Unlike Any Other (Unexpected #1)

by Claudia Burgoa

  I can’t help but struggle to breathe, swallow saliva, and think at the same time. A fiancée is serious.

  “We met during my junior year of college. She was cute and, well, I was a dork who liked the possibility of having a girlfriend. We dated for two years. After I had graduated, I traveled for another. We wrote emails to each other. When she finished college—a semester later—she began to pester me about the future, wedding, and children… the works. She had the names of our two children already picked out, and had moved us to Boston because she loved it there.”

  He sighs running both hands through his hair, taking off his glasses and cleaning them. I wait patiently because this is important. It matters. He had plans, well, her. What if he had gone through with it? I doubt we’d be here sitting at my parent’s home avoiding Porter and my brothers, talking about us.

  No. No us, AJ.

  “My parents lasted less than a month married.” He begins to fidget with my curls, those crystal-clear gray eyes not giving me much on how he feels. However I’m happy he’s giving me a little more of him. “Mom never trusted Dad, he swears he was always faithful, but… they couldn’t make it work. Of course, by then my mom was pregnant.”

  Yes, I knew the story. Joint custody meant going from one parent to another or to our house.

  “As Meghan continued pestering, I kept working. I had a few contracts in the works,” Mase continues. “That meant traveling, splitting myself in half, and I wasn’t willing to repeat my parent’s mistakes. I asked her to wait until I established something concrete.”

  “One weekend I visited her.” I pull up the sleeve of his t-shirt and find his other tattoo. An infinity symbol made with zeros, ones, threes, and nines. As I touch it, he shivers and grabs both of my hands. “Stop or there’s no more story.”

  I clamp my lips shut and try to take my hands back but he doesn’t let me.

  “We fought about everything that weekend: our relationship, our future, my lack of a real job. She wanted to move to the east coast and have the white picket fence with two children and all that shit. I was only twenty-two.”

  Six years ago. I ponder why he didn’t tell me, but then again I was beginning my own tragedy.

  “Dad asked me: ‘Does she make you happy?’”

  Mason releases my hands and pulls out his phone and shows me a picture.

  ‘Always do what makes you happy’ says a caption over a guy playing video games. I made it, I remember it.

  “You had sent me that the day before.”

  I smile at it because I’ve always harassed him about being an unemployed but happy geek.

  “That made me happier than Meghan. A picture. You gave me the answer.”

  I did?

  “My life plans mattered and I had worked too hard to just let it go. I figured out that I was about to marry a woman who didn’t know me, one who wanted to change me and who I didn’t love.”

  He takes his phone back.

  “The official version is different. Meghan broke up with me because I’m a loser,” he grins and continues. “My only formal relationship.”

  Mason grabs both my hands with only one, fetches a carrot and feeds it to me.

  “After her?” I ask after I finished chewing.

  “Nothing significant,” he responds, pressing play on the remote, subject forgotten.

  “Do I have it right: because of your parents’ history, you don’t want a serious relationship?”

  He offers me another bite of carrot and eats the rest, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Because of your parents, you do want a serious relationship,” his words come out harsher than I care, or I’m still sensitive about their split.

  My back stiffens.

  “No,” I puff out. “And yes. If you hear their story, how they went from being strangers, to friends, then best friends, and finally realizing they found that person they wanted to share their lives with, you’d want it too.”

  “Shoot,” he says.

  I repeat the highlights of what I know. There are things they keep to themselves. The fact that it took a long time for them to come together, to accept their feelings for one another. Dad-Gabe hasn’t finished the story, but it always ends with how they reunited after he begged Chris for days to accept each other.

  “Your parents weren’t gay?”

  I shake my head. “No, if you must label them, they are bisexual,” I explain. “They fell for what was inside of each other, not the exterior. My parents aren’t perfect, in fact, at the moment they aren’t together, but they have one thing not many do: love, the real kind. I have faith they’ll reconcile.”

  Yesterday, as the EMT’s attended Dad, I called ‘El Padre,’ better known as Chris.

  “My beautiful girl finally found her phone.” It took me some time to find my voice, the sobs predominating my conversation. “Ainse, I need you to take a deep breath and repeat what you said. I heard that your dad is in an ambulance?”

  “Yes, Papi, I think he had a heart attack,” I sniffed.

  “Motherfucker, he better not have died, damn it.” His wounded animal growl reminded me of a wolf on a night of the full moon howling for his mate. “He’ll be fine, we’ll hire the best cardiologist. We’re not losing him. Call me when you know more, please.”

  “Maybe that kind of love is only for some,” Mason doesn’t bash their story, but he’s not convinced.

  Great. Another non-believer.

  Make him believe, Ainse.

  No, Ainse, don’t. Stay where you are, he’s the smart one.

  Stop believing, stay safe, remember?

  “Ainsley Janine,” JC yells. He is looking for me. “Breakfast time. Come on, you escaped yesterday but not today. It’s our turn to cook.”

  I flinch, that means heading upstairs.

  “Come on, let’s go make breakfast?”

  “You cook, Mase?”

  “No, but I can cheer you on from the sidelines.” I roll my eyes and we both head to the kitchen.

  2015

  We’re in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Well, JC is cooking as I squeeze the oranges and Mason sets the table. Now that we emerged from the deep end of the basement, reality hit.

  My sluggish movements and heavy arms indicate that my body needs a few more hours of sleep. But I know I’ll only toss and turn for hours while I wonder about Dad, my parents’ separation, the girl who swears the baby is my father’s, and… Porter. I should’ve slept while Mason watched his movie—talking is overrated.

  Then I remember my parent’s guests. If we can at least get rid of one of them… Porter or Nikki.

  “Is that girl Nikki gone?” I can’t phantom the hope in my voice.

  “No idea,” JC answers. “Last night she threatened to call the police because we were trespassing. We ignored her and politely told her that we’d tweet about her fake engagement and that Gabriel wasn’t the father of the child.”

  Wow, my brothers now threaten people with Twitter.

  What’s next, posting an unflattering picture on Facebook?

  “She’s pregnant, be nice,” I glare at him. “Now tell me, Jacob Christian, what are we doing for the holidays? Thanksgiving is in a couple of days.”

  Yes, I’m fixated on that day.

  “When I called El Padre yesterday, he was worried about Dad.” I squeeze half of an orange. Why do we always have to have fresh OJ? “Maybe we can work something out, don’t you think?”

  I glance sideways at him—I don’t suggest the part where we can play parent-trap because I want to talk to Chris first. Test the waters and analyze how bad Gabe fucked up their marriage.

  “Yes, but where? It has to be a neutral place.” He doesn’t look at me, but his eyes stare at the flame. “Chris had suggested heading to the city and eat at a hotel… Yes, not very homey, don’t glar
e at me. Can you blame the guy? I bet he’d like a home cooked meal best.”

  “We can figure it out, JC. Now, let’s say we settle Thanksgiving.” I scramble through my head the possibilities of a place. Tahoe, Baja? “What about later? Gabriel Colthurst-Decker is not going to accept the fact that he has to stay in bed for not sure how many days, or that his diet has to change, or that…”

  “Honestly, AJ.” JC sets the spatula on the counter and crosses his arms. “You know who should be taking care of him…”

  “Not me, son,” I hear a voice and turn to look at the entrance. His dark, brown hair is turning gray. His green eyes still crinkle as he stares at me.

  “You should,” I tell him, smiling. “That’s one of your jobs, you know?”

  He tilts his head and then shakes it. “He should be thankful that I dragged his sorry ass out of the hospital without the press knowing and kept the three of you away from the circus.”

  Then he looks at JC, “Thank you for covering her, son.”

  “My job, Dad,” he side hugs me. “She might be a pain in the ass but I kind of like her.”

  I wonder how he knew and how long he has been around, but I don’t ask and only stare because it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen him.

  “Hello, my pretty girl, how are you?” he sighs and scans my face, checks my hair, and does a complete inspection. He is just like his husband. “You look older.”

  “And wiser,” I add smiling widely. “How’s my favorite Papi?”

  “Happy to see you again,” he glances around the room. “Heard we have to have a little conversation.”

  “How much did Dad tell you?”

  “Not much, but I know you’re going to be okay. I just know it, baby.”

  “Because Dr. Christian Ainsley Colhurst-Decker says so,” I respond holding back the tears. “What, now that you have a Ph. D. you know everything? What will the fans of Mr. Rock God say?”

  “I don’t need a Ph. D. to know everything. I’m your father. That should be enough. Between you and me, I like it more when you call me Papi.” He opens his arms and I fly towards him. “I missed you, baby girl.”

  “I missed you too, Daddy,” I squeeze him tight. “I’m sorry for everything… running like a mad woman and breaking you guys up.”

  My body relaxes as I feel part of my troubles shedding like death skin.

  “You didn’t break us up,” he reassures me. “Things changed between us, we wanted different things and life goes on.”

  I love that about them—my parents. They cover for each other.

  “What if he’s sorry?”

  “Is he sorry, or are you working that cuteness of yours?”

  “Both,” I hear Gabe from behind. “I’m sorry about leaving, giving up… throwing so many years away for nothing. But, of course, she worked the cuteness. She’s smart like her Papi.”

  “Well now he’s kissing ass,” Chris says. “Look, Gabriel, you had a scary episode, and I get that you want to change… but I’m too old for this shit. Actually, I never wanted this shit and you more than anyone knows it.”

  “What?” I ask. “What are you calling this shit?”

  “Family,” Chris starts. “A relationship… getting your heart smashed. You came to me, Gabriel, and I told you no, yet you begged. I agreed to everything because I love you.”

  Chris kisses the top of my head.

  “I don’t regret anything I did because I have them. The best thing that came out of being with you is my family. Look at these three children we made.” He looks around. “MJ still asleep?” I nod. “As I was saying, if I knew you’d end up choosing the mistress, I wouldn’t have yielded.”

  “Mistress?” I ask, wondering if they are speaking about that Nikki girl.

  “Fame, baby girl,” Chris responds. “That’s a fucked up mistress sometimes you can’t please, but she keeps you begging. That’s what your father chose over us, him and me.”

  In that moment, the other woman, the girl we’d like to kick out of the house enters the kitchen. Dripping wet hair, wearing a white sundress and a pair of cute sandals I’d like to steal from her.

  “Great, breakfast,” she says. We all look at each other. “What? I’m not sure who you people are, but I have a deal with Gabriel and I’m holding him to it.”

  “I talked to your uncle yesterday,” Gabe takes over the conversation. “He’s sending a car today to take you away.”

  “Look, just because your lover came making a scene and brought her thugs to pressure you.” She points at me and then at JC. “I won’t take off.”

  MJ enters in that moment wearing nothing but a pair of running shorts and points at her and mumbles, “There’s a car waiting for you. The fucking driver woke me up with his honking.”

  Uh-oh, we have an unhappy owl in our hands. He’s going to blow and scream at her if she talks back.

  Mason escorts Nikki taking her by the elbow.

  “Does that girl know who you three are?” Chris glares at JC then at me, and we both shake our heads.

  Papi stares at Dad and they use that telepathic communication that I’ve never understood. Whatever they told each other relaxes them both.

  “Well, that’s one down, now we have more food.” Gabe jokes, I guess trying to lighten the atmosphere, but he fails. No one laughs. “Is everyone upset at me?”

  “Yes, Dad, we are fucking mad.” JC’s eyebrows lower as he squints his eyes. “For years we lived the way you two thought was best. I’m in the public eye and know firsthand how things work and all privacy vanishes. Once people connected JC and MJ Decker from “Without A Compass” with the great Christian Decker, our lives have never been the same.”

  That had been a huge mess. My brothers not only have an indie-rock band. They also worked at the record company, write music for other musicians—with my help—and scout for talent. Before they recorded their second album, they had given some of their new music to a band that had just the right stuff to make it big.

  JC thought that by giving them two songs and replacing it with two covers of Dreadful Souls songs, everyone would be happy. But no. Even when the music belongs to our father—Chris and not the band; his former band mates tried to sue my brothers.

  Chris spoke to said band mates and former friends who tried to sue him too. When our parents took the matter to the legal team, they came up with the best solution—announce that Chris’s children were using his music with his permission. As he pulled the family card, not one lawyer wanted to take the band mates’ case and the lawsuit was dropped.

  However, by pulling the family card, the entire world learned that Chris had two sons. MJ didn’t like that his privacy had been taken away. JC doesn’t care as much.

  “People wonder who the hell our mother is,” JC continues as Porter enters the kitchen and stands next to a yawning MJ. Suddenly, I’m taken back through the past and we are in the middle of a family meeting. “They dig and dig but, of course, nothing comes out since we don’t have a mother.”

  In vitro? Mom is a group of scientists, a donor, a carrier, and the doctors who delivered us? Mom is my two fathers. They were both Mom and Dad.

  “In fact, we look like our other father, unlike AJ, who looks like Chris.” Chris clears his throat. “Father, I refuse to call you Papi anymore—it was cute when we were little… not so much now.”

  Yep, he chose to be Papi because that’s the translation of Daddy in his favorite language—Spanish. He’s crazy, but we all love him.

  “I know.” I raise my hand. “You can call him Papa.”

  “What? No,” JC protests. “If I have to, I’ll stick to Padre.”

  “I like Papa better,” Chris interjects.

  “There you go, from now on, they’ll call you Papa… and if you’re really good, I’ll call you Papi.”

  “Well, I don’
t give a fuck who is dad, papa, padre, father, or vader,” MJ begins to imitate the shallow breathing of Darth Vader. “Yes, I know you two are my fathers. The only thing that matters to me right now is my bed. Wake me up tonight. In the meantime, don’t kill each other, divorce, or have another child because I’ll be pissed. Fix your fucking marriage instead, children.”

  JC and I laugh as he vanishes from the kitchen. It was prone to happen, the owl would flip because they had disturbed his sleep.

  “Gabriel, Father, whatever you want to be called, you need to change,” JC retakes the conversation. “We’re not back in the day when saying we don’t have a mother is frowned upon.”

  I send him a glare because those are my words I said three years ago.

  “AJ pointed that out years ago.” I give my brother my best smile for recognizing me. “We’re in a different century and for Pete’s sake, you two are married… More than ten years ago there was a ceremony. Now you decide to pull apart because you want to keep your stupid fame? Yes, Dad, I’m fucking pissed at you.”

  The wedding, it wasn’t a big ceremony. As the state of Massachusetts legalized same sex marriage, the entire family flew there. My grandparents, aunts, uncles and us. My parents filed for a marriage license. Three days later, in front of the justice of peace they said their ‘I do’s.’ At last, my grandmother had married off all of her children.

  “You fucked up and didn’t even tell us the truth,” JC pointed at Gabe.

  “Jacob, tune that attitude down, or I’ll do it for you,” Chris’s firm tone resonates inside the kitchen. “Respect your father. Our shit should be handled between us. Marriage of two, family of five. This is a marital issue.”

  As I arch an eyebrow, he serves me with that stare of don’t you dare try to intervene. I lower my gaze. He knows that the marital issue is affecting the family, therefore, making it a family situation.

  “Fine,” JC groans. “I’m upset because he lied with his, ‘We didn’t come to an agreement, to not blame anyone.’ I’d rather have heard: I will never come out of the closet, and my husband is tired of the pretend game. I’d rather be on the cover of a magazine, a movie premier or shit like that.”