While they're waiting on dessert, Erik pulls Charles' present out of his pocket and hands it to him with a flourish.
Charles grins at him and unwraps it. When he sees what it is, his smile wavers — just a little, but Erik knows him way too well not to pick up on it.
"What, you don't like it?" Erik asks.
"Oh, no," Charles says. "It's fine. I mean. I love it. Really, I do."
(Judging by what always seems to happen when Charles says something's fine in that tone of voice, what he's actually saying is this: "Honestly, yes, I do have a problem with it. I just don't want to make a public scene, so I'm waiting to say anything until we're back in the car.")
"Great," Erik says. When his chocolate cake arrives, he asks for a box; he's not hungry anymore. He's pretty hurt, actually. Charles has never nitpicked about his birthday present before.
*
Charles waits a minute or two after pulling out of the restaurant parking lot before he sighs and says, "It's really not that I don't like it. It's just...it's my fiftieth birthday, Erik. I expected something slightly more ambitious than the same bottle of cologne you've been getting me for the last thirty years."
Erik can't believe what he's hearing. It's true that he gives Charles the same bottle of cologne for his birthday every year, but it's a tradition. Their tradition. Every year, Charles gets a family party on the weekend, then the two of them go out to dinner on his actual birthday, whenever it is. Charles gets the waiters to sing the birthday song (which is even more embarrassing to Erik than it is to the staff, but Charles loves it), they have a nice dinner, and then Erik gives him the cologne.
"What do you mean, more ambitious? You love that cologne!"
Charles mutters something.
"What was that?"
"I said, 'You're a bit more fond of it than I am.'"
"Damned right I'm fond of it," Erik says. "Maybe it's not the priciest brand out there, but it has sentimental value. At least four of our kids were conceived while you were wearing that cologne."
"Mm-hmm."
"You know, I'm surprised you even noticed how old you are, considering how much you rolled your eyes at me when I turned fifty."
Charles shakes his head. "Erik, the day after your fiftieth birthday, you freaked out, dyed your hair black, then went out and bought a $200 pair of sunglasses and a Harley — all in the space of an afternoon. I hardly think my mentioning my age compares."
"So what? I still have those sunglasses, you know. I wear them all the time!"
"I should hope so. You've only had them for a year."
"What, do you want to go out and buy some expensive sunglasses? Because you can. I won't stop you. Or, you know what? If that's what you want, I can get you a pair. We'll go shopping over the weekend. How about that?"
"No, thank you," Charles says with another sigh. "I don't need fancy sunglasses."
"So what do you want, then?" Erik asks.
"I might have liked a nice leather briefcase with my initials on it. I saw some nice ones on the internet a few weeks ago."
"If you were so set on that, why didn't you say something about it before now?"
"Because you didn't ask!" Charles bursts out. "You didn't ask. You never ask. You just assumed, like you always do. I don't know why you couldn't have put at least a little more effort into it. You could even have bought me a new sex toy or something like that, but no, you just had to get me the same old thing."
"Well, excuse me. I'm so sorry I'm not a mind reader," Erik says.
Neither of them says anything else for the rest of the drive home.
*
When they pull into the garage, Erik jumps out of the van and slams the door behind him.
He finds Anya and David in the den. Anya's on the couch watching a movie and yawning every two seconds, and David's on the computer.
"You need to get to bed. You have school tomorrow, and it's way past your bedtime," he tells Anya. When she acts like she's going to argue with him, he adds, "Look, you really don't want to push it tonight. Just go. And don't forget to brush your teeth first."
When she's gone, he digs out his wallet and counts out David's babysitting money. He thinks about chewing him out for letting Anya stay up this late, but he really doesn't feel like dealing with it. (David would probably just raise his eyebrow and say, "I really don't think it's fair for you to take it out on me because you're fighting with Dad." Having a telepathic kid can be really annoying sometimes.)
Erik checks in on the twins next. Thankfully, they're both fast asleep in their beds; the last thing he needs is to have to deal with a couple of cranky three-year-olds on top of everything else.
He knows he's not going to be able to sleep — he never can when he's mad at Charles — but he heads into the bedroom anyway and starts getting undressed. By the time he gets his pajamas on, he senses Charles' wheelchair in the kitchen; by the time he's done in the bathroom, Charles is in his office. He's still there when Erik lies down and waves off the light, which means he's probably going to sit up brooding for at least a couple hours. Well, let him. Erik doesn't care.
Erik's still awake by the time Charles makes it up to bed. There's no way he can actually pretend to be asleep, but he stays still and keeps his eyes closed anyway when Charles turns the bedside lamp on. He keeps them closed through all the noise of Charles getting ready for bed, and all the movement as he transfers himself over from his chair.
Finally, the light goes back off. For a few minutes, everything is quiet, no sounds but their breathing and creaking of the bedsprings as Charles fidgets around getting himself comfortable.
Then Charles says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that. I love that cologne, really I do. I don't care that you didn't get me something else. I don't know why I got that upset over it." He sighs for what seems like the millionth time tonight. "Maybe I'm more upset over turning fifty than I thought I would be. It makes me feel old. I never used to feel old, but now...I don't know. I'm sorry."
"What?" Erik says. "You're not old. Just a little older. Age is just a number, anyway; it doesn't actually mean anything."
"Is that so?" Charles asks, with a scoffing sound. "It's very interesting the way your opinion on how old we are changes depending on what you're trying to accomplish that day."
"I'm an opportunist. You know that." Erik rolls over so that he's facing Charles and scoots a little closer. "But I don't care what anyone else has to say: you're not even close to being over the hill."
"I'm fifty, I'm a grandfather, and I have no hair. You can't tell me I'm not old now," Charles says mournfully.
Erik snuggles up to Charles and pats him on his little pot belly. (Erik's jealous; before his last pregnancy, his spare tire was about the same size — but now he's just plain fat.)
"You're younger than me," Erik says. "That should count for something."
"I guess so." Charles doesn't sound like he means it. He sounds like he's only saying it so Erik doesn't run out and get his hair dyed again.
"If I thought you were old and wrinkly and gross, would I want to do this?" Erik asks, kissing Charles' ear, running his hand up and down Charles' chest and stomach.
"...I never said I was wrinkly or gross."
"Well, good. Because you're not." Erik kisses Charles' shoulder, then whispers into his ear: "You know, there's something else I wanted to give you for your birthday. But I don't know if you'd want it. You know, since you get the same old thing all the time anyway."
Erik doesn't need the lights on to know Charles is rolling his eyes, and he doesn't care. It's not too often that Charles is the irrational one; Erik's going to get as much mileage out of this as he can.
*
A little while later, when he's just about to fall asleep, Erik yawns wide and says, "You should clear your schedule for the weekend anyway."
"Oh? What are we doing this weekend?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I think you'd look pretty good in some $200 sunglasses. You wouldn't believe how much younger they'd make you feel."