#hitchwork

As always, before they even left the city, they had to pull into the Costco to get some essentials.

For Fort McMurray might be the place where most of the money was pulled out of the ground through the sweat and tears of the blue collar worker, but the money shifted south faster than a fart. The big city basics, the stuff the city dweller takes for granted, like Costco, Walmart, dipping out for some reasonably priced provisions…

Mac had to make the six hour journey down for that. He had come with a list. There was the usual on the list – toilet paper, essential food items such as potato chips, mustard pretzels, all the items that were hell to get up north – or if you could it would be twice the price for the inconvenience of lugging it up there. Never mind the desperation to get as much reasonably priced alcohol as possible.

It was almost as an afterthought that Mac led Edward to the aisle with dishes, and wordlessly grabbed a single mug. Edward thought nothing of it, other than Mac obviously needed a new mug.

His hockey bag packed with the essentials, Mac’s truck with all his supplies, Edward felt slightly optimistic.

They had to time it just right, but with a few pitstops, and the black ice which even the winter tires had difficulty navigating, the five hours turned into six. The ride interspersed with their conversation, both of them smoking like chimneys, the country radio that dominated rural Alberta, but not enough to not cut in and out sometimes, the flat prairie farms turning into boreal forest, dominated by the tall frames of the lodgepole pines.  A land carefully cultivated for centuries with a respect to nature, a land which now was being cut up to feed the white man’s economy. Brushing that thought aside, Edward let himself contentedly look at the nature around him.  

As they pulled into Fort McMurray, Edward was interested to see how the place had changed, and how it hadn’t. It was an odd mixture, the place where the money flowed from, the place where the money often did not stay. A place of historic transience, where one’s home was contained in the heart, but physically was far away. Something like he was doing – running away, getting to work. The grief heavy within him had settled like rocks in the bottom of his heart and stomach. A manageable pain, a manageable self hatred.

As they drove up to a relatively new house, Mac got visibly nervous.

Almost shyly, Mac announced he had finally bought a house. “Oh ye knows, I was rentin’ but then the owner wanted ta move right? So I figures, it’s a nice place, might as well just buy.”

As far as Edward knew, Mac had bounced around his own town unable to settle, never bothering too much with property, probably because it was so easy to crash at Edward’s between hitches. Why invest in a place you barely spent any time in, right? Or at least that had been his own pet theory. It was a feeling of shock and surprise then, at this announcement. Surprise because the man hadn’t bothered to hold a housewarming party, or even mention much about it.

Edward was too tired to even ask why his friend was renting in his own town. Mac did things his own way, and sometimes you just had to accept that. Edward had not seen this house before, and the build looked relatively new.

Pulling his hockey bag out of the truck, Edward followed Mac inside. Mac’s arms were full of the shopping, the bags dangling from the elbows, as he huffed from the weight of it. Edward offered to take something, but Mac was determined to bring it all into the house in one go. Edward locked the truck, and after careful instruction from Mac, which involved awkwardly reaching into Mac’s jacket pocket to retrieve the keys, opened the door to the house.

Taking his boots off, Edward glanced into the living room and frowned. It was a rather sparse room.

Mac had moved ahead to lazily dump the bags down in the nearest location, rubbing his arms.

“Mac… do you live in the basement or something?”

“No. I rents that out.”

Edward looked again at the living room. A space with bare wood floor where huddled in a corner sat one lamp, a worn-out bean bag chair covered in duct tape, gaming consoles and a very large television.  There was an overflowing ashtray beside the bean bag, and if he looked hard enough he could see some of the foam peanuts leaking out of the bag.

There was nothing else.

“Where’s your furniture?”

“You blind or wha’? It’s all there.” Mac gestured to the bean bag chair.

“Do you ever have guests?”

“Sometimes – but ye knows holdin’ a kitchen party ye jus’ needs takeout and alcohol.”

Edward made a ‘hmm’ing sound as he shifted his bag. “Well, you can show me where I’m supposed to sleep at least.”

“Sure thing, though now I’m realizing maybe should have got you a blanket or something,” Mac laughed. Edward laughed as well, as he was lead to the guest room.

The laughing stopped.

Before his eyes, was a room yes. In the room? For guests?

In the middle of the floor lay the saddest mattress on the ground. No box spring, no pillow. No duvet.

Simply something that looked like it should have been burnt in the last century.

Attempting to keep his shit together (for Edward knew that while Mac was a competent man, he also needed to be handled in the right way), he asked in a high pitched voice,

“So… am I supposed to sleep in here, or?”

Mac frowned, “Guess it’s not ideal, didn’t really think this through eh?”

Looking at the other man’s profile, Edward let out a breath, “We can make this work, though, I think tonight it might be too late to get me a place to sleep.”

Inwardly he screamed, when we went to Costco you could have said I would need to buy fucking pillows! A duvet! An entire bed! Instead you encouraged me to get more mustard pretzels!!

“Hell we can just share my bed, it’s big enough.”

Raising his eyebrow, and not quite looking at the other man, Edward attempted to joke, “You sure? You might get gay cooties.”

In response Mac slung his arm around Edward’s shoulders and firmly squished him into his warm side, “Chuck, if I’s a gay that would have been apparent years ago. I’s not worried ‘bout that.”

“Years ago?” Edward questioned, peering up at Mac’s amused expression. His internal screaming monologue quelled for the moment.

Giving him a reassuring squeeze, Mac let him go and cryptically replied, “This ain’t a place bustling with women in case ye haven’t noticed.”

“Maaaac… are you saying you’ve been experimenting?” Edward slowly asked, feeling somewhat delighted and surprised.

“Chucky, just cuz I ain’t a big city slicker don’t mean I don’t leave the house and sees people and does stuff, and I’ve realized that I am for sure not going to be worrying about turning homo.”

“Alright then buster… we can drop my stuff in your room and make some food.”

Mac was silent on the way to his room - which unsurprisingly smelt like sweat and something else.

This room had more stuff in it at least, Edward thought. He looked at the bed – simply a mattress on top of a box spring on the floor with what he supposed was the head pushed up against the wall. He knew he should probably count himself lucky that the box spring even existed in this scenario. The bed was messy and unmade, and he could just make out the forms of crushed potato chips amongst the black sheets.

Directly above the bed was a poster of a lady in a bikini, and then on the walls were scattered posters of other ladies, Oilers stuff, and the odd truck poster.

Clothes overflowed from the dresser, balled up tissues propagated on the floor, hiding in the green shag carpet. Edward’s gaze returned to linger to the bed.

“Uh, when was the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Ye change ‘em?”

“…Do you have some like, fresh bedsheets, Mac?”

Mac shrugged, “Maybe? I dunno. Maybe in the cupboard.”

Maybe? Maybe? Was Mac’s plan to share the bed all along? Mac? How the hell did he live like this?!

Edward frowned, attempting to figure out if he cared for the night. He was tired, they both were tired. He had slept in worse locations. He knew when there were times to fight, he also knew when it was time to eat.

“Let’s eat.”

Edward attempted to keep his trepidation at bay. It was as if this house wasn’t actually lived in. Simply a place for Mac to play games and pass out. A house – not a home.

Mac had said kitchen parties but… the stove still had plastic wrap on it. He was not sure what to expect when it came to the cupboards. He opened one and saw an open package of cookies, the plastic tray slightly hanging out of the bag, and on further inspection, only one broken cookie left. Squinting at the bag, Edward realized the cookie had expired over a year ago. The cupboard beside that one was empty.

The next cupboard contained one bowl, one mug, and one plate.

His next step had his foot stick to the floor, his hand fumbling on the next cupboard.

“Oh I calls that the fly trap.”

“What?”

Mac gestured to the sticky patch on the floor, “Keeps meaning to clean it up but ye know, easier to just not step in it.”

“Mac…” Edward sighed, as he opened the next cupboard, and was relieved that it contained some packs of ramen.

He opened a drawer and found it crammed with odd bits of silverware, free floating in the drawer, a divider nowhere in sight. He could discern a sharp knife, a wooden spoon, two forks, a butter knife and three spoons. And what possibly might be a cheese grater buried at the bottom of it all. There also happened to be about six different types of novelty beer openers.  The drawer beneath that contained cedar planks, hot dog buns, a long lighter, a metal spatula, and those tiny condiments you get from take out.

“That’s the barbeque drawer.” Mac offered in explanation.

One of the cupboards under the sink was crammed full of fishing supplies. Edward dearly hoped that the locked metal container did not contain fish bait. He did not open to find out.

With slight trepidation Edward opened the refrigerator.

On the top shelf, was an open can of peaches with a fork stuck into it. It stood in the middle of the top shelf like a sculpture – a sculpture that smelled. In the door was some open juice, pickled radishes, mustard, ketchup, relish and hot sauce. Edward could deal with this, indeed he had dealt with far worse before when it came to mysterious refrigerator contents.

Opening the freezer Edward let out a cry of surprise. Neatly stacked, packaged and dated was various cuts of meat that Mac had hunted.

Is this what he spent all his time doing? Edward mentally grumbled, expend all the energy to make sure you ate the meat in the right order?

Beside the meat was an assortment of frozen dinners crammed around a tub of ice cream, one of them nearly bent in half, and Edward did not want to spend too much thought as to how Mac had managed that.

He opened the door of what he supposed was going to be the pantry. He expected to find at least a potato or something, but instead it was full of neatly arranged video games on the shelves, and a few gaming consoles tucked into a corner. On the floor was a half full box of whippets.

His eyes scanned the pantry still searching and not finding.

There was something missing though. Sure there was a bowl and stuff, but what the hell did Mac cook his food in? Ramen existed, the one mug was not large enough to cook it. Did Mac just eat it raw like some moody teenager?

“Mac. Where’s your pots and pans?” Edward turned to ask the other man, who was leaning against the counter simply staring at him with amusement.

In answer he shifted and in the corner of the counter was a small silver pot. By itself.

Edward had no words, as in a dream like state he crossed the room, deliberately ignoring the sticky bits of the floor, and went to examine this battered little pot.

“Mac… why do you have a pot with no handle?”

“Oh you knows it broke a while back haven’t gots the time to jus’ pop down to the store to get a new one, and its not like I needs it.” He shrugged, “It’s like my bowl too – I just make the noodles innit then I moves it to the counter on the little cork pot pad and eats straight outta it.”

Edward was not quite sure how to describe the sensation he was feeling as he looked at the fully grown man in front of him. How… how did Mac survive? How was this even life? Sure he thought himself as screwed up but Mac seemed to be existing on another level.

“Mac… do you just spend all your money on your truck and video games?”

“Beers, cocaine, darts and the prostitutes too.” He gamely added.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to the store to uh…” Edward frowned, struggling to find words, “Well, to at least get me my own fucking mug.”

At this Mac brightened, “I got you one! It’s in the pile of crap I brought in from Costco. Chuck – Chuck why are you crying!?”

Edward was laughing as well as crying, as he looked up at the other man, “Mac… I think you’re more fucked up than I am. Shit – you’re supposed to be the epitome of the ideal man—well paying job, a house, passably white, heterosexual – and here you are-” at this Edward’s voice had raised in pitch as he held the pot, “using a pot with no handle! YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A FRYING PAN.”

“Don’t need it on the barbeque.”

Edward choked slightly at that response.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to Canadian Tire and I swear to god, I may be a fucking mess, but I at least know how to get a pot with a handle on it for you.”

A small smile graced the other man’s lips, “So’s did ya decide what ya wanna eat for dinner?”

“A microwave dinner.”

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll get it made then?”

Edward snorted. “Comfortable where? You don’t even have a kitchen table or chair.”

“Uh,” Mac’s ears turned red, his words apparently escaping him, his hands fumbling slightly with the microwave dinner packaging.

Realizing his tone was probably a little too harsh, Edward attempted to settle against the counter, “I’m fine standing here I guess.”

Mac nodded and stuck the meals into the microwave (which Edward pointedly did not look into, he feared for his life and decided that in this case ignorance was his friend.) For a man of money Mac didn’t have a lot of appliances, hell he didn’t even have a kettle or a toaster.

“What do you usually eat?” he asked, his voice slightly louder than necessary to be heard over the hum of the microwave.

Mac looked slightly ashamed, “Oh takeout, or I just go to my favourite restaurant or pub. I mean it’s not like being home is a place I’m at too much – spend most of my time up at the camps. They feed ye well there. Sometimes its just easier being at work. Don’t need to worry about nothing. Just get the job done.”

Breathing deeply, Edward nodded, “That sounds nice. No need to think, just work.”

“Which is why you’re up here.” Mac grabbed the meals out of the microwave, and they ate their respective meals standing in the kitchen in companionable silence.

Together they unpacked the groceries, Edward already attempting to bring some sort of order to the cupboards. Satisfied that there was some sort of start, he grabbed his toiletries and made his way to the washroom. Flicking on the light, his life flashed before his eyes.

He wasn’t sure where to start first. The dried pee puddles by the toilet, of a man who didn’t care if he missed? (Granted, he had been specifically trained by a VERY grouchy Edith to NEVER EVER make a mess like that.) The ragged shower curtain? The suspicious black mold in the bathtub, or the sink? It was as if Mac was simply a boy in a man’s body, with no one around to teach him about the joys of bleach. As he carefully shuffled into the washroom, mentally informing himself that all he needed to focus upon was getting himself suitable for bed, Edward looked at himself in the mirror splotched with water and tooth paste. His mind whirring to who possibly would be the person to take Mac to the side to teach him the basics of cleaning. Johnny B’y? Freddy? While they were capable men in their own rights, Edward wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to Mac to inform him what a mop was. Johnny B’y was rather outspoken, and Edward felt if he had visited there would be loud words… a thought crossed his mind. A rather unpleasant one.

Mac had mentioned kitchen parties, but the place really did feel unlived in. Sure there was empty beer cans, but there wasn’t any signs that the Atlantic coasters had dropped by. No off-brand screech, none of their specialty favourite foods… – hell he had Johnny B’y stop by for a short visit and he was finding random Purity brand items months later. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that a Newfoundlander would bring food from home with them. There was no evidence of that.  Mac was lying, came his conclusion.

Spitting into the sink, and cupping water to his mouth, Edward swished the toothpaste out, and then cleaned his toothbrush.

Not trusting to leave his toiletries overnight in this washroom, Edward packed them up.  As he went to turn off the light he cringed. Like the other light switches in the house, which he suspected were supposed to be white, this was a dark grey of grime. Things he hadn’t thought about cleaning were dirty – such as the edges of corners where one brushed up. He was fairly certain Mac had never thought about washing a wall. Or perhaps not tossing his dirty coveralls on the floor. Like a little boy with free reign of a house and no mother to nag after him.

Oh god, Edward panicked, am I the mother?

He was glad he had had the two to three beers. No one wanted to be sober entering Mac’s bedroom.

Mac had scrubbed his teeth before, and was already in bed, snoring lightly. Edward decided to keep his thought to himself, and try to sleep himself. As his hand brushed against something in the bed, that was not attached to Mac, and which was not a pillow, Edward concluded, maybe acting as the surrogate mother was not a bad thing.

XXXX

Entering Canadian Tire was like entering a holy cathedral, Edward thought, breathing the tire smell in deeply. Wherever you went Canadian Tire had the same smell, the same atmosphere, the same lighting that wasn’t overbearing, but instead felt like entering a sacred space. Directing Mac to the shopping cart, Edward lead the way to the main aisle which held the string of palettes in the middle of the floor, the first one piled up with boxes of sale Christmas decorations.  Ignoring the temptations, he looked around, torn between kitchen appliances and decent fucking bedding.

He was trying to block last night. Or this morning. Time had ceased to mean anything to him. Dinner had been alright, he was aghast that Mac wanted to use the dishwasher for all two forks. He asked where the liquid detergent was and from the shifty look on Mac’s face he realized that it didn’t exist. Unbidden to his mind was the memory of the bed. The foul smell. The fact that he had found a half eaten kubasa amongst the potato chips. There was even some marijuana hidden under the pillow. And then god, Mac’s snoring. Edward too afraid to move in the bed, in fear his foot would strike a crusty cum sock.

He was tired as hell, but simply being in the Canadian Tire was reviving him. His mind began clicking in place, as he headed to the kitchen appliances, it was the closest to them. Pots and pans gleamed on display, like holy implements of cookery. He stared at them hard, calculating the best costs, seeing what was on sale, what would be the easiest for Mac to maintain.

“You’re getting this set.” Edward pointed to a boxset of copper pots and pans. “And that cast iron skillet.” Edward bent down to lift the heavy boxset, grunting in effort. It was heavier than he thought.

“Chuck, stop.”

“Mac! You need pots with handles on them!” Edward grunted as he crab walked the box towards the shopping cart.

The box was suddenly lifted out of his arms, as Mac rolled his eyes, and easily placed it into the cart. “I’ll get the stuff, you point.”

“Oh.” A soft ‘oh’, a look of consideration, then, “Hmm am I supposed to be your…” Edward leant close to Mac to whisper this conspiratorially, “gay makeover?”

Mac snorted, “No, you’re supposed to help me get my shit together because the last time I was in charge of a home it was made out of animal hide.”

“Right.” Edward nibbled his lip as they navigated the maze of the kitchen area away from the pots and pans to the beverage accessories. “So… No one’s actually shown you how to housekeep?”

“Keep a house?”

“I mean all the nonsense like how to clean, and the types of comforts you don’t realize you need but when you have it you wonder how you lived without it before.”

“Like you know – having the double shower curtain, so the water doesn’t get out.”

“The double what now?”

“You’ll understand that particular one soon enough. I mean why didn’t you even bother to hire a cleaner?”

“No need to. Mess doesn’t bother me, not like anyone else comes to visit.” Mac’s words trailed off and he shot Edward a nervous quick glance as if he realized what he had just said.

Sensing the nervousness, Edward decided to let it slide. If Mac wanted to elaborate later, he could. “Well we need to make sure you get a kettle then. If there’s no tea in sight when the rest of the guys come over you know you’ll be in trouble.” They were standing in front of a selection of them, and he pointed towards a cordless kettle which was on sale.

“You’re right there. No need to be microwaving the mug.” Mac laughed as he grabbed the kettle carefully slotting it in beside the box of pots and pans.

They had moved out of the kitchen appliances to the aisle full of various cleaners. Rows upon rows of choices, each cleaner singing out their own praises in order to tempt the customer. Edward had to debate between sale and what he knew worked. He looked over to Mac, who was staring a little too hard at some Pledge, his brow slightly furrowed. Best not try new things, best stick to what he knew would work.

His hands darted out as he grabbed two different types of the same cleaner, “Do you care about smell?”

“Uh,” Mac was broken out of his reverie, looking at the choices before him. “Whatever you like Chuck.”

“Uh huhhh,” Edward decided to get both, handing the cleaners over to Mac, who neatly slid them into the cart, maximizing the space.

They had reached a section with discounted patio furniture, and Edward paused thoughtfully.

“Chuck it’s not the season for patios.”

“I know but… it’s on sale…” he nibbled his lower lip, and then moved towards a wicker chair with a cushion and sat in it. “Come try.”

Frowning slightly but in an action of trust, Mac sat down in an identical chair.

Wriggling, Edward let his head fall back, “I think this at least beats sitting on a beanbag with the beans falling out.”

“Hey! I’ll have ye know I’ve had that bag since like 1990! I’ve drug it around faithfully for over a decade, it’s my favourite chair!”

“It may be your favourite chair, but do you REALLY want to be playing Call of Duty with me snuggled half on your thigh as we try to share it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mac stuck his tongue out. “Who says I have a second controller?”

“The one I literally saw in a heap on the floor?”

“Aw shit ye got me there.” Mac stretched out his legs, “I guess we could get one.”

“And that.”

“What?”

Edward was pointing to some sort of wicker loveseat. It was a different stain from the chair, not a matching set.

“Why?”

“So other people can sit their assess down somewhere.” Edward simply replied. He was looking around, wondering where the hell an attendant could be.

“Chucky, trying to find a Canadian Tire employee in the actual goddam store is like tryin’ to get a blow job for free from a hooker, not gonna happen.”  

Except that Edward had sprung up from the seat and was halfway down the aisle, talking animatedly with an attendant, who nodded and disappeared.

Mac had no clue what was happening, until the attendant appeared with a flat dolly to load the patio furniture.

“I’ll have it by the front for when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

Looking pleased as punch, Edward winked at Mac. “And let’s just say I’ve gotten a few freebies in my past.”

Jaw hanging open, Mac sputtered, and then laughed as he stood up. “Geezus.”  His hands were back on the handle of the shopping cart, “Where to next, Chucky?”

“Uh bedding so I can sleep in a bed without half a pantry in it.” Edward teased.

“Hey kubasa is cured, it can keep.”

“Uh not for like a week in a bed!” Edward walked just fast enough to be outside of any chance of Mac jostling him. He hadn’t realized Mac had stopped, until he was about a few aisles down. A small surge of worry filled him as he wondered if he had gone too far.

Mac’s expression was hard to read; as he approached, he followed the man’s gaze. To his surprise it was at the paint chips.

“Mac?”

“Chuck… would it be weird to paint the living room?”

“Huh?” This was not at all what Edward expected.

Flushing slightly, Mac said, “I likes how your house is with the colours, but I don’t know how to goes about it.”

Gathering himself out of his shock, Edward nodded. “Sure… well we go look at paint chips and figure out colours…” he pulled a set of grey to black “Black walls? Express your true bituminous self?” he asked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Holy fuck no, I stare at that shit all day at work, there is no friggin’ way I’m gonna be havin’ my living room be that colour!” Mac exclaimed as he aggressively moved past Edward, paused at the rainbow of colours and then plucked out a couple sheets in the yellow and orange range. “Give me the fucking sun all year round thank you very much.”

“But Mac! Look at these wonderful colours!” Edward managed to get out, stifling his giggles as Mac’s eyes registered the different chips in neon green, baby puke brown, and some sort of blinding hot pink.

“Ye must be nuts,” Mac snorted, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he was considering, “But maybe that shit brown could be a nice accent colour to…” he looked at the paint chips in his hands, concentrating, then nodded, “This soft buttercup yellow.”

“Ohh actually that’s a nice colour, I think we probably shouldn’t match it with shit brown.” Edward placed the rejected colours back, and after a moment, grabbed a sheet of various shades of white, “We could accent it with this eggshell? Unless you want to be bold with some soft light blue?”

“Blue’s getting a little out there but show me anyway.”

Taking a minute, Edward looked at all the light blues, before drawing three different cards, and holding them in turn next to the buttercup yellow. “This one – soft turquoise.”

Mac took the blue paint chip, and held it with the yellow, staring quietly for a long time. Long enough that Edward began to feel awkward standing there, waiting for his reply. Had he gone a little too off the deep end with the blue?

Mac’s gaze shifted from the paint chips to meet Edward’s eyes, and for an excruciating ten seconds simply held it. “Yeah sure, why the fuck not? Sun needs the sky, don’t it?”

The breath he hadn’t even known he was holding was let go, a broad smile breaking across Edward’s face. “Sure as hell does.”

Somehow, even though it was stupid, Edward felt like the stones he had been carrying around were being lifted, somehow being placed into that damned shopping cart between the kettle and the freshly mixed paint. Absolved of all his sins, as he joked with Mac, reminding himself that perhaps not everything had gone to hell since the New Years. That maybe there were other aspects of his life that were worthwhile, worth building. Worth using the stones he carried around to create a new base.

By the time they reach the till, Edward was pushing a second cart full of ‘essentials’, their banter loud and boisterous, their feet moving in a slight competition as to who could reach the till first. The bill is something Edward doesn’t want to know, but Mac doesn’t mind paying it. He jokes with the cashier, that his cousin is helping him get set up in life – help him get the chicks.

In a way he was looking forward to cleaning and painting and making the house a home together with Mac. Spending the time he never seemed to have before, with someone he feels (with some guilt) he may have been neglecting.

As they made their way out to the parking lot, snow crunching under the wheels of the cart, the gun grey sky dark with the weak sun, Edward took a deep breath in, allowing the tensions to release out of him. They loaded the truck together, carefully puzzling the furniture, trying to arrange all the cleaning products and shiny new kitchen items in the back seat. As Edward attempted to balance something, Mac frowned.

“Chuck, no, what the hell are you doing. Step back and let the master work.”

Before his eyes, he watched as Mac re-shifted everything, moving the packages and different shapes together in a nice tight satisfying puzzle. Somehow everything fit. Noticing Edward’s admiring look, Mac’s ears turned slightly red, “Probably spendin’ too much time on Tetris.”

“I’d say just enough time.”

As he returned the carts to the outdoor corral, Edward realized that maybe Mac had done him a favour. His concern and intolerance of the other man’s lifestyle had consumed his worries and fears about the future. It had given him a project, something with tangible goals to accomplish. A purpose in life. Turn Mac’s house into a home, a place that was no longer a place of transience.  But it wasn’t only that. It was Mac shifting his life, wiggling a piece out there, putting a new one there, providing Edward with a fundamental shift in his self-flagellation.