Chapter 4
4
“ H olly went batshit bonkers. She stomped through Henry’s Lego castle in a rage, threw herself on the floor, and cried her eyes out. I’ve never seen her so mad. Girl’s got herself a serious temper.” Jay hiked a thumb toward his husband and faux-whispered, “Like her other daddy.”
“Yeah, right,” Peter scoffed, his eyes twinkling with humor. “I don’t know where she gets it, but poor Henry will hopefully think twice about messing with his sister’s books next time.”
Jay winced, casting his gaze skyward, his hands clasped in prayer. “Please don’t let there be a next time. Please.”
We snickered. Henry and Holly exploits were legendary. Jay and Peter’s twins were four-year-old mini hurricanes with mostly mellow personalities…unless provoked into wicked tailspins.
Henry loved heavy machinery and gadgets. He was equally entertained by garbage trucks, Legos, and the innards of a remote control. Holly loved to color and she was a big pet lover, however, her greatest passion was books. She could read simple Dr. Seuss stories on her own, but she aspired to read the “big ones” that had lots of pages.
Jack and I had given her a collection of Beatrix Potter books for her birthday, knowing the illustrations would enchant her while she was working out the words. Apparently, her brother had knocked her prize stack of Peter Rabbit tomes over and all hell had broken loose.
“Gotta love Holly’s passion,” I commented, reaching for the Pinot. I topped off Matt’s and Aaron’s glasses and motioned for Seth to pass the bottle to his husband, Paul. “I kind of feel sorry for Henry, though. He’s a sweet guy. I doubt he was trying to grind his sister’s gears.”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. They have a secret language, and I have a strong theory she pissed Henry off and he retaliated…not realizing it would cause war.”
“The joys of parenthood, eh?” Jack chuckled softly, flashing a warm smile at Peter, his close friend who had been, once-upon-a-very-long-time-ago, his lover.
Not gonna lie, they’d probably made a striking couple, and yes, knowing they’d once been intimately familiar with each other used to give me the vapors. I mean…holy fuck, Peter Moore was possibly the hottest man I’d ever met. After Jack, of course.
Peter looked like an Italian fashion model, he was smart as fuck, and he was an extremely successful DC lobbyist who was passionate about environmental concerns too.
Did I mention I specialized in easement and encroachment law? And let’s be real, I was lucky to get a shout-out as “boy-next-door” cute.
But who cared? Jack loved me, no one but me.
And Peter was head over heels for Jay…who happened to be Aaron’s best friend. Aaron had married Matt, my former roommate and best buddy from law school. And Paul was the guy Aaron had tried to set me up with. He’d fallen for Seth, an internationally renowned artist instead.
See, everyone at this table shared a history…through work, school, complicated ex statuses, and friendship.
I loved these guys. Jack and I would do anything for them, and I knew for a fact that they’d return the favor at a moment’s notice.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see each other often anymore. Jay and Peter were busy with their kids; Paul and Seth jetted between London, New York City, and DC for their jobs; Matt and Aaron had bought an awesome house in Maryland a couple of years ago and were deep in the process of trying to start a family.
And Jack and I worked…a lot and spent our free time at the cabin we’d expanded and remodeled five years ago.
By the way, that little “forest project” to transform the teeny rustic abode Jack had owned for eons into a well-appointed spacious two-bedroom lodge with updated bathrooms and a dreamy kitchen had been the impetus for our recent move from the upstairs loft over Jack’s motorcycle shop to a freaking beautiful town house in Georgetown with high ceilings, gleaming hardwood flooring, and contemporary fixtures. We even had a decent-sized yard now.
Our move was kind of a big deal. Maybe even a bigger deal than announcing that we’d been married for a few years. We swore we’d never move ’cause we’d loved the old place. It was sleek and cool, and the location couldn’t be beat. Unfortunately, it wasn’t ideal for kids. One time our nephew ate it on the spiral staircase, cut his lip open, and required stitches. Another time, Henry had climbed the fence we’d put up when they’d visited and done a somersault off one of the bottom steps. Slightly hazardous.
It wasn’t great for entertaining either, and if someone happened to have a motorcycle emergency—yes, that did happen—Jack had always felt compelled to stop whatever he was doing to help. He didn’t want to be tied to the shop, or any of the bars we owned, twenty-four-seven. Not anymore. We were more cognizant of change than ever.
We were all…older. Fuck, you might even say we were full-fledged adults.
No one had free weekends to shoot hoops at the local park or to meet up for drinks on a whim. We planned this shit out and consulted calendars, damn it. Maybe Friday nights weren’t the most convenient, but being together to discuss toddler tantrums and upcoming holiday plans felt like a precious gift.
I elbowed Matt, then speared a bite of steak. “Any news about the surrogate?”
Matt set a hand on Aaron’s and shook his head. “Not yet. We’re hoping to hear something in the next week or two. Keep your fingers crossed for us.”
“Hear something as in…she’s pregnant with your baby?” I asked.
Aaron bit his lower lip and inclined his head, his dark hair falling like a curtain over his eyes. “I don’t want to say a single solitary word and jinx this, so just…think positive thoughts. It’s been a rough road, and we could use all the happy juju the universe can throw our way.”
Matt kissed Aaron’s knuckles. “What he said.”
I made a button-lip motion and drew an air heart. “Got it. Hey, did you ever get that pizza oven you were talking about buying? We had the best—I’m talking seriously the best ever pizza at Maranza’s last weekend. Pistachio, mortadella, and a delicious pesto-sauce base. It was interesting for sure, but the dough is where it’s at. I want to talk Jack into buying one.”
“And where would we put a pizza oven, Curtis?” Jack smiled affectionately. “There’s no room in the kitchen.”
I wrinkled my nose. “On the patio?”
“Oh, boy.”
Aaron leaned forward. “That’s exactly what we did. It was installed last week, and our first attempt was so freaking good. Chicken, caramelized onions, apples, goat cheese?—”
“On a pizza?” Paul intercepted in his posh British accent. “How very…”
“American?” Matt supplied.
Paul nodded, unwittingly sparking an intense debate about pizza toppings. Shrimp, spinach, red onion, cheese, and a white sauce. Artichoke hearts, peanut sauce, and goat cheese.
Seth waved his arms in surrender. “Gross. I’m all for inventive culinary choices, but those are some nasty concoctions, and what’s with all the goat cheese? That’s the least sexy cheese available.”
I gasped in dismay, flailing my hands theatrically. “Take that back. Goat cheese rocks, and?—”
Aaron grabbed my wrist. “Oh. My. God.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Your ring changed.”
My buzzy brain sloshed against my skull as my Pinot-infused quest to defend my favorite cheese skidded to an abrupt halt.
“Uh…no, it’s the same ring.”
“Different finger.” Aaron cast a sharp glance at Jack. “For both of you.”
Silence.
The awkward kind that could have been avoided if I’d carefully considered how to drop the marriage bomb on our closest friends. Or if I’d wanted to. Jack had surprised the hell out of me, but I’d known there’d be questions. The smarter option would have been to slip my ring on my right hand as per usual and put some thought into how we’d spill the beans.
Too late.
“Oh, uh…”
Aaron shook his head ruefully. “Sorry, not my business. I didn’t mean to get nosy.”
“Oh, hey, no, it’s cool,” I stammered. “I…we…uh…”
“We’re married,” Jack said matter-of-factly.
Our friends gaped in undisguised shock.
“Married,” Matt repeated, slyly bumping his husband’s shoulder. “Aar totally called it.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Aaron shimmied in his chair. “I knew it, I knew it. Can I ask when? No, wait. Let me guess. Five years ago…before Matty and I got hitched. Or…maybe just after. Oh, oh! Final answer: three and a half years ago. That’s when you switched to the titanium bands. Classy and sexy, by the way. And yikes, I’ll shut up now. Gah! Okay, last thing—we’re so, so happy for you.”
Matt beamed at his man, then reached for his glass and lifted it in toast. “Congratulations.”
Jay, Peter, Seth, and Paul each weighed in with warm regards and lighthearted teasing about planning a post-nuptials joint stag party.
“Strippers are very passé ,” Jay commented. “We could do a winery tour. If we plan it well in advance, I can get my folks to watch the twins. A weekend away sounds glorious, doesn’t it?”
“What about a tropical location, like the Caribbean?” Seth suggested.
“Love it.” Aaron twisted to face me. “Or…how about a ski weekend?”
“I cannot risk breaking a single solitary bone,” Jay huffed. “Well-meaning preschool moms will descend en masse with knockoff Ina Garten casseroles, and I’ll be forced to reciprocate. You know I can’t cook for shit.”
Everyone laughed at Jay’s comedic expression. I think I laughed too—or at least chuckled wanly.
To be honest, I wasn’t following the conversation anymore. It was chaotic revelry with good vibes, so…yay. But I was swimming in a maelstrom of emotion, and I couldn’t blame the Pinot. I was just overwhelmed.
Jack must have sensed it. He moved to my side and set a hand on my shoulder before addressing our maniac friends, who’d decided to shelve skiing for an expedition to Iceland. The fuck?
“Hey, y’all. We appreciate the party ideas, but it’s not necessary. We don’t want a fuss…never did. Which is why you’re just now finding out that we’re…”
“Mister and mister,” Aaron supplied, fluttering his lashes playfully.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “We opted out of the traditional ceremony and reception and honeymoon. We opted out of letting anyone in our intention to marry. We wanted to do it our way. We still do. I know that probably seems awkward and maybe insulting. If so, we apologize. But it wouldn’t change a thing. I love Jack, I love our life, and it’s important to me that we stay true to ourselves. We’ve done that for over ten years. I hope we have fifty more together.”
Our friends clapped, cheered, and yes, raised their glasses in a toast. “To Jack and Curt!”
I stood and snaked my arm around Jack’s waist, leaning into his warmth.
Our marriage reveal was small potatoes in the scope of things. A blip in an ocean of the ever-changing world. Nonetheless, this was a sweet moment shared with friends.