Forks, Weights, and Other Heavy Things

Hank Granger pulled into his driveway, his F150 rumbling as he slammed it into park, then turned the key to cut the engine. It was still making that clunking noise when he made left turns, as he had to turn into the driveway, which he'd have to get taken care of. That was the kind of thing that Hank Granger did: take care of things.

Hank took care of his truck. Hank took care of his job. Hank took care of his family.

It was something he took pride in. Taking care of things. When his daughter called him the week prior stating that the window in her dorm room wouldn't close properly, and that the RA wouldn't file a maintenance request, Hank got on the horn and made sure that someone would ensure that his little girl's bedroom wasn't freezing cold at night. When Donna had told him that her sister's ex-boyfriend had been harassing her, Hank and his buddy on the police for went and had a little talk with him. And when Joey...

Well, Joey was another story.

Joey was just so different, so out of step of the rest of the family. Hank loved his son dearly, but did he understand him? Not one bit. Hank was so gregarious, so athletic, so driven. Joey seemed to be none of those things. Hank's son was a withdrawn, scrawny, passive young man that didn't seem to have any plan for the future. So the real reason that Hank couldn't take care of things for Joey was that Hank had no idea what needed to be taken care of! His son Joey was the perfect reminder to Hank that not all things had an easy fix.

Like, for example, Sarah. Hank's job as a regional vice president of a large construction company came with perks. Having an assistant was one of them. He hadn't picked Sarah. HR had taken a list of qualifications from him and they had done the hunting, the interviewing, the hiring. And he wasn't complaining. Sarah was young, vibrant, intelligent, and a self starter. She was also undoubtedly attractive, with her bright smile, great body, and penchant for leaning a little too close during conversations while wearing low-cut tops.

Some days he wondered... Sarah was so much younger than he was, so bright, so beautiful. The world, if she wanted it, would be her oyster. Well educated, well connected, but yet she stuck around. No, it was more than that. She stuck around working for Hank. Other departments had tried to poach her, offer her more money, give her a bigger, more prestigious role, yet she remained.

And then there was the touching. She had started a few weeks back, allowing her fingers to run over his shoulders as she passed, just lightly enough to be mistaken as an accidental brush, but just frequently enough to know it was anything but accidental. Hank knew something was up. He wanted nothing more than to move her out of her position and take on someone less dangerous.

No, that wasn't true. He wanted nothing more than to bend her over his desk and give that find ass of hers a good fucking.

But he was a married, a committed man. Hank wasn't a cheater, no matter how hot, no matter how flirty his assistant was. She, too, was not somethin easily taken care of.

So by the time Hank got home, after a particularly flirty day thanks to his assistant, Hank was hungry for supper, but also for sex. Thankfully his wife, Donna, would have been home early and could hopefully take care of both of his needs.

Stepping inside, Hank was greeted by the rich aroma of lasagna baking in the oven. Joey’s favorite. Donna was bustling in the kitchen, her movements efficient, focused. She hardly seemed to notice him when he approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her in greeting.

"Oh!" she jumped, pulling away from him.

"Sorry," he said, "Didn't mean to startle you. Dinner smells good."

Hank leaned in to kiss her on the lips, but at the last second she turned her head toward the oven, causing his lips to lightly touch her cheek.

"Thanks," she replied, "It's Joey's favourite. I thought I'd do something nice for him for a change."

"That kid could use it," he agreed, "Although what he really needs is to start thinking about next year," Hank said, referencing a refrain that he and Donna had both sung many times over the last year, "so that he doesn't waste his youth sitting around doing nothing."

"He'll figure it out in his own time," she retorted, seeming to stick up for the boy, "I trust him."

"Why," Hank chuckled, thinking his wife was being sarcastic, "did he suddenly figure out who he is and what he wants in life?"

"Leave him alone, Hank," she said, cold iron in her voice suddenly, "In his own time."

Something was up. Hank knew better than to press, but he and Donna had been married long enough that he could tell when there was something wrong. Maybe it was something he'd done, maybe someone else, but the other thing he knew was that she would tell him when she was good and ready, and no amount of begging or pleading would convince her to talk to him about it until she had had enough time to process whatever it was.

When they finally sat down at the dinner table, Hank thought he'd be able to get some points with his wife and salvage the evening. He complimented the cooking, her hair, her outfit. He asked about her day, about her friends, about her family. And although he was verbose, her answers were perfunctory, as if she was just going through the motions with him.

But with their son, she became animated. She was practically doting! Serving him seconds, getting up and refilling his drink for him. She asked Joey questions and seemed to hang on every word, her food all but forgotten, so focused on him was she.

Yes, whatever she was mad about must have been something Hank had done. There was no other explanation. Racking his brain, Hank couldn't come up with one infraction that could have attracted her ire.

When Donna did eat, she didn't pay attention to her meal. Everything in the room, Hank included, might not have existed in her eyes. Every few moments her eyes would wander back to stare at Joey, only to quickly glance away when he noticed.

"So, how was school, kid?" Hank asked, turning his attention to Joey, not wanting to push Donna further.

"Same," Joey mumbled through a mouthful of lasagna.

"And the birthday party? You have fun?"

"It wasn't a party," Joey said, "Just some friends having a few drinks."

"Well, in my day that's what we would call a party," Hank said, trying to sound amicable.

Donna shifted in her seat, her fork idly pushing food around her plate. "Things have changed, Hank," she said suddenly, her tone oddly defensive. "Joey isn't like you."

Hank raised an eyebrow, staring at his wife.

Donna stared back, blushing, her eyes looking confused for a moment, "He's...", she paused, "Never mind. I'm just an old woman. What would I know about what Joey is or isn't like."

Hank blinked, surprised. Donna wasn’t never one for self deprecating comments. She took pride in herself, and he'd never before heard her tear herself down like that. He glanced at his son, who seemed equally bewildered, a fork filled with lasagna hovering in front of his mouth.

"Are you okay?" Hank asked, reaching a hand out and putting it over Donna's own trembling hand, "Did something happen at work?

She pulled her hand away and put in on her lap.

"I'm fine," she said, "Everything's fine. You're fine. Just eat your dinner."

Hank winced. He should have known better than to ask. She always opened up to him, but whatever it was, whatever storm was brewing, wasn't quite ready to come out yet. And so he ate. The lasagna, while not his own favourite, was delicious. He could see why Joey loved it so much.

"You know, Joey," Hank said after a while, trying once again to connect with his son, "I'm getting tired of going to the gym all the time. I was thinking of setting up a home gym in the basement. Some weights, maybe a cardio machine. Why don't you help me set it up? We could put together a workout routine for you to put some meat on those bones."

It was a plan that Donna and he had cooked up the week before. Both of them had been worried that he wasn't filling out, that he wasn't going to reach his full potential. Hank was still fit, and while Joey had just become an adult, he was still trying to find a way to redefine their relationship. Maybe with Hank's experience in the gym, combined with the safety of their own home, Joey would finally start to come out of his shell.

Joey groaned. "Dad, I’m fine the way I am."

"Come on, it’d be good for you. Get stronger, build some confidence. You’d be surprised how much better you feel after pumping some iron."

Donna interjected, her tone unusually sharp. "Joey said that he's fine."

Hank frowned, "I wasn’t saying he's not fine, just that maybe we could..."

Donna’s fork clattered onto her plate. "He’s perfect the way he is, Hank. Leave him alone." And then she got up and left the two men at the table alone for the rest of dinner, both of them flummoxed by her behaviour.

He didn't see Donna again that night. She decided to sleep in the spare room. Whatever was bothering her, whether it was him or something else, she wasn't opening up at all. It was frustrating. He wanted to be a good husband. He wanted to take care of things, take care of her. But if she wouldn't let him in, there was nothing he could do. And so, laying in the dark, he closed his eyes. The first image in his mind as he started to drift off to sleep was of Donna's face, angry, disappointed. As he started to relax, sleep growing ever closer, Donna's face began to dissolve, replaced by that of the nubile Sarah, leaning down, giving a view of the cleavage in her low-cut top. She was smiling, giggling, really. And then she turned and bent over his desk and... well... the rest was a dream...