“TONIO CALLED,” NEREA told Callum after they’d been at the house for a week. They were getting ready for bed: Callum was in the bathroom brushing his teeth while Nerea undressed and sorted her clothes into the proper laundry bins. It was dark outside, but over the fields Nerea could see pinpricks of light from their neighbors’ home. In here, their bedside lamps glowed warm and golden.
Callum made an inquisitive sound around his toothbrush.
“He offered to come by and make sure that all the tables and chairs we rented for the reception would work.”
“What did you say?” Callum asked.
“I said it was more kind than necessary. But he insisted that everything should be perfect for Margarita. So I told him I would talk to you and see if it was all right.” Nerea pulled on an old shirt of Callum's — long-sleeved and worn soft — that she loved to sleep in.
“You don’t need my permission to have him come over,” Callum said. Nerea thought he sounded rather embarrassed.
“I know I don’t,” she said with more patience than her husband deserved. “But before my ex-boyfriend who we nearly divorced over, whose catering company we are getting food and tables and chairs from, shows up at our house without the buffer of a crowd, I want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It was and so you keep saying. But are you going to be okay? And don’t do me the disservice of pretending, again.”
“It will be fine,” Callum said as he emerged from the bedroom. His brown hair was mussed and the fabric of his T-shirt showed the strong lines of his chest and the softer curve of his belly. Nerea found him devastatingly attractive, not least because of all the work and love and care that had gone into making their life together possible. Callum was gorgeous in both body and soul in a way the public world that sustained him would never understand. For all he had infuriated her in the past and surely would continue to in the future, Nerea counted herself one of the luckiest people in the world to have a love like this. A love that, now, she got to share with Jamie as well.
“Leigh told me about the conversation you two had. About him,” Nerea said.
“Ah. She did?”
“I’m not going to ask for details and I’m not going to ask if you’ve talked to Margarita about it yet. But I want you to know that I appreciate it. Rather greatly.”
“I should have apologized long ago,” Callum said as he climbed into bed. Nerea slipped under the covers next to him and was happy to be wrapped up in his arms, one of his long legs draped over hers.
“You did. To me. But not to the girls.”
“And it’s my intention to repair that. And not only because Margarita is still a bit annoyed we’re bringing our boyfriend to the wedding.”
“It’s a wedding,” Nerea said as Callum pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. “It wouldn’t be proper if one of our daughters wasn't annoyed at us for something.”
TONIO STOPPED BY THE house the next day. Nerea was in the kitchen experimenting with dessert recipes when he arrived. She wouldn’t have planned it so, but Callum was the one who answered the door and let him in, asking after his wife and girls as he led him down the hall to the kitchen.
It had been years since Tonio had been in the house. As he and Callum entered the kitchen Nerea couldn’t help but remember when he used to be here nearly every day — and usually overnight — walking into the house with groceries he’d picked up or with laundry he’d helped bring in from the line, or just with himself, happy to spend time with her and her girls. She could tell, as he looked around at the room, that he was thinking the same thing.
Tonio said hello when she looked up from where she’d been pretending to concentrate on her cookbooks.
“Hello, Tonio.”
“Not much has changed,” he said quietly.
“Some things have. Some things haven’t.”
With Callum standing there trying and failing to appear non-awkward, she wondered again if letting Tonio come by was a mistake. But then Callum, as he occasionally did so magnificently, rose to the moment. “Can I show you the garden?” he asked.
Tonio startled, like he’d forgotten the other man was even there. “Yes. Thank you.”
As they left through the back door, Nerea caught Callum’s eye and gave him a warning look.
Don’t worry, Callum mouthed back.
Nerea waited. Whatever was about to happen, she was glad for the moment alone. That was the downside of the wedding, of three children, of a husband, of Jamie. Never quite enough time alone, not to prepare for all the messes and moments they made.
She didn’t hear any shouting for a quarter of an hour but also didn’t manage to make any progress at all with her desserts. She gave up waiting, wiped her hands on a dish rag, and crept through the house toward her own garden.
If any work had been accomplished — and she didn’t know that it had — it was already done. Tonio was lounging in a chair, his legs crossed. Callum was perched on a low wall that separated the rose bushes from the orchard beyond. Of the two of them, he looked the more tense, but not angry. Ashamed. He was leant forward, eager to be understood.
He turned and saw her in the doorway, and his face instantly softened. In love with her like always. But Nerea wished he hadn’t seen her watching. Especially when Tonio followed Callum’s gaze and lifted a hand at her in acknowledgment.
“The life we should have had,” she said softly to herself, not loud enough for either of the men to hear. She smiled at both of them before taking her leave. Maybe this reconciliation meant they all could be friends and Tonio could bring his wife and their girls over; they could eat meals under the fig trees. Today was not yet that day, but it was closer than it ever had been before.
“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?” Callum asked, stroking a hand through Nerea’s hair. She was lying half on top of him in their bed, his arms wrapped around her and his heartbeat a steady pulse in her ear.
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her wet face into Callum’s chest. Wordlessly, he flailed for a tissue from the night table for her. He even tossed it toward the waste basket when she was done blowing her nose. He missed, as he usually did. “That I didn’t think this was going to be this hard, and I thought it was going to be hard.”
Callum hummed, a small, soothing sound.
“Screw you for getting along with him now, you know?” Nerea wasn’t truly angry, but awkward avoidance had been better than this wrenching melancholy. She was glad Jamie wasn’t here to see it.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you so good at sorry all of a sudden?” Frustrated, she pushed at his shoulder.
“The world in which our three children and our twenty-four-year-old lover were all more mature than me was becoming depressing.”
“It’s very annoying,” Nerea said after a breathless pause. “That after twenty-nine years of marriage you keep finding new ways to impress me.”
“Sorry,” Callum said with a chuckle and a kiss to her shoulder. “But very much not sorry.”
“There’s something else I keep thinking about,” Nerea said after a quiet moment. “And since you’re feeling so very capable, maybe you can see a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“This house. We can’t live in it forever. Not with just us.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too isolated. It takes hours to get here from the airport and it’s half an hour to the nearest town. It’s always a little too cold even in the summer. And don’t even get me started about all the time and money it takes in upkeep.” It pained her to admit it, but it was all true. Her parents had given her this house long before they’d been too old to care for it themselves. Not a wedding present, but much later, perhaps forgiveness for all the drama around her marriage. It had taken years before her mother had forgiven her not only for being married in London, but for not having a Catholic service.
Now she could only think about her age and Cal
lum’s, their daughter who was so insistent on being Spanish and having a Spanish life, and the boy from Ireland they were both in love with. While they had always had a flat in London, Spain had always been her only home. And suddenly, because Callum had finally gotten his act together, she felt like she was going to have to say goodbye to it.
“What do you want to do?” Callum asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Can we figure it out together?”
“Always.”
“Just checking.”
They lay in bed for a long time after that, not speaking, enjoying the stillness of the house and listening to the occasional ruffle of wind round the walls.
Chapter 25 - Jamie tells his parents everything
As Jamie’s plane landed in Dublin, he was aware he had put off having a conversation with his parents about his relationships for far too long. He had justified it, at first, by telling himself that since he’d come out to them as bi when he was fourteen, he’d earned some secret-keeping by now. But ever since the fight with Callum and Nerea and the agreements they’d come to in its aftermath, he knew he had to tell them sooner or later. Preferably, sooner. But just because telling his parents was the right thing to do, didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified. Jamie being queer was one thing. His mum had always been relatively easy with it, and his dad had wanted him to be happy and as safe as possible. But being bi, and dating a married couple who were both twice his age, were on two very different ends of the Things His Parents Would be Okay With spectrum.
But his parents loved him, and it would be fine. Which Jamie repeated to himself as he waited at the baggage claim for his suitcase. It was going to be fine.
THINGS AT HOME WERE not fine.
His dad picked him up from the airport and drove to the house with a set to his jaw Jamie didn’t know how to interpret. Jamie wondered if his parents had already heard about Callum and Nerea; he just had no idea how. There had been no buzz on the internet or in tabloids about Jamie appearing at Nerea’s gallery opening. He had checked.
But, he realized as soon as he stepped inside the house, whatever was going on had nothing to do with him. His mother greeted him with a hug, but she was clearly distracted. In the kitchen Aoife was at the counter, red-eyed and drying dishes with a mutinous expression on her face.
Aoife hugged Jamie fiercely. Jamie held her tight and looked over her shoulder to where their parents stood in the doorway, watching them and looking worried.
“What is going on?” Jamie said to Aoife.
“Patrick and I want to move in together,” she said, stepping back and scrubbing a hand over her face.
“And that’s a problem why?” Jamie asked.
“Ask them,” Aoife said. “Or listen to the voicemails I left you. You never called me back.”
“How about we all sit down,” their mother suggested. “Jamie, do you want some coffee? Anyone else?”
Five minutes later, seated all around the living room and fortified with coffee, Jamie demanded again of his parents why Aoife wanting to move in with her boyfriend was a problem. All worries about his own troubles and confessions he needed to make were gone in the face of his sister’s situation. He had no idea why his parents would object. Aoife and Patrick had been together for years. Hugh and Maureen were Catholic, sure, but had always worried more about good sense and kindness than any adherence to doctrine. And Beth had lived with her husband for six months before they’d gotten married. Though they’d been engaged at the time.
“She’s — You’re so young, Aoife,” his mother said.
“I’m twenty-two. You were married when you were twenty-two,” Aoife pointed out.
It was clear they’d had this argument many times. Jamie felt like an absolute prick that he hadn’t returned Aoife’s calls or even listened to her voicemails. He’d assumed if it was really important she would have texted or emailed to remind him.
“I know this has nothing to do with me being young,” Aoife said.
And there it was. Jamie looked at his parents, who looked worried but resolute. And who were saying nothing.
“Are you telling me,” Jamie said, “that you don’t want Aoife to have a relationship with someone she loves because she has Down Syndrome?”
“Patrick and I both do, thank you,” Aoife added.
“What I am telling you — and Aoife,” his mother said, “is that we live in Ireland, and while there are resources available to help you live independently, I’m afraid you and Patrick won’t be allowed to live together unless you’re married.”
“We’re getting married,” Aoife said in a tone that suggested she had said it many times before. But the whole room seemed to still. Apparently Jamie’s parents had not heard this before this moment.
“I’m sorry, what?” their father said.
“We’re getting married,” Aoife repeated, sitting up straighter. “So we can live together. We’ve found a residential services community we like. We can go on the waiting list. We’ll move in after the wedding.”
Again, silence, as everyone absorbed this.
Maureen was the first to speak. “Why couldn’t you have told me this in the right order? Because there are still things we should talk about, but this makes everything very different. And you need to be sure.”
“That’s what married is,” Aoife said, “Being sure. We thought you’d be most upset about moving. And I wanted Jamie to be home to share,” Aoife said with a sidelong, almost shy glance at Jamie. “But then we started arguing again.”
“Congratulations,” Jamie said and stood up from his seat to walk around the table to hug Aoife. Someone had to stop being shocked and say what was right.
“Yes, yes, congratulations,” his mum said, and then she and his dad were standing up to join in the hug too. It was a bit awkward, and not just because there were four of them, but because it felt like his parents still weren’t certain. But it was probably a lot for them to get used to. Jamie would call them on it if he needed to, but there was no reason to do so in front of Aoife.
“You’re going to have an awesome wedding, right?” Jamie asked when they all pulled apart. Although that was as much to make a point to his parents as it was to find out what Aoife wanted. “Because you should have a wedding just like Beth’s and Mary’s. If you like, of course.”
Aoife, delighted now that the worst was over, laughed and stamped her feet with joy. “Yes!” she exclaimed, drawing the word out so that it felt like more than one syllable and wandered through several pitches. “But first I need to get the ring.”
“Bring Patrick round this week,” his dad said. “We should talk with him and with his parents.”
“Whoa. What?” Jamie turned to him. “You can’t treat Aoife like a kid. Especially not now she’s engaged. Why do you have to talk to her fiancé’s parents?”
Hugh looked amused. “Because that’s how it works. When two people get engaged, their parents get together to talk about their children and the wedding. Not that you’d know that, Jamie-boy.”
Jamie flushed harder than was warranted by the comment alone. Now he was the only one of his siblings not engaged or married. And if he stayed with Callum and Nerea, that situation was never going to change.
He loved Callum and Nerea, and he loved his parents and his sisters, but as he watched his mother — nervous and grateful and surprised — hug Aoife again, he couldn’t help but mourn the fact that he might well never share a moment like this with his family.
THE NEXT NIGHT JAMIE went out to dinner with Aoife and Patrick, where he apologized to both of them for blowing off Aoife’s phone calls. He might not have been able to help in any particular way, but he could at least have been an ally to them both while Aoife had worked through matters with their parents.
That evening, up in Jamie’s room at their parents’ house, the siblings talked for hours. About Aoife’s plans for the wedding, but mostly for the life she wanted to build outside of the house she’d lived in he
r entire life and that their parents had probably thought she would never leave. The transition was going to be immense for all concerned and was going to take time. Now that Aoife had decided, Jamie wasn’t clear on how patient she was inclined to be. They were alike in that. They were both a little greedy for all the world could give them, no matter how strange, no matter other people’s doubts.
“Can I tell you about something?” Jamie said to his sister after their mum had come in to say good night and admonish them, fondly, not to stay up too late.
“Yes?”
Jamie flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. “So I told you I’m seeing someone.”
“Yeah, even though you refuse to give me any details.”
“The someone I’m seeing is actually two people.”
“And they don’t know about each other?” she guessed.
“No. They’re married. To each other,” Jamie clarified.
“But they don’t know you’re dating both of them?”
“Still no. I’m dating a married couple. Like. Jointly.”
“That seems confusing,” Aoife’s face twisted up as she said it. “Who are they?”
“Somebody I met at work. And his wife.”
The confusion in Aoife’s face turned to judgment. “Who, Jamie?” She was insistent.
“You know how I was in the movie with Callum Griffiths-Davies?”
Aoife started laughing and then didn’t stop.
Jamie sat up and waited for Aoife’s giggles to run their course. But they didn’t seem to be subsiding. Which, if he looked at the situation — both that of his relationships and of this conversation — he could hardly blame her for.
The Art of Three Page 17