filled up, it wasn’t as if it was strange request so why did she—

his thoughts were interrupted by the server. looking up from his menu, he flashed her a bright smile that soon gave way to a raised brow. “oh, brenda, was it?” the natural charm he possessed oozed out of his voice like it did any time he was faced with a customer service worker or an unfamiliar woman. she had looked far too young to be hitting on him, probably should’ve been directing her attention towards his more age-appropriate son, but saul figured she heard about his penchant for tipping generously and wanted to secure a hefty tip. “can’t say i’m familiar with your friend. is she spreading rumors around town about me?” he teased, eyes twinkling until micah spoke again and his attention cut to his son. was micah jealous? and if he was, was he jealous of saul or her?

raisin bran. he made him schlep all the way to laurel village at ten at night for g-ddamn cereal. he tried not to grimace. with a small sigh, he took one last glance over the menu and then held it out to their waitress to collect. “i’ll have the pancakes and a side of turkey sausage.” breakfast for dinner, he followed micah’s suit. he kept his attention on micah, ignoring the waitress. “are you sure that’s all you want?” obviously, he wasn’t going to let micah pay for the meal, and he figured micah would want to go wild and rack up a high bill just to make a point.