15. Side Quest Accepted
Chapter fifteen
Side Quest Accepted
Cameron
Alexis
Checking in. How are things?
And wondering if you’re free for coffee Thursday morning?
I need away from the wedding planning for an hour or two
Cami
Thursday sounds good, also planning plural weddings for yourself is a hell of a problem to have
Alexis
lol
Maybe bring your laptop, we can pretend ot be productive
Cami
Pretending to be productive should be a marketable skill
Unfortunately nobody pays me for it
By the time I leave the house Thursday morning, I’ve changed my sweater twice and checked the parking situation like I’m preparing for a job interview instead of meeting a friend who has already seen me cry into a drink.
Apparently, being reasonable confident that someone likes me during a crisis doesn’t translate to knowing what to do with myself when she likes me enough to invite me out after.
Which is fucking ridiculous.
I put the first sweater back on.
The coffee shop windows are fogged along the bottom, with snowflakes created with that spray-on snow above the condensation.
Inside, it smells like espresso and pastries.
Alexis lifts a hand to wave at me from the table where her coat is draped over an empty chair and a laptop sits open in front of her, although she’s currently focused on her phone.
“Please tell me that’s work and not weddings,” I tease as I shrug out of my coat.
“Flowers,” she concedes, wrinkling her nose.
“Already violating the terms of our agreement.”
“I know.” She puts the phone facedown and stands to hug me. “You look good.”
“Less like I lost a fight with my mascara?”
“Considerably so, yes.”
I laugh, and some of the stupid tension between my shoulders loosens.
After I order at the counter, I settle across from her with my laptop bag and a coffee much larger than is reasonable.
She waits until I’m settled before asking, “How are you, though?”
The question is quiet, but she doesn’t lean forward like she’s waiting for me to break.
“Better. Still pissed off when I think about it. But better.” I run a finger along the seam of my cup. “Things at home are really good. There has been a lot of talking—with all of us—and I think it’s been helpful.”
“So good talking? Not everybody circling the same conversation?”
“Some of both, but we did have an actual family meeting.”
Her mouth twitches as she nods approvingly.
“But yes. Good talking. And thank you for the other night. Seriously.”
“I’m glad you wrote, and I’m glad I was available.”
The weight of that settles heavier than it should.
“So,” I say, and clear my throat, “tell me something that has nothing to do with my house.”
She grins. “I fell on my ass way too many times snowboarding.”
“Excellent. Start there.”
She tells me about a recent trip for Carter’s birthday. And I learn that four days in the mountains apparently isn’t enough time to forget you’re planning two weddings, but it is enough time for four men to become deeply invested in making you stop talking about them.
“To be fair,” she admits, “I liked the distraction.”
Smiling, I ask, “How many times did you talk about weddings?”
“Honestly, I didn’t keep count.”
“So, a completely reasonable number, I’m sure.”
We are not productive—not even a little.
Her laptop goes to sleep while we discuss the particular betrayal of jeans that fit perfectly standing up and try to kill you sitting down. Somehow we get onto holiday shopping, then terrible presents, then whether asking for a vacuum counts as permission for someone to give you one romantically.
“Since I asked for it, yes,” I decide. “If he hands me a vacuum because he has noticed I could be doing more around the house, I’m finding a creative use for the attachments.”
Alexis nearly spits out her coffee.
Eventually, I ask about her ring.
She holds her hand out. The stones catch the pale light from the window, different colors crowded together in a setting that somehow makes them look like they belong exactly where they are.
“It’s their birthstones, with mine in the middle,” she explains.
“That’s really fucking sweet.”
“They did well.” Her smile goes soft before she draws her hand back.
“So two weddings means two dresses?”
“Obviously.”
“That explains everything,” I tease with a smile.
She grins. “Georgia, my best friend, which is good, because occasionally I forget I have a job.”
“I thought you wanted to forget about weddings today.”
“You asked about the ring. I didn’t have a choice.”
I hold up both hands. “Fair.”
For a minute we sip coffee in relative silence.
“Can I ask you something about the wedding that isn’t about flowers or dresses?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Does marrying Holden mean he’s your primary?”
Alexis studies me for a moment. “That’s not really how we describe it, no. Our dynamic is significantly different than yours, though.”
Her head tips a little. “Was that part of the family meeting?”
“A lot of it.” I shift my cup between my hands. “Griffin and I are primaries. Micah and Dex are, too. It’s practical priorities, mostly. Who you’re building certain parts of your life around. Which makes sense, except my brain sometimes makes it seem like everybody else gets whatever’s left.”
“But that’s not true. That’s not what they’re getting.”
“No.” The answer comes quickly. “At least that’s not what I want. Ronan doesn’t even want the things that would really come out of being a primary. He was pretty clear about that.”
“Then I’d start by believing him.”
I make a face, and she smiles without taking it back.
“You can check in again,” she adds. “But you don’t have to convince him he should want something because you’d want it in his shoes.”
Sighing, I lean back in my chair.
“I told you, Cami, managing multiple men is a kind of mental and emotional labor most people don’t understand.”
“I might be trying too hard.”
“I might have experience.”
“So, why was it Holden for the legal marriage?”
Her thumb moves over her ring. “There were several reasons. First and foremost, it’s what the guys all agreed to, on their own.
The other four without Holden or me in the conversation.
But also, his family and career. What marriage actually means to him.
He was probably the most traditional coming into this, and he and Shawn both want kids with me.
There were a lot of conversations. A lot.
Holden being my legal husband makes sense for us. ”
“But he doesn’t get more say? Or more priority?”
“Not because he’s the husband, no. If something affects everyone, everyone still needs a voice.
But legally?” Her expression grows more thoughtful.
“That’s different. We can mean all six of us when we say family, but any form that involves ‘next of kin’ doesn’t give a shit what we mean when we say ‘family.’”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’m familiar with forms being assholes.”
“You married Griffin because you needed health insurance. You already know there are things that change with the legal status.”
I nod.
But I mostly know what it changed for me.
Insurance. Prescriptions. Being able to order diabetic supplies without mentally rearranging every bill I owe.
I haven’t spent nearly as much time thinking about the things the same piece of paper doesn’t do for anyone else.”
“Ethan and Jeremiah had already made legal arrangements for me, for all of us, before there was even a proposal,” she says.
“If something happens to either of them, there are safeguards in place. And don’t get me wrong, we’d be just fine without it, but they both earn a significantly higher income than the rest of us, and they have the savings, investments, and insurance to go with that.
” She picks up her cup before remembering it’s empty.
“But marrying Holden doesn’t somehow extend a marriage certificate over the rest of the house. ”
“So what would you suggest?”
“Talk to a lawyer who understands what you’re trying to protect.
Hopefully a very nonjudgmental one. You’ll need to discuss things like wills, beneficiaries, medical powers of attorney…
what happens with the house, not just who inherits money.
” She pauses. “And not just what happens to you, but the rest of your polycule, too.”
That catches.
Because I can picture Griffin in a hospital bed, and all of us showing up.
All the decisions would land with me because I’m the wife.
I can picture Micah trying to get an answer about Dex from a medical system that protects health information the way it should.
Ronan, who specifically asked to be told when someone is sick, standing somewhere a stranger has decided he doesn’t belong.
My fingers tighten around my cup. “I think we need that conversation.”
“Probably. We’re still having versions of it. There isn’t one stack of paperwork that makes everything identical to being legally married, and what is needed can change over time.”
She doesn’t say it dramatically. Not like it’s a lecture. Not like it’s some kind of emergent issue. Just something that we should think about.
“Sounds like a sexy conversation,” I mutter.
“Extremely. Nothing says romance and forever like deciding who gets to argue with an insurance company.”
“Griffin. Definitely Griffin.”
We both laugh, and I set my phone down before I turn this into a full existential crisis.
Suddenly I look at my watch and realize it’s half past noon. “Holy shit.”
“Do you need to go?” Alexis asks, concerned.
“No. I just thought it was still morning.”
“Want to go get something to eat?” she asks as she closes her laptop.
I check my glucose. “Yes, and maybe then we can pretend to work somewhere else.”
We get a booth near the back of a deli, far enough from the door that the cold air doesn’t hit us every time someone comes in.
After we order, I give myself an insulin bolus, knowing this will probably be too many carbs.
She doesn’t ask about it, or about whether I should be eating bread, which is nice.
It’s a low fucking bar, but I appreciate it.