10. Evan
CHAPTER 10
Evan
When Mariah Carey starts blaring through the seasonal aisle at Waitrose, I join the other customers who look up from the limoncello panettones and the gluten and dairy free mince pies topped with caramelised almonds to give an irritated ‘tut’.
Until I realise the noise is coming from my own damned pocket.
Cheeks flaming, I abandon my basket on a shelf filled with boxes of dark chocolate and orange Florentines, muttering something about how all I want for Christmas is to throttle my niece for always managing to sneakily change her ringtone on my phone. I hardly ever bloody see her! How does she do this?
“Hello? Hello?” I splutter, seeking refuge back in the refrigerated aisle beside the bao buns decorated to look like Father Christmas.
“Uncle Evan!” she cries in delight. “I was expecting to get your voicemail.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her off for the embarrassing display she just caused me.
When I realise…I don’t care.
I literally don’t know a single soul in this supermarket. What does it matter if a silly pop song just burst free from my clothing? My only living relative that I know of has called me and said she was glad it didn’t go to voicemail.
“Freddie,” I say as I rub my forehead sheepishly and let out half a laugh. “It’s good to hear from you. How are you? How’s Clare?”
The silence lasts so long I take the phone away from my ear to check the call hasn’t been disconnected.
“I-it is?” Freddie stammers as I go back to the call. “I mean, of course it is! It’s good to hear from you, too. Although, I mean, yeah, I’m the one who called. Um…oh! Yeah, we’re fine, fine, fine. You know, in the swing of everything. ’Tis the season, after all!”
I chuckle at her word vomit. She’s always been exuberant, so bubbly and striking with her coloured hair and piercings. When she says she’s in the swing of Christmas, I have no doubt she means it.
I don’t know if it’s any kind of reaction to my own poor attitude or just how my niece and her wife are wired, but they’re the kind of people who decorate their house for the holidays inside and out a month in advance. And I don’t just mean Christmas. They’ve been doing Halloween for years, but recently they’ve also added Valentine’s Day to their repertoire, as well as St Patrick’s Day and, for some reason, International Talk Like a Pirate Day.
That’s the nineteenth of September, in case you were wondering.
Deep down, I’m sure that they’ve become more and more dedicated to these endeavours as a distraction from their true passion. Freddie and Clare have been trying to conceive for years without any luck. So when they decorate their house like Carnaby Street on poppers, they also have it well set up for people going by and admiring to donate to the Great Ormand Street Hospital for Children. Rather than a collection bucket that they’d worry about wrong ’uns pilfering from, they have a QR code for people to use on their phones. It’s genius if you ask me.
“Uncle Evan?”
I realise I’ve been staring at the wheels of baking camembert with sticky plum glaze. “Hmm?”
She laughs, sounding not a little bit exasperated. “I asked how you are? And if you were going to make our Christmas party this year?”
Her voice is flat because she knows I’ll say ‘maybe’ whilst really meaning ‘hell no’.
Except what comes out of my mouth in that moment is, “When is it again?”
Another moment of silence. However, this time I’m invested in the answer, so I don’t pull the phone away to check whether or not we’re still connected.
“Really?” she says softly. “I mean…it’s Friday the twentieth. Why? Do you think you’ll actually come?”
I’ll be honest, the idea of spending an entire evening with her and her noisy millennial friends blasting music I can’t stand and drinking terrible corner shop screw-cap wine sounds horrendous to me.
On the other hand…for the first time in forever, I find the notion of having to put up with family a blessing instead of a burden.
“It would be nice to see you and Clare,” I admit truthfully.
My niece’s wife is a slightly scary barrister whom I have no doubt would ride into battle on a real live horse for my late sister’s only child. We’ve probably only spoken a dozen words in the decade they’ve been together, but that’s probably why I like her so much.
“Well, you don’t have to come to the party,” Freddie says, stumbling over her words as I wander back to the pastry aisle. I’m amused to find my basket is exactly where I panic dropped it with everything still inside it. “I know you hate parties,” Freddie continues.
I pout even though she can’t see me. “I don’t hate parties,” I protest. “I hate strangers.”
“Well, yes, that make sense,” Freddie concedes. “I know you used to have a big bash every New Year’s, but… anyway!”
I can practically feel her forced smile down the line. I don’t blame her for not wanting to put her foot in anything. In fact, it’s kind of sweet that she knows me so well.
“We could just meet for a cup of tea or a mulled wine or something sometime,” she suggests. “Are you…how’s your schedule? Many plans this month?”
Normally, her awkward way of asking if I’m intending on being a lonely old bastard for the whole of Christmas would irk me. But in this moment, I find it endearing. I always thought she was meddling.
She’s just trying to take care of me.
That’s a sentiment I can understand wholeheartedly, especially after this past week.
“I…”
My throat clamps up. However, I discover that I really do want to tell another human being about my private life for the first time in several years. My staff at the office always politely ask me how things are going, but no one—not me nor them—expect me to answer with anything of actual substance.
“I’ve made some new friends,” I blurt out.
“Really?” Freddie squeaks back. “How? When? I mean…uh…that’s wonderful.”
I chuckle and start walking aimlessly down the wine aisle. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel the hopeless drive to drink my pain away. I look at some Champagne, wondering if the boys would like it.
I need to stop thinking of them that way, but I can’t help it. The boys.
My boys.
Of course, it’s all just a bit of fun and games. They see me as a charity case and they’re so far from being ‘mine’ that I should be ashamed of myself for thinking otherwise. Not to mention the fact that Sai most definitely isn’t a boy.
But I can’t stop thinking about them. All of them.
Just getting to experience a one-time jolly with Tian had seemed to be too good to be true at the time. But then Jude insisted that I needed a date with him to test my chops when it comes to bratty middles. I can’t say that’s my usual taste, but then again, neither are their strong, confident Daddies. I can still the feel the weight of Sai’s hand on my shoulder as if I’m being haunted by a spectre, but in a really hot kind of way.
I realise I’ve left Freddie hanging again and clear my throat.
“Uhh…some guys at the gentleman’s club I go to have decided to adopt me and get me fit for the dating pool again. I think it’s a lost cause, but?—”
“Oh, Uncle Evan, that’s so cute! Clare Bear! Evan made some friends! Huh? No, he’s not paying them.” She cackles then pauses. “You’re not paying them, are you? Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”
I put her out of her misery before she can launch into her usual rant about legalising and unionising sex work that I already agree with.
“No, they’re just being kind to an old man.”
“You’re not old,” she says without any hesitation. “But seriously, Uncle Evan, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you. Since…well…it’s nice to hear you’re letting people in again.”
“They’re a throuple,” I say. I don’t really know how to follow that up, but I feel like it’s important, and I’d like her opinion on the situation.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, cool. How did they meet, do you know?”
I finally decide on a bottle of bubbly and put two in my basket, making it on the verge of being too heavy to continue holding. I take that as a sign to start making my way to a till. “Well, two of them are married and the third guy is their boyfriend. It’s him I met and made friends with first.”
That’s wildly simplifying the situation, but I don’t want to go into details over the phone or when I’m about to enter hostile negotiations with the self-checkout machine.
“How very modern of you,” Freddie coos, genuinely sounding impressed. “Uncle Evan, are you dating this guy? Or all three of them?”
“We’re just friends,” I insist, signalling to the friendly-looking middle-aged woman manning the self-service lane. She’s got to have some mettle doing that all by herself on a Friday night, especially during the festive season. “It’s for my alcohol,” I mouth as she approaches, not wanting to divert too much from my conversation with Freddie.
The lady grins and winks at me as she jabs the screen, assuring the evil robot that I’m over eighteen. “Ohh, I dunnno. Are you old enough?”
The flirting is harmless and she’s entirely barking up the wrong tree, but the flattery does me good anyway.
“Just friends?” Freddie repeats sceptically as the woman moves onto the next customer in need.
“I can have friends,” I tell her defensively, tapping my card to the reader before picking up my bag and heading back out into the night.
Even over the phone, I can feel the sympathetic pause. “Of course you can. And you should have friends. Lots of them. I was only excited to think that you might…I don’t know…be having a little excitement.”
Memories of my playdate with Tian wash over me. It was so innocent, but it was also absolutely exciting as well. I felt like maybe he was holding back a bit, but that’s understandable. It was only practising, after all, and not for real. I still very much enjoyed it. I just hope he did, too. It seemed like he did from the way he encouraged Jude to also try a date with me.
I exhale, my breath escaping in a cloud of smoke on the cold London Street. “I…it…they’re very nice.”
“Nice?” Freddie snorts inelegantly. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Rude,” I grumble, glad she can’t see me grinning as I start walking home.
Christ. How long has it been since I had a chat on the phone with someone? Since I felt butterflies in my stomach over a silly crush? It’s as if I’ve been hovering over the grave for the past few years and now I’m finally walking amongst the living again. I feel giddy like a teenager without a care in the world.
Except I have to remind myself somewhat harshly that none of this is real. It’s all just training wheels. Once I can ride by myself again, Tian, Jude and Sai will all be gone, back to their happy world, together.
I inhale deeply, the cold air filling my lungs. Well, a taste of something amazing is a hundred times better than the numb existence I’ve been shuffling through lately. If it’s gone by the new year, so be it. The whole point of these practice dates is to get me ship shape for a boy of my own.
But a hypothetical boy is hard to imagine when I already have three already right in front of me.
Again, I firmly tell myself that Sai isn’t a boy. And he hasn’t agreed to anything with me at all, except to be extremely gracious about sharing his gorgeous boys with me because that’s what they want to do.
I think of sweet little Tian and feisty Jude. He’s different to Sai and Tian again, stocky with a collection of tattoos peeking out from his clothes and that cheeky grin. He’s?—
“Uncle Evan?” Freddie laughs, and I clear my throat.
“Hmm?”
“You’re clearly not daydreaming about the three hot guys that you don’t want to date.”
“I…that’s not…uh…”
“It’s fine,” she assures me playfully. “I need to go anyway. It was so lovely catching up with you. Let’s do it in person over the holiday break, yeah? Or in the new year. You don’t have to come to our obnoxious party, I promise. But maybe that cup of tea?”
“Sounds wonderful,” I say, surprising myself with how sincere I am. “Text me some dates.”
“Will do,” she enthuses. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Evan.”
“Merry Christmas, Freddie,” I tell her before hanging up.
For a moment, I stop and stare up at the night sky. I barely see any stars at all, but it doesn’t matter. It’s what I feel that counts.
And that’s hope. Of what, I’m not entirely sure. But for the first time since that fateful night all those years ago, I feel like my life isn’t as dark and cloudy as the sky above me.
There’s the faintest glimmer of hope, and I intend to follow it like a star guiding me all the way to Bethlehem.