Chapter 11
YOU’RE FORTY??
brAD
Shari is almost paralysed with anxiety as I knock on my parents' door before letting us in. She’s been trying to psych herself up for this all week, but clearly her nerves won the battle.
“We're here!” I call out as I shut the door behind me.
My mum comes rushing into the hallway to greet us. She's been so excited to meet Shari, even if I haven't really told my parents too much about her. I didn't want to colour their expectations before they had a chance to really get to know her.
“Brad, sweetheart, I've missed you!” She pecks me on the cheek and turns to Shari, who has a death grip on my hand. “And you must be Shari!” She pauses as her eyes roam Shari’s face.
Come on, Mum, play nice. She clears her throat and shakes her head as if to also clear her thoughts.
“It's nice to meet you. Brad never brings girls home, so this is uncharted territory for us!” She steps forward and air kisses my girlfriend’s cheeks.
Can I call her my girlfriend? We haven't actually talked about what we are since I asked her last week. Probably should.
“Mrs Quinlan, thank you so much for inviting me to lunch. Brad's told me a lot about you.”
My mother has pulled back but is still gently gripping Shari's shoulders as she scans her face again. With a tight smile, her eyes flick my way. “Don't believe anything he tells you about having a hard childhood. This boy was spoilt beyond belief! And please, call me Grace.”
Dad appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. “That was all your doing, dear,” he declares with a sparkle in his eye, and I don't miss my mother's responding eye roll.
“Yes, well, you were too busy being wrapped around Hettie's little finger.” She winks at me and then grabs Shari's elbow to guide her into the kitchen. My father introduces himself with a handshake and a hug before they all head through the doorway, and I take a moment to gather myself.
So far, so good, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about the furrow of my mother's brow when she looked at Shari. She genuinely looks ten years younger than she actually is, but even that would still put her at eight years my senior. I just really hope my parents can keep open minds here.
I take a deep breath and get a lungful of roast chicken and freshly baked bread. It’s the smell of rainy Sundays after football and early mornings before heading out for a surf. It’s the smell of home, and it helps centre me.
My father's just on the other side of the doorway when I step through, and he murmurs, “Got yourself a looker there, son. And older than you too! There's something to be said for an experienced woman.” He waggles his eyebrows and I cringe.
“Dad. No. Don't be that guy.”
I see the concern leech into his expression as he really looks at me. “You really like this one. I was only joking, Brad. She seems lovely. Truly.”
I blow out a breath. “Sorry. I know you were joking. I'm just nervous, I do really like her, and yes, she's older, but she keeps trying to use that as a reason for us not to be together, so I'm just...I'm worried if other people harp on about it that'll just solidify her fears.”
His eyes roam my face, and he looks like he's about to say something further when Mum calls us through to the dining room to take a seat.
My sister, Hettie, is already sitting at the table, typing away on her phone. “Hets, can you put your phone away for two minutes? I want you to meet Shari.”
Without even looking up, she childishly mimics, “Put your phone away, meh meh meh,” before she realises what I said, and she pauses to look up.
“Oh shit! Sorry, Mum said you were bringing a girl home, but I thought you were winding her up!” She stands abruptly, making her chair screech backwards at a teeth-clenching decibel.
I roll my eyes at her and place my hand on Shari's lower back, “Not a wind up, this is Shari. Shari, this is my older – if you can believe it by her lack of maturity – sister, Hettie.”
Hettie shoves me away and pulls Shari into an overbearing hug. She's always been really touchy-feely and I'm worried Shari might feel incredibly uncomfortable with her over-familiarity. But I needn't have been concerned, because I watch Shari visibly melt into my sister's embrace.
“Hi Hettie, it's so good to meet you,” she giggles.
SHARI
“Have you always lived in Devon? I just assumed Brad went to a grammar school or something, but I notice none of you have a West Country accent,” I muse before I take another bite of the delicious roast potatoes. I swear, Grace must have cooked them in crack because, holy hell, they’re good.
“No, we're actually from Hampshire. Hettie and Brad were both born in Winchester and we lived there until Hettie finished school,” Grace replies. “Phil got a job offer we just couldn't refuse, didn't you, dear?”
Phil dabs his mouth with his napkin and rests his hand over his wife's on the table. “I did, indeed. Best decision we ever made, too.”
“Oh, what is it that you do?”
“I’m an aquatic vet at the National Marine Aquarium here in Plymouth,” he beams.
“Wow, that's incredible! I haven't been there before, we'll have to visit at some point. Wait, do you have dolphins? Can we meet them?” I ask, a little too excitedly.
Chuckling Phil says, “No, we don't have dolphins, but we do have snorkelling experiences and turtle feeding if either of those things interest you.”
“Oh definitely! Sign me up for both.”
“What about you, Shari? Are you from Bristol?” Hettie asks, leaning forward to see me better.
“No, I’m not from the U.K. at all, actually. I was born and raised in Malaysia.”
“Ah Malaysia! We went there on holiday once. Many years ago, before the kids were born. Where was it we went again, dear?” Phil turns to Grace.
“Oh, it was an island somewhere. Pen…Pengan? Pental?”
“Penang?” I offer.
“Yes! That’s it. We had two days in the capital, Kuala Lumpur, and then just over a week in Penang. Gorgeous place, and the food was amazing!” Phil gushes. “How come you were born there, are your parents Malaysian?”
“My mother is. My father is Welsh-Australian, but he was working in K.L. and met my mum at a party. And the rest, as they say, is history!” I smile. “They still live in there, so I generally only see them once or twice a year, but we try to video call as often as we can.”
I'm surprised at how well this meeting is going, so far.
Brad's parents have actually been really welcoming – or Phil has at least, Grace has been a bit more reserved – and his sister has been an absolute godsend.
She's made me feel so accepted with her tight hug and general tactility.
Plus, it's a relief that no one seems keen to bring up the elephant in the room. Yet.
“So, Shari, how did you meet my son? I'm assuming you're not in any classes together – unless you're the professor?” Grace raises an eyebrow with this, and I need the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Hello, elephant.
“Mum!” Brad's fork clinks against his plate as he stares at her in disbelief.
Grace waves him off like she didn't just set off palpitations in my chest. “Oh don't Mum me, it's a joke! But it's obvious you're...a bit older than my son. So, I'm just curious as to how you met, that's all!”
A strangled, forced laugh squeaks out from my lips, and I can only imagine my face looks like that Chrissy Teigen meme.
“Umm, well, we actually met at a festival. I was there with my friends and Brad was serving at the bar.”
He looks over at me and hooks his fingers around mine on the table. “I’d never seen anyone so beautiful, so I sought her out after the show finished, and here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeat softly.
Grace hums, noncommittally, but Phil is smiling at our joined hands. Hettie seems to be staring at her mum in shock.
“Actually, there's something we wanted to tell you,” Brad clears his throat, still looking at me.
Oh god, this is it. I might throw up.
“We're, uh, we're expecting.”
“Beg your pardon?” Grace shakes her head, as if to clear her hearing. “Expecting what?”
“Shari's pregnant. You're going to be grandparents!”
It's almost funny watching Grace's face contort, seemingly in slow motion.
Phil is wide-eyed, mouth agape. Hettie drops her fork, and it bounces off the table and clatters onto the floor, completely unnoticed.
But Grace goes through a gamut of emotions before settling on something that looks a lot like disgust. That doesn't bode well.
“Pregnant?” She repeats, quietly. “You're pregnant? Well, I guess that explains why Brad wants to keep you around.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Mum, you're being incredibly rude!” Brad seethes.
“Mum!” Hettie shouts.
“Sweetheart, why else would you want a long-term relationship with someone older than you? You can do right by this baby without being obligated to its mother, you know. Have you really thought about what life will be like if you stay with her out of a sense of duty?”
I am gobsmacked. I expected a negative reaction, of course, but not this extreme. And not before she even knows my actual age, which is going to make this so much worse.
“Grace, please don't talk about me like I'm not sitting here,” I manage with a steady voice. “I can understand your concerns about our age gap because I have them myself, but I want the best for both Brad and our baby. He isn't obligated to be with me, he knows that.”
She scoffs. Phil is still gaping, but I see his hand rising slowly as though aiming for a high five from his son. It would be amusing if I weren't quite so desperate to escape.
Grace leans forward with her eyes narrowed. “Exactly how old are you?”
“Mother—”
“It's a simple question, Brad. Why are you being cagey? How old are you Shari, what's your age gap?”
I swallow thickly and rip off the band-aid. “I’m forty.”
“Fuck me,” Phil whispers to himself.
“Whoa, what's your skincare ritual?” Hettie asks, fascinated, as her eyes roam my face.
Meanwhile, Grace's face had drained to the palest white at my declaration and is now turning a shade of red that has me concerned we might need to call an ambulance.
“Forty,” she says breathlessly. “You're forty. You're FORTY?! Jesus fucking Christ, Phil, she's closer to our age than his! Oh god. This has to be a sick joke. Tell me it's a joke, Brad, and you're not having a baby with a woman almost twice your age! Aren't you barren by now??”
“Mum! Seriously, what is wrong with you?!” Hettie screeches.
“It’s not a joke, Mum. But our age gap changes nothing. I care about Shari and we're having a baby together. You need to treat her with respect! I know this is a shock, but when you calm down and get to know each other, you'll—”
“No! I will not ‘calm down’! This is sick,” she glares at me then. “You are sick! What does a woman your age want with a young boy?? I have a mind to phone the police!”
I'm finding it harder to breathe with every hateful word coming out of her mouth.
“Mother! I will not have you berating Shari like this.
She's done nothing wrong. She's not sick, I'm not a young boy, and if you phone the police to tell them that two consenting adults are having a baby together, they will indict you for wasting their time. And I will never forgive you for it. You owe Shari an apology.”
Grace looks like she's on the verge of tears, but there is a lot of rage aimed in my direction and I feel so dirty.
“I think I should just go,” I tell Brad quietly. I genuinely feel like I might be sick, my stomach is roiling so hard.
I grab my handbag from where it's hanging on the back of my chair, pull out the copy of the sonogram we brought for his parents, place it next to my plate and slowly stand.
I can't bring myself to look anyone in the eye, so I thank the table for lunch and make my way to the front door on wobbly legs.
I can hear the scrape of a chair against the tiled floor behind me, along with Hettie's hissed you should be ashamed of yourself before my knees buckle. Brad's somehow there to catch me, though, and as I break down against his chest, he picks me up and cradles me out to the car.
I can hardly take in enough air between my gasping sobs, and Brad refuses to let go of my hand for the drive home, constantly shooting me worried glances.
But even as I spiral, a sense of clarity washes over me.
I knew this would happen at some point. I knew our age gap would incite hateful words and that they'd all be aimed my way. I knew we would never work, and as much as it hurts now, it's better to end things before we even really start. Co-parenting is all I can have.