When Irish Eyes Are Sparkling

by Tom Collins

  “I’ve given myself a cutlass and a dirk,” Liam pointed out, indicating a curved sword outline in the figure’s left hand and a long knife in the right, “because they’re tools of dexterity rather than strength, but I’m not sure what kind of look to give myself. Clothing and such—”

  “Naked?” I suggested with a wiggle of brows. He elbowed me. “That green vest Bren was wearing to show off your chest hair,” I suggested, giving that chest a stroke. “Maybe a gold sash or something, to make you look like a roguish, warrior prince.”

  He gazed at me sidewise, as if he thought I was joking. I kissed his cheek, rough with morning stubble.

  “I’ll see if I can talk Uncle Joel into letting us keep the vest a while longer and I like the idea of a sash.” He returned the canvass to its easel, musing. “Warrior prince, huh? Does that make my dad the king, or would that be Granda?”

  This reminded me that I was going to be meeting the warrior prince’s family on Tuesday. That gave me a whole new set of fluttery feelings.

  In deference to my leg, we kept to more mild pleasures that evening, including a torturous game Liam made up where the aim was to slowly lick and nuzzle each other’s genitals to climax. The first to bring the other to orgasm without doing any actual sucking won.

  I thought I had the win in the bag, even though Liam’s snaking tongue had me gasping and gulping and losing my place on his long, beautiful, rigid dick. Then he cheated by pressing his nose under my balls and into my perineum, his tongue tickled down about my hole.

  “Foul!” I shouted, even as I shuddered and began to shoot. Game over, I figured fair was fair, and even as lights flashed behind my eyes, I deep throated him. His cry of ecstasy and the hot cream that filled my mouth made me fell like the winner.

  Monday morning, and Liam had to go to work. He made us lox and bagels for breakfast, then puttered around the apartment making sure everything was in place and set for me. He left me on the couch with books on tape. He also forbade me to do work of any kind, pointing out that there was lunch in the fridge and that he’d better find dirty dishes in the sink, that I’d better not wash, straighten or clean anything, or he’d call in Uncle Gabe to sit on me.

  Cheeky bastard.

  Tuesday arrived, and my knee, having gotten the rest it needed and only judicious exercise, was feeling merely stiff instead of sore. I pulled on a lose pair of cream-colored Dockers to cover the brace. Liam picked out a pale blue shirt from the back of my closet—one I’d forgotten I owned—to go with them. With a narrow belt and loafers, I looked reasonably respectable.

  We took a cab so that we could make a stop at a special store on the way, as I didn’t want to arrive empty handed. Liam led the way down the candy aisle where we picked up a dozen triple cream caramels for his grandmother, “Any more than that will be too much,” he knowingly informed me, and then down the liquor aisle for his grandpa. With his longer reach, Liam plucked down a bottle of Bushmills single malt Irish whiskey off the top shelf, “The one with the green label which is aged 10 years,” he pointed out.

  Liam offered to chip in on the cost, but I felt that they were mine to give as a guest, and so bought them myself. Liam promised that his grandparents would love ‘em.

  I tried not to sweat on our way there. Liam was shifting about, not with nervous energy but with what seemed to be excitement. As if he couldn’t wait to show me off to his parents. I, myself, clutched the gifts and tried not to be sick to my stomach. In the world of casual relationships that I lived in, no one met anyone else’s relatives. I was glad Liam had already introduced me to a few to ease me in, but this would still be the first time I’d ever been on display, as it were, for a family’s inspection and approval.

  We arrived at an older neighborhood within a few blocks of the Irish Eyes pub that, as Liam explained it, had once been on the outskirts of the city, but, about twenty years ago, had been swallowed up by it. The houses were all of that respectable, almost gingerbread style of old; not huge, but still impressive, the kind that had attics, basements, and bedrooms in tower-like corners with curving window seats.

  And, in fact our destination was a two-story, corner home of gold stone with a shaded veranda and a sharp, turret room among the gables.

  Shoot me now. A castle.

  Liam paid the driver and helped me out, then strode easy-as-you-please on up that path, past flowerbeds and under the shade of a maple tree. I followed apprehensively, going stiffly up the stairs to join him at a white door accented with beveled glass.

  He’d already rung the doorbell.

  “Coming!” The voice sounded a lot like Liam’s only higher pitched. A girl in a very short, floral, summer frock and gold sandals opened the door. It was clear that she knew exactly how cute her curves were, as the dress’s delicate material outlined every one. She was very obviously Liam’s sister. There were Liam’s large green eyes, their thick lashes accented with mascara, his quirky lips moistened with dusky red lipstick. The feminine version of his face was even more elfin, the cheeks higher, the chin sharper, but very similar. She was not nearly so tall as her brother, and lithe rather than lanky. Her hair, silky and hanging down below the shoulder, was more dark brown than black. Auburn highlights ran through it. They looked natural.

  Her gaze fixed on Liam and she rolled her eyes, letting him know that she was not pleased to be dragged away from her free afternoon to attend this family soirée. “They’re here!” she yelled back over her shoulder. Then she glanced forward and saw me. She went still, only the lashes fluttering.

  Liam crossed his arms and stood there smugly.

  “Oh. Wow,” his sister breathed. She stepped right up, close enough to make me want to step back. “Are you really gay? ‘Cause if you’re bi—”

  Liam grabbed me by the hand and pulled me around his sister through the door. “Oliver this is Molly, Molly this is Oliver and he’s gay as a three-dollar bill. I reeled this one in, and he was a fighter, too, so just back off, sister.”

  “Wowee! Someone grew a pair all of a sudden. What, did he loan you his?” she jerked her head in my direction.

  “As a matter of fact, he has and says I can use ‘em any time I need to. What’s more, they’re huge, like goose eggs.”

  To my mortification, he illustrated by showing her his fingers in a circle at least twice the right size.

  “Li-am—“ I hissed through my teeth.

  “Yeah, tell me another fish tale,” Molly snorted, shutting the door behind us and checking me out more critically, head to toe. “You know, it’s just not fair,” she sighed, “The men in this family always get the hottest guys.”

  “Take a walk in that dress,” Liam jibed, “and the hotties will be lined up for service clear around the block.”

  “You think?” she mock-simpered, preening. “You’re sweet to say so,” she added sincerely, kissing his cheek.

  Now I was confused. I’d thought that they were fighting but, apparently, I’d just been witness to some secret, sibling exchange; one where, if I was judging it right, Molly had praised Liam for snagging someone like me. Rather like one hunter congratulating another for bagging some great beast while on safari.

  Molly strode off, leading the way, and Liam grinned at me as if I’d just earned him all sorts of street cred.

  The interior of the house was done up in warm colors, with furniture that looked comfortable and modern rather than antique as I’d expected. It smelled of wood smoke and home baked cakes. Molly directed us into a large dining room with a heavy, polished table long enough to seat twelve.

  My gut dropped with dismay as I saw the fine yards of white lace spread out from one end of that table to the other. I’d assumed that tea meant mugs of Earl Grey while seated on couches around a coffee table, maybe some cookies. But there were settings with fine, linen napkins, and plates and cups and saucers and platters, all patterned with pink roses and edged with gold.

  The good tea set, which I’d find out, had belonged to Gran’s mother
. She’d brought it with her on a sea voyage from Ireland some forty-odd years ago. How was I ever going to avoid a wrong step in this delicate minefield?

  Liam had failed to warn me about this. Also that Irish Tea meant a kind of late lunch. There was a smoked ham, a loaf of bread, salmon sandwiches, what looked like oatmeal cookies, a bowl of fresh berries, several types of cheese, jam and some kind of cake topped with slices of baked apple.

  Six people were standing around, including, to my relief, Jillian and Bren. There was a woman with flyaway brown hair and purple-tinted, wire-rimmed spectacles. She was notable in being the shortest person in the room, also the most casually dressed in jeans and tie-dye blouse. She held a paperback book in hand, the title of which I couldn’t see but the author was Samuel Delany. She seemed totally engrossed in it.

  Liam’s mom was a fair guess. Towering over her was the tallest person in the room, a man with the same lanky bone structure as the twins, though far more sedate in posture. There were stronger angles to the face and salt amid the pepper black hair, but there was no doubting he was Liam’s father. He had the same distant gaze as Liam and Brendan, but colder, as if creating formulas.

  He was standing beside a man who looked a lot like Gabe, which surprised me. For some reason, I’d forgotten that Gabriel was a member of the family and had to have inherited his very different look from someone. His dad, Liam’s granddad, it turned out. His solid rather than lean and lanky body was a little pudgy with age, and there was a bald spot at the back of his head, but he looked sturdy and strong, and there were still strands of ginger amid the gray hair.

  And it was clear as his gaze fixed on me, as laser sharp as my partner’s, where the family had gotten their green eyes.

  The one who came forward to greet us, however, was Grandma. As tall as Liam, black hair threaded with silver, elegant as any empress.

  “You must be our Liam’s Oliver,” she said, her voice low and warm; she pronounced all three syllables of my name with a lilt that fairly melted me. “So pleased to meet you. I’m Ula, and this is Erin,” she waved to her husband who gave me a curt nod.

  I shook her hand, feeling a good strong grip. Funny how it was for me. Molly in all her young beauty had interested me not at all. This older, motherly woman however, as poised and controlled as Sandy, had all my attention.

  “And this is Liam’s father, John. We call him Johnny,” she went on, as the man reached out and we shook hands. Dad had a furrowed brow and he was the only one eyeing me as if trying to come to terms with the fact that his son was dating a man instead of a woman. He didn’t look horrified, just confused. As if he’d missed the memo.

  “And his mother, Iris,” Gran waved to the brown-haired woman.

  Mom lifted a hand to me rather than looking up from her book. Under any other circumstances, I might have thought she was brushing me off, but this was Liam’s mother. Ma Space Oddity, herself. Knowing how oblivious Liam could get when lost in a book—or just walking down the street come to that—I didn’t take it personally.

  “Very pleased to meet you all,” I returned then, awkwardly, offered the packages I held in the crook of my other arm. “I brought these along.”

  “How thoughtful!” Gran relieved me of whiskey and caramel. “See, Da, what he’s brought ya,” she called to her husband, setting the liquor down on a side table.

  “Hrumph,” he responded, eyeing the green and gold box thoughtfully.

  “Sit, everyone, sit!” Gran urged us.

  The family, fully at home, even Jillian, murmured or sighed in an “at last!” sort of way, and shuffled about the table.

  “You sit here next to me, Oliver,” Grandmother invited.

  “Better put Liam next to Granda and me between them, then,” Molly piped, “Or he’ll be fondling his prize all through tea, like Bren did when he first brought over Jillian.”

  “Molly!” Liam didn’t like that idea, but Grandmother smiled a knowing smile. “I concur. We know how you and Bren are, Liam, sit next to your granda.”

  Reluctantly, he settled near the door end of the table where Grandpa was seated. The old man was shaking out his napkin and tucking it into the front of his shirt.

  Gran was making for her chair at the other end, near the sideboard. Without even thinking about it, I jumped to pull it back for her. The rest of the family, all either in or getting into their places, paused and blinked at me.

  I felt very self-conscious as Gran’s deep blue eyes, likewise, locked on mine. Then, I swear, they sparkled. “Thank you, Oliver,” she said very pleasantly, and settled into her place. Liam gave me a wink and a smile.

  That done, she started serving tea, at which point Iris, sitting across from me to Gran’s left, put down her book and helped to fill and hand out the teacups coming around. The tea itself was brewed so strong it was black, and if Bren hadn’t cued me to fill half my cup with milk first, the tannin might well have seared off my tongue.

  Grandpa settled into a conversation with Johnny about Aunt Rosie’s intent to replace the outdated computer system at the pub. Jillian tossed in her observations as a waitress on the issue. Meanwhile, at the other end, Iris suddenly decided to see me.

  “What do you read, Oliver?” she asked, sounding as if we’d been friends for years and in the middle of a conversation this whole time.

  “Um, read?” I felt rather than saw Liam slap a hand over his eyes. “Anatomy textbooks, mainly.”

  She looked at me bewildered as she offered me the plate of almost-oatmeal cookies. “I mean what fiction do you read? Authors? Genres? Oatcakes?”

  It took me a minute to realize that oatcakes were the cookies and not some new type of fantasy novel. I accepted one, blushing.

  “Oliver’s not a reader, Mom,” Liam said from the other side of his sister. “He listens to books on tape.”

  “Not a reader?” she echoed as if she’d never head of such a thing. I’d expected Liam’s mother to be uncertain about her boy dating a man, but as she gazed at me now through those colored, Lennon style glasses, I worried that she was more aghast that her son was dating a non-reader.

  “Fiction on the page confuses me,” I admitted. “I don’t know why. I can read pages of medical facts just fine, but stories…I guess their poetic style and characters…stump me.”

  Her expression, dreamy like Liam’s softened and she looked ready to cry. “You poor dear!”

  “Mom!” the twins said in unison.

  “It’s not a tragedy…” Liam insisted. “Besides, I like reading to him.”

  “Because it keeps him focused on you,” Bren offered with a sly grin. Liam’s response was to return the identical smile.

  Like he’d need to do that to keep me focused on him, I thought. Still, it made me feel better.

  Their mother sighed, shrugged, and offered me some jam.

  Sister Molly, in the meantime, was peering at me sidewise while setting slices of cheese on a piece of bread. “I’m not a bit surprised Liam fell for you,” she abruptly announced, “You look like David Bowie.”

  Liam’s head snapped up. He looked at his sister, and then he leaned back in his chair and looked at me as if he didn’t believe it. He stared for a full minute, exchanged a look with Bren who shrugged, and one with Jillian who was tilting her head and eyeing me thoughtfully. Then Liam studied me again. His mouth dropped open. I guess my weight loss had brought out that hint of resemblance I had to the superstar, and Liam, who’d been seeing me as me this whole time, had missed it.

  Molly snorted at Liam’s shock and shook her head in a superior manner that reminded me very much of Erin. “If you’re thinking of getting a canine like Bren says you are,” she told her brother, “make it a seeing eye dog!”

  Liam continued to gaze at me now and then as if I were a revelation, but otherwise the tea grew relaxed, enough so that I let down my guard and answered Gran’s polite questions about my work. Liam or someone must have cued her, as she didn’t query me about my family. Iris went back
to reading her book and the rest of the family turned, well, familial. They passed around the plates, sometimes playfully slapping away grabbing hands, teased and talked over each other, and fondly touched. Grandpa joked with Jillian, then reached past her to punch John’s shoulder, and Liam tugged on his sister’s hair, making her pinch him back. I’d never seen anything like it. I wasn’t just out of place; I was on another planet.

  Still, it was all going well, until Grandpa finally decided to break open the whiskey.

  “You’ll join us of course?” he asked me pointedly, even as Molly got up to fetch over whiskey glasses for all the boys and herself as well. Iris, Gran and Jill, it seemed, weren’t whiskey drinkers.

  Ah hell. “Um, no, sir.” I said. “I don’t usually drink anything stronger than wine.”

  “No?” Grandpa said softly, and I could see him putting up a big, red check mark in the negative category. I thought about explaining how many drunk driving accidents I’d seen, putting me off hard liquor, or how dangerous and unreliable liquored-up men were when it came to anonymous sex, but I didn’t think either of those would go over well, so I kept my mouth shut.

  He poured out a splash of the whiskey for the others.

  “Sláinte!” they toasted and sipped accordingly. Then, as Grandpa rested back, smacking his lips, he added, with false casualness, “So, Liam, this…teetotaler,” a lift of his drink toward me, “is the one who’s gotten you to put on your Claddagh?”

  “Um…as you can see, Granda,” he answered uncomfortably.

  Claddagh? I frowned and glanced over at Liam. Molly, seeing this rolled her eyes.

  “His ring,” she cut in. Her grandfather didn’t seem to mind, and I got the feeling that his little princess could interrupt him anytime.

  His ring? Oh, yes, the silver ring Liam always wore, the one with the hands holding the heart and the crown. “What about it?”

  Molly looked at me, as did Bren, Jillian and Johnny. Then they all looked at Liam as if they couldn’t believe what they’d just heard.