by Amelia Mae
Thankfully, fate is on my side. I text Cora.
Ian: We’re boarding. I should be in New York by the evening.
Ian: Which puts me in LA by midnight.
Cora: I’ll pick you up.
Ian: No way. I’ll take a Lyft.
Cora: It’s fine. My mom’s here, and she can watch Alicia.
I have to turn my phone off before I can tell her not to bother. Selfishly, though, the idea of getting off the plane and seeing my wife there waiting for me, not having to postpone our reunion any longer than we have to, sounds… too good to pass up.
I put in some headphones and prepare for a lengthy flight.
It’s been almost twelve hours of travel, but I’m finally collecting my baggage from the carousel at LAX.
“Ian!”
I turn around and there’s Cora. She’s wearing a sweater, leggings and boots, a big scarf wrapped around her. Her cheeks are pink from the cold. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
I need my hands on her. Yesterday.
I drop my bag and pick her up, hugging her so hard, I could probably knock the wind out of her.
“Missed you,” I murmur.
“Missed you too.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. My mom’s been helping out a lot. Aya came over today too,” she tells me. “And the show said they’d help me get Alicia into daycare when we begin filming, so that’s a huge relief.”
“Definitely is.”
“You doing all right?” she asks me.
“I am. But I think after this is all over, I’ll be crazy happy to have another year off,” he says.
“Yeah. Thank God Aya’s pregnant.”
“Totally.”
I linger in the middle of the crowded airport with Cora in my arms, getting strange get a room looks from people and I couldn’t care less.
“Let’s go home,” I whisper.
Cora’s mom leaves just as we get back to the apartment. Alicia, the woman of the hour, is asleep in her crib.
“Want some cake?” Cora asks. “My mom made it.”
“Not really?”
“Champagne then?”
I shake my head no.
“I really want a shower, though,” I tell her.
“Want some company?”
“Fuck, yes.”
I grab Cora’s hand, and she squeals as I pull her into the bathroom and close the door.
“Changed my mind,” I tell her. “Let’s take a bath.”
“That sounds nice.”
I adjust the water and lose my clothes in record time before helping Cora out of hers.
I rake my eyes over her body, and she blushes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says.
“Why not?”
I hope she isn’t going to say something about how her body isn’t the way it was before the baby was born.
“Because it’s going to make it so hard to say goodbye to you in two days,” she says.
I help Cora into the bathtub and climb in behind her. She rests against me and we soak in the warm water, just enjoying the feeling of being together like this.
“So… Aya’s pregnant.”
“Yeah,” she confirms, even though it wasn’t a question.
“And when this tour ends, we’ll have another full year off.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I’m just thinking…”
“You’re thinking you want another one?” she asks, sounding kind of nervous.
“What do you think?”
She considers the question.
“I’m not saying that we should start trying tomorrow,” she says. “But if it did happen… It’d be okay.”
I kiss her temple, so happy to hear her say that.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Love you too.”
Part Three
Dylan and Jane
Twenty
Jane
“It’s a nice church,” I say, mostly because I feel like I need to break the silence. It’s a beautiful, old church in county Cork, Ireland. I see why my grandparents were so fond of it.
Dylan nods and takes my hand as we walk inside. He’s been virtually silent since we got up this morning. I wonder if he’s nervous about us going to church. I wonder if he’s as uneasy as I am.
“You look nice,” I whisper.
He does. Holy shit, he looks nice in his dark grey suit. I’ve only seen him in a suit once or twice, most recently for Aya and Shawn’s wedding. But today, he’s slicked his blonde hair back, and he looks like he could be an undercover agent posing as a rock singer.
I don’t tell him that, though. It’s too dorky.
But the thought does make me smile.
The name’s Cotter. Dylan Cotter.
“What’s so funny?” he wonders.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
He looks amused, but lets it go. “You look nice too.”
“Thank you.”
I’m wearing a black dress. It’s knee-length with lacy sleeves. A little sexy, but not so much that church people will stare.
Which is good. It’s my first time in a church in a long, long time.
We take seats in a pew near the front and the service begins.
Dylan hasn’t been to church since he was a child, but he was brought up Catholic and he mumbles his way through some of the recitations.
The priest gives the final blessing, facing the congregation. “This mass is being offered for Kathleen and Joseph Dooley, in their loving memory,” he says.
“Amen,” I say, my voice blending in with all of the others.
The recessional hymn begins and, row by row, we leave the little church. Outside the gates, in the garden, we pass their memorial plaque. After receiving my inheritance from my grandparents, I donated a lot of it to this church. Their church. In gratitude, they added this stone with my grandparents’ names on it.
“Take all the time you need, Jane,” Dylan says, squeezing my shoulder. He steps aside, letting me have a minute with their memory.
I run my fingers over their names. The stone is cold under my fingertips.
“I’m home,” I whisper. “I know it took me long enough.”
I smirk. I haven’t been back to Ireland since my move to Los Angeles. I didn’t even stop through on the multi-country trip Dylan and I took this year. But, finally, the time seemed right to return to my homeland.
“I wanted to let you know that I’m doing well. I’m an artist now,” I tell them. “Like… officially. Like I make money making art. Mostly graphic design stuff, but I actually sold a painting to some fancy friend of Dylan’s manager. And then a bunch of his fancy friends liked it and wanted one too. I wonder if they were kissing ass or humoring me or Dylan, but… whatever.”
I look over at Dylan, who is fiddling with something in his pocket.
“And then there’s Dylan. I wanted to tell you about him,” I continue. “He’s a good man. I think you’d like him. He’s… well…”
I struggle to think of the right words to describe Dylan.
“I think you’d think being with him was a great adventure. And you’d be right,” I tell them. “It hasn’t always been perfect or easy. But he’s it for me.”
I sigh out hard.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back here. But I want you to know that I’m okay. I really am,” I assure them. I kiss my fingertips and touch the stone one final time.
I turn to head back to Dylan and almost barrel straight into him.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Jane, I…”
Dylan looks… nervous. Though I’ve never seen him nervous, so it’s hard to tell.
“I’m not sure this is the right place to do this. I mean, in front of your grandparents’ memorial stone seems awkward, but for us it might be perfect…”
“What’s happening?” I wonder.
Dylan takes my hand in his and gets down on one knee.
“What’s happening?” I ask again, my voice cracking. My breath catches.
“Jane Dooley, will you marry me?” he asks, softly.
I tear up as I stare into his clear, blue eyes.
“Jane?” he asks again.
I blink. “Right, right. You probably want an answer.”
“Little bit, yeah,” he says with a chuckle.
I swallow hard. “Oh my God. Of course I’ll marry you, Dylan.”
Dylan scrambles to his feet and pulls me into a tight hug. His lips are on mine. I don’t know how long we kiss, but eventually I hear someone clear their throat. We look up and see the priest looking back at us. He makes a you crazy kids face and keeps walking.
“That was interesting,” Dylan comments.
“Huh?”
“I thought he’d get mad at us. Maybe give us a lecture in how PDA is bad or how premarital sex is going to land us in hell.”
I shrug. “My grandparents’ church isn’t really like that.”
“My parents’ church was,” he says. “It was all damnation and hellfire for your mistakes.”
“A lot of churches are like that, I know.”
He looks at the small building and the grounds. “Would you want to get married here?” he asks.
“Right now?”
He laughs. “Of course not. But… would you? Would you want a church wedding?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only been engaged for thirty seconds. Do I have to decide now?”
“Of course not,” he says.
Dylan takes my hand and slides the ring on my finger. It’s a beautiful ring with a small emerald in the center of a pretty gold band.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him.
“I didn’t want to assume that you’d want green or emeralds, but…”
“But I would. I love it,” I assure him. “And I love you.”
Twenty-One
Dylan
“How much longer?” Jane asks me.
“Two hours.”
“Wow. This is nearly half the time it takes going to LA.”
I nod.
“I’ve never been to New York before,” she says. “The Big Apple. Do New Yorkers actually call it that? Or only the tourists?”
Jane’s chatty when she’s nervous. But, I’m nervous too and listening to her ask and answer her own questions is weirdly calming right now. I’m about to see my family for the first time in years, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
I mean, I’m taking it really, really slowly. I’m starting with my sister Viv.
Viv reached out to me. She’s the only family member to do so.
It took me a while, and a good amount of convincing from Jane, to text her back. But, ultimately, I’m glad that I did. Viv is my youngest sister, and I was gone to Los Angeles by the time she was sixteen. I missed out on so much of her life and, for the first time since I stopped speaking to my family, I actually regret it. A bit.
Eventually, Jane realizes that she’s talked herself into a circle and stops. I kiss her quiet. It startles her and she giggles.
“What was that for?” she wonders.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
She shrugs. “Of course I’m coming with you.”
One of the things I love most about Jane is that she never thinks twice about doing something nice for someone. I wrap my arm around her, and she leans against my side.
I like the way she fits next to me.
“Is Viv picking us up at the airport?” she asks.
“She said she would.”
“You seem skeptical.”
“It’s not that I don’t think she’ll show up,” I tell her. “It’s that I think she’s going to spring something on me.”
“Like what?”
“Like she’s going to show up with the whole Cotter clan in tow.”
“Would that really be the worst thing in the world?” Jane wonders.
I sigh. “Look, I’d like to see some of them. Viv, of course. Maybe Daphne or Zach too. But, Jane, when my parents made me choose between music and their support…”
My voice trails off.
“I know,” Jane says. “But, Dylan… look at you now.”
I shake my head.
“You’re the lead singer of a successful band. You’ve made it as a musician despite their lack of faith in you,” she says. “They were wrong, and you have that satisfaction. Isn’t it time to forgive them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dylan,” she starts, looking disappointed, “are you planning on lording your success over their heads? Do you want them to grovel and beg for your forgiveness?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I…” Fuck, I know exactly what I want from them right up until I try and articulate it. “I want an apology, mostly.”
That part is true. To have my parents and siblings say that they were wrong and that they’re sorry would be a step in the right direction. It’s more like… I don’t know. I want to feel some kind of understanding between all of us. Some kind of mutual respect.
I want to feel like our relationship is mended.
Or, at least, as mended as it can be.
“Okay, well, maybe you’ll get that and maybe you won’t,” she says.
“That’s not super reassuring.” I raise an eyebrow. “It’s accurate. But it’s not very hopeful.”
“Well, how’s this for hopeful?” she starts. “You’re closer to getting what you’re after than you would be if we were on a plane home.”
She nods, satisfied with that assertion.
She snuggles into my shoulder, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I can’t fight that logic,” I tell her.
When Jane and I get off the plane and get our luggage, there are a few fans who want autographs. As greasy and gross as I am, and as much as I want a shower and a long nap, I happily sign a boarding pass, a napkin and a tee shirt before scanning the baggage claim area for Viv.
“Dylan!” she calls loudly and bounds over to me.
“Viv?” I ask, astounded at the woman running toward my fiancé and me.
I’m floored at how different Viv looks. How much more mature, of course. But also how much more… green hair and piercings.
“I, um… like your hair,” I say as she throws her arms around me.
“Mom and Dad hate it.”
“I’ll bet.”
She just laughs and looks over at Jane.
“Viv, this is my fiancé, Jane Dooley,” I tell her. She and Jane shake hands.
“My car’s this way,” Viv says, helping Jane with her suitcase.
We load our things into Viv’s little Prius only to find that there’s a woman sitting in the front seat. She’s cute. Very small. With dark hair and hazel eyes.
“This is Justine,” she explains. “My, um… girlfriend.”
I shake hands with Justine, then Jane follows suit.
I’m taken aback. “You’re gay?”
“Bi, actually,” she says.
“That’s cool,” Jane adds.
“Do… Mom and Dad know?” I ask her. Wow, calling my parents Mom and Dad felt really strange. In my head, I refer to them as my parents, but calling them anything feels weird.
“Yes, but they don’t really take it seriously.”
“Huh?”
“They think it’s just a phase. But, I mean… I’m an adult now. If I say I’m bisexual, I’m pretty sure it’s permanent.”
“I agree. You know yourself.”
“But I guess disbelief and apathy are better than a homophobic rant followed by them cutting me out of their lives,” she says. “You know… if I have to choose.”
“Could it be possible they’re growing as people?” I ask, more to myself than to Viv. “A little?”
She shrugs and starts the car. Jane and
I fumble into the backseat.
“It’s possible,” Viv answers finally.
Twenty-Two
Jane
We spend the day hanging out with Viv and Justine in their little apartment in Queens and we learn that Viv is a data entry clerk in an office building, though she takes classes at night to become a yoga instructor. Justine is violinist who makes the majority of her income teaching private lessons.
Dylan, despite his hesitance in coming here, hangs onto his sister’s every word. I swear, he pretends not to need his family so well that I think he’s almost convinced himself.
But, still, he smiles as his sister makes a dumb joke. And I swear, he tears up as she tells him about her college graduation.
“So… are you going to talk to Mom and Dad?” Viv asks.
“I’m not sure.”
My ears perk up. I’m hopeful. “Not sure?”
Up until, well… right now, Dylan was adamant that he only saw Viv on this trip. He absolutely wasn’t going to be in the same room with his parents.
That shift from no way in hell to not sure fills me with so much hope.
Viv and Justine offer to let us stay on the pull-out sofa, but Dylan insists on giving them their space. I think they look a little relieved and, to be honest, I am, too.
We say our goodbyes to Viv and Justine, and Dylan calls a Lyft to take us to the hotel.
“It’s nothing too fancy,” he says.
“That’s fine.” I’m excited anyway. “I love hotels.”
“I know,” he says, taking my hand as the car arrives.
The driver gives Dylan an I know you from somewhere look, but doesn’t say anything.
“Which one was your favorite?” he asks. “Hotel, I mean.”
We stayed in hotels and hostels all over the world on the trip we took last year. We stayed in a waterfront hotel in Vietnam that was lovely, a super fancy hotel in Singapore that was famous for how fancy it was, and a capsule hotel in Japan that Dylan hated, but I thought was fascinating.
“Probably that one in Croatia,” I answer.
“I think technically that was a guest house,” he points out.