by Kira Barker
His voice had started to pick up in pitch toward the end, and he made a comically crunched-up face.
“I know this sounds terrible, but I just can’t—“
That’s when I leaned in and kissed him, brushing my tongue against his gently before deepening the kiss. He resisted for maybe a second, but then gave in. After the evening we’d had, I thought we both needed the distraction—and it felt so good to just act rather than continue to wade through the emotionally grueling mire of our issues.
Before long, he flipped both of us over, now perched above me, one hand hot against the bare skin of my side as he pushed my shirt up. I arched into the contact, wanting more, but I didn’t protest when he stopped there, and used that hand to roll me onto my side again so we lay facing each other.
“If you say something along the lines of we shouldn’t have sex until everything is resolved, I’ll scream,” I told him in no uncertain terms.
Simon smiled—his usual smile, if still a little sad and tired, but who could fault him for that—but didn’t let me goad him on. With Jack, I was sure that would have worked. Damn.
“Do you really want to have sex right now? Because, I for one, am tired and feel like I’ve been through the emotional meat grinder at least twice since you got home—the first time—tonight.”
“Nah, cuddling sounds good, too,” I had to agree, even if the horndog base of my brain was already protesting. “Or just lying here, next to you, knowing that things are looking a little brighter already.”
He gave me a quick kiss, then flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
“So where does that leave us now?”
“Does it matter? It’s not like we have to justify the existence of our relationship to anyone, or define it to the tiniest nuance.”
Simon snorted, knowing full well that my sarcastic wisecrack was aimed at what we’d have to deal with tomorrow.
“If you’re okay with that?”
“Always,” I insisted, and allowed myself to relax. “You know, neither of us will hold it against you if you kick us out for an hour or five. If you need your space, I mean. I’d go insane if I was locked inside the house all the time, but I get that being used to that and suddenly we’re always sitting on your lap, demanding attention, can be pretty draining.”
“It’s not that bad. Most of the time,” Simon replied, smiling as he sent me a sidelong glance. “And it’s not like I don’t get annoyed when you spend too much time together without me. Just, you know, maybe shift things a little?”
“Middle ground it is,” I agreed, kind of amused to see that he was fighting with similar demons as I was where balance was concerned. The world would have been so much easier if it was just black and white.
“But where does this leave us?” I wanted to know. “Next time we go upstairs. Or I’m trying to withdraw from you again.”
He shrugged, looking a lot less concerned than I felt.
“Now that I know why it happens, I can work on either stopping it from happening, or I’ll simply not let you run. I mean, what’s going to happen—we fight? Somehow I get the feeling that any and all steps forward that we take always come after we’ve torn each other’s stupid excuses away. Makes for a very healthy psyche, I’m sure.”
“Well, we still have Jack for that. Who’s not jealous or childishly needy or needs more or less attention, and whatnot.”
“Yeah, because he’s so perfect,” Simon griped, but I could see that he was fighting a smile.
“He’s putting up with us, so that’s something,” I suggested. “And he doesn’t eat all the pizza out of spite.”
Simon snorted, then reached over to the nightstand for his phone. “Speaking of which, I’m kind of hungry again. Didn’t eat anything all day because I kind of forgot. What do you want for toppings? The usual?”
“Oh, you know me so well,” I teased, then kissed him before I rolled off the bed on the other side. “I’ll wait in the living room for you? If, you know, you want a little more time to yourself that you don’t spend being unreasonably angry and frustrated?”
“Trust me, that anger and frustration was justified,” he responded, and seamlessly started rattling off our order as the pizza delivery place picked up. Smiling, I left him to finish the call and rejoined Jack in the living room.
“How did it go?” he asked, but a look at me was apparently enough to disband his lingering anxiety.
“Enlightening, as usual,” I replied dryly, sitting down on the couch next to him in my usual spot. “And Simon just ordered pizza.”
“Again?” Jack groaned.
“Yes, again, you ass. I haven’t had any yet. And if you don’t want it, no one’s forcing you to eat it. I’m sure there’s still something organic in the fridge that you can eat instead.”
“Meh, too lazy to get up,” Jack replied and snuggled up to me until I was sitting on his lap. Simon joined us a few minutes later, his hair partly wet from where he’d apparently been washing his face. He swung by the kitchen to pick up some beers, then put them on the coffee table before he sat down—on Jack’s other side, wedging himself between Jack and the arm rest at the end of the sofa. I glanced at him for a moment, but then scooted over until I sat on the other end, making a little more room. Jack seemed to wait for either of us to say something or make a fuss, but eventually relaxed when we both cozied up to him, pretty much linking arms over his stomach.
Some things would likely always stay the same—but with others, it was probably for the best that they were about to change.
Or so I thought, not expecting that only a couple of hours later I’d be ready to eat my own words.
Chapter 22
The next morning dawned bright and early, and the fact that I actually got to observe said dawn from the car was kind of depressing on the “still want to be in bed” scale. None of us had gotten a lot of sleep—not just because the pizza had only arrived just before 1 a.m.—but things hadn’t really quieted down much after that. At least I hadn’t been the only one too restless to fall asleep, tossing and turning for most of the remaining hours of the night—and, let me tell you, even a large bed could get damn confining with three people not lying still for more than a minute or two.
Because, hands down, I was the one best equipped to deal with sleep deprivation, I’d volunteered to drive the first stretch of road, leaving the city behind in its sleepy, early morning glory, while Jack was dozing in the passenger seat and Simon did whatever he did on his computer in the back. Writing, from what it sounded like. I felt carsick just thinking about doing that, but he looked fine.
It was shaping up to be a bright day, already warm enough to make me long for hitting a swimming pool or lake even though the sun was barely up. Then again, anything seemed preferable to facing our families right now. After last night, things were a little less rocky between us, but the very thought of putting pressure on those yet fragile bonds made me want to hurl. I knew that, rationally, I had nothing to fear, and Malory had sounded accepting enough, but my father’s silence weighed heavily on me.
We made great progress and only stopped once to get breakfast and switch drivers—Simon taking over from me while I banished Jack into the back row. We enjoyed our bagels, muffins, and coffee to go as the car continued to eat the miles, and way too soon Simon angled onto the road that Jack and my childhood homes were on, still looking like days rather than decades had passed since we’d chased each other round and round.
Most people get nostalgic when they return to where they grew up—the only thing I felt now was dread rising deep inside of me. I knew that it was likely a purely irrational fear—of being judged, of not conforming with the norm, of plain being different—and, after all, we were only staying until tomorrow, so even if things would get damn uncomfortable, in a little more than twenty-four hours I could leave it all behind me again… but somehow that didn’t help. At all.
Too soon, the car came to a halt in front of the white-painted house sittin
g next to another equally colored if somewhat slightly more run-down looking one. I could see that the curtains were new, as were the covers on the porch chairs. Emily liked to decorate. A lot.
“You know, if you head into this gnashing your teeth, it can only end badly,” Simon provided, sounding unnaturally calm about this.
“So if I just smile and hope for the best, karma won’t come sucker-punching me?” I suggested, blinking innocently at him.
Simon shook his head, still smiling slightly, but that smile got a little strained as he reached for his door handle. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. Likely, the worst that will happen are weird looks and tentative questions. Or, far more likely, complete lack of acknowledgment. I don’t think that my father has, so far, in any shape or form, reacted to the fact that I live in a polyamorous relationship. I don’t need his sanction but of course I would love to have his approval, but it’s his loss if he chooses to distance himself from me, not mine. You’re not really close with your family as it is, so, really, stop fretting. You already have Malory on your side, remember?”
His words sounded so logical, but I couldn’t help but feel like Simon completely underestimated what my family was capable of in the drama department.
Only one way to find out what would happen, though.
My anxiety surged up as I got out, and the moment my foot touched the ground, the front door of the house opened, revealing Emily and my father, with Jenny trailing behind them, looking like the epitome of a sulky teenage girl. One look at my stepmother’s unnaturally bright smile, and I knew that we were in trouble.
“He didn’t tell her,” I said, low enough that Jack next to me must have heard it, but it didn’t carry much farther than that.
“Or maybe she’s just overjoyed that you’ve finally found a man and she can stop worrying that you might have secretly converted to lesbianism?” Jack suggested, clearly amused by his words.
“Nah, she doesn’t know. I’m sure,” I insisted. “Wanna bet?”
By then, Simon had rounded the front of the car and stopped next to me, building a united front against what was coming for us. Judging from how my father practically glowered in our general direction once he made sure that his wife wouldn’t see it destroyed any illusions I’d had about this all going down in the most harmonious way possible.
“I think you might be right,” Simon replied when Jack didn’t quite muster the courage to take a losing bet. Whether he wanted to say more, I’d never know, because then Emily was upon us.
“I’m so glad you made it!” she chirped as she enveloped me in a brief hug, pecking my cheek.
“Hey,” I replied lamely, not because I didn’t like the show of affection, but because now my mind was in overdrive, trying to glean something from her words. “I called last night. Didn’t Richard tell you?” I didn’t normally refer to him by his given name, but she sounded positively surprised to see me—us—which made me guess my dad hadn’t talked to her at all.
“Oh, he must have forgotten in all the chaos,” she replied, still smiling, then went on to greet Jack with a similar hug. “You’re here, too! Your mom must be positively ecstatic!”
A lot suaver about these things than me, Jack was offering a genuine smile, although it grew a little lopsided at the mention of Malory.
“I hope so. She keeps telling me I never call enough. Typical mom stuff.”
“You know us, we can never get enough of our little munchkins!” Not only did Emily offer that with a smile and wink at me, but also a slightly suffering look back at where my little sister was still lurking on the porch, making me wonder what that was all about.
Instead of explaining, my stepmom then turned to Simon, still in good spirits but now with calculation factoring into her gaze. “And you must be Simon?”
I’d forgotten to ask him if they’d ever had a chance to talk the few times they'd met. I thought they might, vaguely remembering him mentioning something; it was the first time I’d brought him “home” with me, but considering we’d been close since our first semester in college, they might have crossed paths at my graduation.
“Nice to officially meet you, Emily,” he said a little stiffly, but that could have been my bias only. They shook hands, slightly formal, but he refrained from introducing himself further in any capacity, and when neither Jack nor I reacted at her eyeing us askance, I figured that was that. By then my dad had made it down from his perch on the porch, and while our embrace was a little strained, I hoped that was just me, projecting.
We were saved from any further weird moments—or I was, at least—when the door of the next house over opened, revealing Malory in all her smiling warmth and glory. A good decade older than Emily, she also looked it, thanks to the now more pronounced grey streaks in her blonde hair, the corners of her eyes crinkling with crow’s feet that no makeup had ever tried to hide. Worry stood in her eyes, but her warm smile was genuine, and I practically melted into her hug as she opened her arms to me. She didn’t say anything, but then she didn’t need to; unlike with the other two, with her I actually felt welcome and accepted where I was.
Once I let go—somewhat reluctantly—Jack got a similar treatment, including a kiss on the forehead that he had to stoop for so his mother could reach. Back in high school he had vehemently protested about being treated this way, but now he seemed glad to receive her blessing. And Simon got a similar hug, too, which seemed to take him aback for a second after the less than warm handshake he and my dad had shared. As if to compensate, Malory hugged him just a little longer, and murmured a low, “You better get used to this quickly,” that left him smiling faintly.
Looking around, I found Jenny still lurking, but she was right now having a staring match with her mother, and as if to defy her, she then marched over to me for a typical embarrassed-teenager kind of hug, which I of course had to worsen by tousling her long, strawberry blonde hair. She shrieked and protested loudly, making me grin all the harder.
“Stop it! You’re terrible! Why do you always have to do that?”
“Because I’m your older sister and I don’t have nearly enough time to annoy you, so I have to make it count when I am around.”
“I’m sixteen!” she protested, then winced, looking truly miserable for a moment.
“And terribly hungover, if I’m not completely mistaken,” I observed, still smiling but trying to tone it down. But on some level I couldn’t help but be proud. My little sister, even without my direct influence, was following in my footsteps.
Jack seemed to think along the same lines, because he was already chuckling as he came over and picked her up in a bear hug, treating her with that same kind of brotherly ignorance that he used to have around me. And still had, really, except for the, well, obvious changes.
“Hey, squirt,” he said as he let her down again, ignoring her feeble protest as she beat at his arms.
“You two are really insufferable!” she huffed, but I couldn’t help but notice the kind of starstruck way she ogled Jack. Now, that was new. Last time we’d been here—last Christmas, if I recalled correctly—she hadn’t seemed quite that awkward around him. Ah, teenage hormones.
She looked doubly glad when Simon left it at a distant “Hi,” while raising his hand, and though she taxed him with a judging gaze, too, it didn’t come close to the way she’d looked adoringly at Jack. And was doing again right now, thinking that no one noticed. Jack certainly didn’t, which made it all the more hilarious.
“Well, now that you’re all here, I have some news,” Emily spoke up, demanding everyone’s attention. Unease crawled up my spine, making me wonder if Emily had lied and Dad really had told her we were coming, but while she looked a little harassed, it was a different kind of nervousness. She looked the three of us over, wringing her hands, then briefly glanced at Malory.
“You see, my sister called, and she and her family are coming over. Today. She practically invited herself, and sobbed at me for fifteen minutes straight. B
ecause her husband left her, you see? And then, of course, I couldn’t decline. But that leaves us kind of in a bad place where accommodations are concerned.” More hand-wringing followed as she looked at me. “Fact is, we kind of need your old room, with ten additional people coming over that we didn’t plan for.”
I would have left her hemming and hawing a little longer, but Jack’s mom didn’t have the heart for it. “I already offered that the three of you could just sleep over. You’ve done that often enough when you were younger, and I’m sure that Simon would rather stay with you in the first place. I’ve already readied the living room couch for you. I know that you usually stay up all night, anyway, so you might as well do it where you’re not far from the kitchen.”
Her eyes twinkled as she said that, to the point where she made Jack snort.
“You don’t mind?” Emily asked, still fretting.
I shook my head, already feeling some of the weight on my chest lighten that had come crashing down on it at the mention of Emily’s brood coming over. I’d only met them a few times—when Jenny had been born, before I’d moved to college, Emily’s sister Gina and their mother had stayed over to help her, and I didn’t have fond memories of those weeks—and really wasn’t looking forward to a repetition of that. And neither, as it seemed, was Emily, judging from the way she was still looking at me in particular.
“Of course not,” I assured her, hoping that I sounded as sincere as I meant it. It was only when Emily’s shoulders slumped with elation that I realized how she thought I’d take it. “I mean, it makes sense that we stay over at Malory’s, rather than a bunch of strangers.”
“Great,” my stepmother went on, then clapped her hands once, as if anyone had been ignoring her so far. Well, my dad was still busy giving the guys the stink-eye, which both were trying to ignore, but that didn’t change even then. “They should arrive within the hour. I’ve already sent Richard to get more food, but it would be great if you could help with the salad.”