Page 46 of Soft
Paxton
The first time I noticed, I told myself I was probably wrong.
It was a plain old Tuesday at the office. Grizzly and I were going over a sponsorship proposal that had come in from a company interested in connecting with queer athletes.
He’d printed the out proposal, which I had come to understand was his preference for anything requiring detailed review. He liked paper the same way my pops did, which I had decided early on wasn’t a coincidence about who they both were.
He was reading through it with an intense sort of focus. I watched him as I always did during these moments. At one point he moved the paper slightly closer, then reached up and adjusted his glasses. None of it was done in a way to make me think anything other than he wanted a closer look.
Individually, it didn’t mean much.
But I had been watching him for a while by that point, and I had started to understand the difference between Grizzly adjustinghis glasses because he was thinking and Grizzly adjusting his glasses because his eyes weren't cooperating.
This was the second type.
He moved on quickly after that. I didn't say a word about it because it wasn't mine to say anything about yet. Not until I was officially his Daddy.
I did, however, start paying closer attention after that.
Over the next several days I catalogued things quietly to help me know what was normal and what wasn't. The font on his computer was larger than standard. I could probably read it from halfway across the room if I needed to. And his phone screen brightness was turned all the way up at all times. In meetings, if something was written on a whiteboard and someone pointed to a specific section from across the room, he would move toward it rather than squinting from where he stood. He preferred phone calls to text messages, though voice notes were also accepted. In the afternoon when the sun came through the window in his office at a low angle, he would close the blind without commenting on it, even if we were mid-conversation.
None of it was obvious. It didn’t truly spell anything out. Not unless you were deeply invested in Grizzly as a whole. My boy had practiced making his needs invisible.
I sat with my thoughts for a few days so as to not startle him with all the changes I planned on making to make his life better.
When I decided to gather intel, I went to the best source. I found Moseley in the small kitchen area one morning when Grizzly was on a call and Cheyenne had stepped out. He was making coffee, body hunched forward, eyes barely open.
"Hey," I said, leaning against the counter.
"Hey." He looked up briefly. "You want some?"
"Nah, I'm good. Can I ask you something though? And I’d need it to stay between us."
He set the spoon down, giving me his full attention. His expression was wary. Like he didn’t know what the heck I wanted, but he was curious enough to proceed. "Sure. What do you want to know?"
"Grizzly. Is there something going on with his vision?"
Moseley went still, giving away more than an answer could have. He looked like he was deciding what he should and shouldn’t say.
I respected that. I wasn't trying to get him to break anyone's confidence.
"I'm not asking for details," I said after a beat. "I'm not going to bring it up to him unless he brings it up to me first. I just want to know if I'm right about what I'm seeing, because if I am, I want to make sure I'm not making things harder for him without realizing it."
Moseley looked at me for a long moment. Then he looked at his coffee. "I can't tell you specifics."
"Again, I'm not asking for that."
"But I can tell you that he's managing something. And that he's been managing it alone for a while, which is—" He stopped himself. "He'd want to tell you himself. If and when he's ready."
I pushed off the counter. "I know. That's why I'm not asking you what it is. Thanks, Moseley."
He nodded once, and I could see from the way his shoulders settled that I had relieved some of his nerves. These people cared about Grizzly. The last thing I wanted was to make any of them feel like they had to choose between protecting him and trusting me.
I went back to the desk I’d brought in to use. Pulling up a search window, I began to delve into what could be happening with my boy. When he eventually wanted to share, I would have the tools to help him.
It turned out there was a significant amount of information available about vision loss if you looked for it. I didn't know for certain his condition, but the pattern of what I had observed lined up with what I found when the phrase macular degeneration showed up.
I spent two full evenings going through it. Two evenings of sitting at my kitchen table with my laptop, a notebook, and a glass of water I never remembered to drink. The more I uncovered, the more questions I had.
