Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  The hostess at the restaurant takes my umbrella and places it in the holder. There goes another one; I’m not going to remember it on our way out.

  “Would you like your table on the terrace?” Her chirpy voice points to the open side of the restaurant that’s covered with glass walls. “How many in your party?”

  I scan the restaurant and spot them immediately, “Don’t worry, I’m here with my parents.”

  I rush to where they sit. They are deep in conversation, holding hands, and looking into each other’s eyes as if they are the only two people in the room. Gabe’s intense blue eyes focus on whatever Chris is saying, and his lips curl all the way up to his eyes.

  So romantic!

  Other than my grandparents, who have been together for eons, I’ve never seen two people so in love and after so many years—almost twenty-eight. And to think last year they called it quits. Silly men. They are a match made in heaven.

  Not many approve of their union. Mostly women who consider them a waste now that they are not only married, but also bisexual. A little detail they hid for years, until now. The press speculated for the first few months. They’ve had some fun running fake stories about my parents, their past and their future. Like having an affair with other couples back in the eighties; Abby Ritz, Gabe’s ex, being a beard. Chris sleeping with David Bowie—scandalous. And, of course, the typical men and women who have come forward saying they’ve slept with them to gain a few minutes of fame. Neither of my parents confirmed or denied the allegations. It didn’t matter to them what the press said, as long as it didn’t affect us as a family. They keep their lives to themselves, but they no longer hide who they are—or us.

  “Daddy,” I greet Gabe as I approach the table, then repeat with Chris, “Hey, Papi.”

  “Do you want to order some breakfast, sweetheart?” Dad asks, pouring a glass of orange juice and setting it on the empty space. “It’s fresh.”

  They had invited me to have breakfast with them. However, I decided to save me the trouble and ate at home. I have type-one diabetes and it’s a pain to go through the menu of any restaurant, count calories, and explain to the server what particular changes I’d like. It’s easier to fix something at home and go on with life.

  “No, thank you,” I tell Gabe, as he stands up to pull out my chair. “It’s always easier for me to whip something up at home—plus I had to leave some nourishment for your sons. How was your trip?”

  “The house is looking great, and we have a special room for each of you three.” Chris squeezes my hand while explaining the rooms. I’m sure my brothers won’t care much about it, but it’s awesome to know they thought of us. “You get Gabe’s old room.”

  He smiles at me, and I melt at the thought he remembered that it had become my favorite. It’s the closest to the ocean view—well, their room is the one with the best view, but I can live with the second best.

  “We missed you, baby girl,” Papi adds with an easy smile. “However, the contractor had a better time without you bossing him and his people around.”

  I grin. They’ve had this contractor for years. The same guy and his crew renovated the house I bought a couple of months ago. It was a step I decided to take while on tour with my brothers. As we arrived from our last leg in South America, I bought a house in Northeast Seattle close to my brother’s penthouse. A cute, four-bedroom brick Tudor house with an office and a basement, where I have a media room for my brothers and a music room for myself.

  The house is one of the parts that constitute my future—now my present. I also rent a small building across the street from Christian’s recording studio. I’m opening a music school to compliment my income as a teacher and to do one of the things I love the most: teach children to love music, and to play it, of course. My brothers and Chris are donating some of their time to teach, as well.

  As part of their ‘to do list’ for this trip, my parents are buying a house close to mine—next door. They’re closing on it later today. Their plan is to stay a few months here, a few others in Santa Barbara, and the rest at the family compound.

  “How’s the remodeling of the school going?” Christian asks.

  “It’s going according to schedule. They promised that everything will be ready by the end of May. If not, we won’t be able to start classes.” The contractor had said maybe a day or two before Memorial Day weekend. “The instruments are set to arrive the last week of May, and so is the furniture.”

  “JC mentioned the classes for the summer session are almost full.” Gabe wipes his mouth and sets down his silverware, then gives me his business-like, flat stare. “It’ll be profitable if you add more weeks. Or are you only sticking with a few weeks in June?”

  Of course, he had talked to my brother about it. Those two are the financial gurus of the house. MJ and I don’t care much about investments, business, or any of that shit. We tend to lean to the artistic side of the family, unlike JC, who is my father’s clone when it comes to money. He handles my music royalties since we went into business together.

  “Maybe we’ll add a couple at the end of July or the beginning of August?” I wasn’t sure; I only hired teachers for the first three weeks in June since our family had vacation plans for the two weeks after that. We’re heading to Baja. JC suggested we add some hours during the summer, but I said no way. MJ agreed with me. That’s the cool thing about being a triplet. Two of us usually gang up against the other. We’re a democracy - a democracy often led by JC, but I’m glad that, for once, I won.

  “Do you two have plans for the summer?” I drink some of my juice. “Other than the family vacation?”

  “I’m directing a movie in Vancouver,” Gabe responds. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I’m sticking with my man,” Chris adds, squeezing Gabe’s hand and kissing it. “He got me a part. You can say that I got the part because I’m sleeping with the director.”

  Papi is a silly guy.

  “No. I told you that you’re not playing any part, babe.” Gabe cuts his laugh then gives him a flirty wink with a side smirk. “Your job will be to stay in my office for when I need you.”

  “Oh God, please don’t start with those sexual innuendos,” I beg them. “I don’t need to witness any PDAs or listen to this kind of talk. Never specifics. Parenting 101, never let your children know that you two have sex. That will ruin their lives—my life.”

  MJ is scarred for life. He heard them having sex in the kitchen as he was about to enter. Who has sex outside their bedroom when their children are around? At least he gave us the good news that our parents had finally reconciled.

  “Good for them,” Mason, who spent Thanksgiving with us, said when MJ recounted the situation. “When I turn sixty-something,” Mason continued, “I’d like to still have the stamina and the partner to have sex with wherever and whenever.”

  “Not when your children are around, though.” I campaigned in favor of those non-existent creatures.

  “Anywhere.” He winked at me. “Friends’ homes, family homes… anyone’s home. My in-law’s house included.”

  Ooh, a daredevil.

  “Well, you have sex inside that head twenty-four-seven; I can see that in your case,” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

  MJ’s just thankful that our parents weren’t in the middle of the hallway or somewhere more visible. However, he wants to have his brain removed to forget the grunting he heard before jetting out of the scene. I have no idea what noises he actually heard since JC and I forbade him to ever mention it again. One scarred child is enough.

  Ah, Mason. After we had shared the entire week of Thanksgiving together, he went back to his fortress, cave, hideout, wherever he exists when he’s not around. We text e-junk, but that’s the extent of our communication. Merry Christmas, Happy Valentine’s, Happy Halloween, and Happy New Year were the only factual words we’ve exchanged for the past year or so. Brushing aside Mason, his kiss that restarted my heart and his disappearance, I go back t
o my parents.

  “So, you’re done working on your marriage?”

  “What?” Chris chokes. “No, why? Marriage is a work in progress.” Chris takes on his philosophical voice. “You keep investing time, love, and effort or the ship sinks. Talking about that, did you receive my email with the list of therapists?”

  “Yes, thank you Papi, for the recommendations.” He works fast. I only requested that last night.

  “I’m glad you asked, Ainse.” He side glances at Gabe, who nods. Their eyes now land on me, and I’m not liking it.

  “Porter contacted me last week.” Chris brings my ex into the conversation in such an abrupt manner that my heart has trouble regulating its beat. “Sadly, I had to tell him that we forgive him, but we can’t take him back into the family. If he calls you, let us know. He shouldn’t, but…”

  I bet the conversation with Porter was different, but I don’t ask what actually happened. “You two shouldn’t worry, I can take care of myself,” I assure them. “Now that you’re done eating, how about if we head to the store? Let’s furnish that new house of yours.”

  “See, I told you that having a girl would come in handy.” Gabe signals the waitress and asks for the check. “We have our own decorator-cook-designer all in one.”

  “Sexist much?” My eyes close half-mast and I growl, but the three of us laugh. I’m aware he’s kidding. It eases the knots formed in my back I didn’t realize I had. Hearing from Porter isn’t easy, and my strength hasn’t been put to test. At this moment, I have no idea how I’ll react when I see him. I have no clue if I’ll break or succumb to the new and improved Porter Kendrick.

  Let it go, he might never appear again. I lie to myself.

  “Finally home.” Kowalski plops himself on the chair in front of my desk. “One more day without my bed and I think I’d die.”

  We’ve arrived from dropping the irresponsible college idiots in California. Their parents bustled over them after the strenuous ordeal they went through. I remained quiet because the urgency to tell them that they were a bunch of harebrained nitwits would not be the best for the business side of my company. Then they called us heroes. We aren’t heroes. For this operation, we had become glorified babysitters who had to break some laws, do some killing to get the job done, and probably made a few new enemies while we were at it. All of the above happened because of their irresponsibility.

  “The wife’s going to be happy,” Kowalski comments while browsing the latest catalog of alarm systems that is about to go out in print for the residential side of the business. “We didn’t stall for long this time.”

  I shrug because there have been times when I say we’ll be gone for six months, and I extend the trip for another month or two. Not this time. They are lucky I was in the mood to come back home and check on things.

  “You might want to head out then.” My finger signals the door. “She won’t be happy until you’re actually home¸ dumbass.”

  I silently sulk for a few moments and clutch the mouse tightly.

  Lucky bastard.

  There’s a part of me that envies him as he’s going to a house, a real bed, and a warm body to hold during the night. Unlike the room behind my office which has a cot for a bed and … there’s nobody to warm me. The few times I have access to a real bed while in Seattle is either when I stay at a hotel or when I crash at the Decker’s penthouse. Holding someone at night is out of the question. Been there, done that, it wasn’t that great and I wasted precious years of my life. Nothing I plan to repeat.

  Bradley: Plans for tonight?

  JCDecker: I can make some.

  MJDecker: I don’t want to go out tonight—bad cold.

  Bradley: I have a new prototype game if you’re interested.

  MJDecker: Game on, meet you at the penthouse.

  JCDecker: We’ll be there after six, the ‘rents are in town.

  Ugh, my head hurts and my back stiffens at the thought of my father being in town due to their parents visit.

  “Booty call?” Kowalski questions.

  “Nah, I don’t do those.” I open my email.

  “You should at least have that,” he suggests. I dart a dirty look his way. “Your temper might soften.”

  Even those can become complicated—booty calls. You give them more than one fuck and their heads are already knitting a charming story of how the courtship will happen, then the wedding, and don’t forget the children. I won’t be fucked into some relationship that is only an illusion. The most any woman will get from me is two hours of hot and sweaty sex.

  The rules. My rules are simple: no dates, no more than two hours together, we don’t go to each other’s places, no more than a name, no cuddling, and no phone exchange. The only yes in my list of rules is to condoms—always use those.

  “Go home to that beautiful wife of yours.” I snatch the catalog from him using too much force, but I want him gone before he circles back to the girl conversation. “We might have some field work soon.”

  My attention goes back to my computer monitor. My email, specifically. I’m scanning for the next gig. The subjects that matter most are the building of an underground vault, upgrading the security system of a museum, and hacking a system to test the firewalls. I love that part of my job. Among all the shit my assistant sent, there’s the confirmation of our payment for rescuing the brats.

  “Find yourself a hobby, Bradley.” I look up at Kowalski, who stands close to the door. “Staying a few weeks in the same place isn’t a crime—it might be good for your health. Think about a getting a girl, too. Nine is pretty.”

  No, not pretty—stunning, I want to correct him. Instead, I stay quiet. We’re great friends and nothing more. I’d bet my entire company that she wouldn’t like my rules. No, she doesn’t deserve my rules. Ainse needs dates, cuddling, an entire lifetime with a guy who’ll treat her right. Plus, we exchanged numbers long ago; that makes her ineligible.

  She’s out of the running for the next quick fuck.

  For once, I change my routine and don’t choose the next mission—I’ll wait until tomorrow. Rested, I’ll make a better choice.

  Of course, when I turn off the lights in the office, my phone rings—Dad. My mind can’t come up with a good excuse to ignore the call, but I hope I can come up with one to make it quick.

  “Hey, Dad,” I answer the call while locking the door and setting the alarm code on the keypad above the handle—a measure I take to avoid intruders. Then I head to the staircase. Fifteen floors will loosen up my knotted muscles. The flight didn’t agree with me this time.

  “What can I do for you?” I stupidly ask and come to a halt.

  “No, erase that; you used all your favors for the year,” I correct before he sends me to yet another stupid rescue or to install an alarm for some shitty celebrity. “How are you, Dad?”

  “A friend of mine needs a new security crew; he’s thinking about hiring a third party. Also, he’s shopping for a new alarm system,” he explains, ignoring the part where I said I was done doing favors. “It’s here in Seattle.”

  Unfuckingbelievable.

  “Text me the info, Dad.” I don’t fight the inevitable; why waste energy? “But you know, Dad, you’re the one who specializes in crews and bodyguards.”

  “Yes, but I’m not as young as I used to be.” He makes it sound as if he had been born in the year that only our Lord knows.

  “One day you’ll take over the family business.” Those words weigh on my chest.

  Dad went from Ranger to bodyguard, to head of security, and then started a company that provided security personnel to high profile celebrities, events, and other relevant organizations. Not a venture I want to take on.

  “Your mother called,” he adds to the pile of crap he’s stacking on top of me. “She hasn’t heard from you since Thanksgiving.”

  “I called her during Christmas and New Year’s Day, Dad,” I correct him. “I’ll make sure to give her a holler when I can. Dad, I’m about to hop in m
y car. If the conversation fails, I’ll call you later.” I cut him. Such an asshole move, but once he mentions my mother, things always go downhill. For having such a shitty relationship between them, he defends her way too much—because he still loves her. I love Mom, she has great moments, but her nagging makes me want to shoot myself and go into a prolonged coma just to avoid her.

  “Find a nice girl, buy a house, get a safer job, and give me grandchildren,” she drills on me constantly. No way will I do any of them. Well, a house maybe, but that’d be my only compromise. The rest are a big no. No girl, no job changes, and a kid is the last thing I want.

  It doesn’t take me long to arrive at the corner of Main and Third Avenue. The doorman takes my car keys, and I head up to the Decker’s penthouse.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I howl while making my way inside.

  At least I think this is their shithole. The key they gave me works and the furniture is the same. Black couches, black furniture, and hardwood floors. However, there’s not one piece of trash, clothing, or debris lingering around like usual. I scratch my head and pass the living room, heading to the game room. The instruments are in their place. There’s nothing on top of the piano, and I want to call some agency dedicated to the supernatural to report the abduction of my friends. JC and MJ Decker don’t understand the concept of a trashcan or picking up after themselves. This is clean—an unknown word to both of them.

  The game room is upstairs, an almost two hundred square feet man cave that has a wall-to-wall screen, video consoles, old arcade machines, and other shit they like to play while they have their down time. Like the rest of the house, it is clean.

  “Dude, what happened to six?” MJ’s nasally voice is heard before I spot him on one of the recliners as I climb the steel spiral stairs. “You’re late.”

  “A half hour shouldn’t change shit.” I pull out the disc from my jacket and throw it at him.

  “Cool, which console can we play it with?”

  “Use the one I made.” I point to the Frankenstein I reproduced and head to the mini-bar for one of my beers. The small fridge, which usually holds plenty of beer, now only contains water bottles and the usual Corona. Not one of my Cherry Wheat Samuel Adams is to be found.