The Boyfriend

by Abigail Barnette

  “It’s easy to say I shouldn’t doubt it, but it’s difficult to believe when my own parents...” I wouldn’t go into all of that. “Look, just brace yourself for a lifetime of dealing with my fears of inadequacy caused by not having a dad. And now my mom, I guess.”

  “Your mother isn’t abandoning you. I promise that. She has some mixed up religious ideology, but she isn’t the type of person who would throw over her child for God.” He nearly spat the word.

  I knew El-Mudad wasn’t close to his father. I wondered if that was the reason. “Did that happen to you?”

  He nodded slowly. “Would you like to know the story?”

  “Absolutely.” I stepped back, and we went to the other side of the island to sit.

  On his way, El-Mudad grabbed us some bottled water from the wine refrigerator under the counter. “When I was growing up, my parents weren’t religious at all. I know that probably seems strange to hear because, in America, everyone seems to think that Muslims are all extremists at worst or unnaturally pious, at best. But there was very little religion in most of the circles my family moved in.”

  He sat beside me and loosened the cap on one of the bottles before offering it to me. Then he went on. “We never set foot near a mosque unless some family occasion called for it. When we moved to France, those occasions became even rarer. After my parents divorced, my mother started talking to some Christians.”

  “Catholics?” I asked because I wasn’t sure just what kind of Christianity would be in France. Also, because I could understand Catholicism. I wasn’t so sure about the other branches.

  He shook head. “Evangelical. There is a small and surprisingly passionate sect of them in France. My mother said she was moved by the Holy Spirit and wanted to be baptized. And that meant...”

  “You got baptized, too.” I felt terrible for him. “A friend of mine in high school, her stepdad suddenly wanted to convert, and he made the whole family do it.”

  “That’s why I’ll never force my daughters to believe anything,” he said with surprising intensity. “It didn’t make me believe at all. You can’t force someone to have faith. If you do...that’s not faith. It’s manipulation. It’s coercion.”

  “I completely agree.” I didn’t resent my family for raising me Catholic, because it was truly our culture and I couldn’t imagine my life having gone any other way. But I didn’t believe, and coming to grips with that at a young age had been terrifying.

  “I would go to services, and they would tell us that we should just speak to Jesus, and he would enter our hearts. But I never felt anything. My mother thought that was on purpose. My father dismissed it as a rebellion for her leaving us. He practically encouraged it.” He laughed bitterly. “As if a teenage boy would decide to drive a wedge into his family for nothing? For enjoyment?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so all I said was, “I’m so sorry. That must have been very painful.”

  “I hated all of those people. They thought they were saving us and they were so proud of having converted Muslims. We were treated like trophies. When I went to school, I told her I was an atheist. My mother said she still loved me, but things were never the same. And when she found out that I had a boyfriend...she didn’t speak to me again. We were still estranged when she died.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I know how it feels to have a parent’s religious beliefs supersede the love they should have for their child. But I don’t think your mother is capable of walking away from you forever.”

  “Well, one parent was,” I reminded him. Logically, I knew that he was right. Still, there was that voice in my head that warned if I was easy to discard by one parent, that probably extended to the other one, as well. I pushed my plate away. “I’m not actually very hungry right now.”

  “Sophie...” he began as I stood to leave.

  “I’m going to go take my shower.” I tried to pass it off like it was no big deal. He didn’t follow me, so maybe I had convinced him.

  In the shower, I leaned my forehead against the cold marble while the hot water streamed down my back. Was it selfish of me to want Neil and El-Mudad, if it was going to hurt the people around me?

  Why should you hurt yourself to make others more comfortable?

  The totally-mean-to-Sophie part of my brain wanted to argue with that, but even it couldn’t think up something that would sound plausible. I hadn’t told my mother about our relationship. I’d done what I could to protect her from the reality of it. The fact that she’d found out had been her own fault.

  So, why did I feel so guilty?

  Everyone was going to find out at some point. Ten years from now, when our “houseguest” was still with us, people would have a hunch.

  Which meant that eventually, Valerie and Laurence would have their suspicions confirmed.

  If we hadn’t been able to keep the secret for four months, how could we keep it secret long enough to avoid it affecting Olivia? And would it change her for the worse, really, if she grew up with it being normal?

  By the time I’d showered and dressed, I’d worked myself into a frenzy of worry. I’d gone from, “Mom will eventually get over it, but we’ll always have that uncomfortable three-way sex reality hanging between us,” to, “We’re going to lose Olivia forever.” I was on the edge of a panic attack when El-Mudad came into the closet, already dressed.

  “I’ve called Neil,” he informed me. “He was leaving as soon as he could.”

  “Oh, thank god.” I sank into the firm leather chair in front of Neil’s shoe rack. “Because I’m like, barely holding it together here.”

  El-Mudad seemed hurt by that. “I’m here for you, Sophie. I’m always here for you.”

  “I know you are!” I hurried to reassure him. “I know. I’m just saying, I need both of you. I’m high maintenance right now.

  “Why don’t we go relax?” he suggested. “It’s a lovely, gloomy day. We can sit upstairs and watch the waves.”

  “That actually sounds really good right now,” I admitted with a tired laugh.

  “Dress in something warmer. And bring a blanket up. I’ll go turn on the heater,” he said, and kissed my forehead.

  The cupola balcony was accessible only through our bedroom. A small conservatory adjoined the master suite, and from there, stairs led up to the sprawling deck that wrapped around the turret-like end of the house. In the winter and spring, panels of canvas with flexible plastic windows enclosed the space, but we still rarely used it during those months because they didn’t entirely keep the weather out. When I joined him, El-Mudad had already unbuttoned two of the panels and rolled them up, letting in the sound of the violently tossing ocean across the expanse of sand and beach grass.

  “It’s so windy!” I said, hugging the blanket tighter around myself.

  “Not back here.” He motioned toward where he’d pulled the wide double lounger back from its usual position. The standing outdoor heater warmed the space already.

  We settled onto the lounge and covered ourselves up.

  “This reminds me of Venice,” I said with a contented sigh, nuzzling my face against his chest. The sweater he’d chosen was a little scratchy beneath my cheek, but I didn’t care.

  He made a noise of disagreement. “We haven’t truly recreated the magic of that night if my testicles are still on the outside of my body.”

  I giggled and moved my hand down to cup him through his soft, worn jeans. “Nope, you’re right, they’re still there. Not as cold.”

  He tightened his arm around me. “But just as romantic.”

  “Was Neil really mad?” I asked quietly. I was angry with my mother, but I wasn’t sure if I could handle Neil being as mad at her as I expected he would get. I would feel like I had to defend my mom from him, and that would really hinder my own being angry.

  El-Mudad took a breath and held it, briefly. “He was furious. But perhaps he will be calmer by the time he arrives.”

  “Probably. But then he’ll get all worked up, again.”
I sighed. “When that happens, and when I inevitably start defending my mom, can you go ahead and remind me that I’m being dumb?”

  “No. I won’t tell you that you’re dumb,” El-Mudad said. “But I will remind you that she said some hurtful things if you’d like me to.”

  “That would be great.” It was like I needed permission to be angry or something, and I couldn’t give that to myself.

  By the time Neil got home, El-Mudad and I had both wholly sacked out right there on the balcony. Somehow, Neil found his way to us.

  “This doesn’t look like the frantic scene I expected to find,” he said in greeting.

  El-Mudad startled awake, but I was slower to come around, opening one eye to look up. When my head cleared, I kicked my way free of the blankets and shot to my feet. I rushed to Neil, and his arms were already open. He crushed me in a tight hug and murmured, “Sophie, I’m so sorry.”

  And I cried.

  I don’t know why it was his presence that broke me. Maybe because I’d felt so protective of El-Mudad in the argument with my mother that I hadn’t been able to be weak in front of him afterward? I sobbed in Neil’s arms, while over the top of my head he asked El-Mudad, “Has she been this upset the whole time?”

  “No. I think we were exhausted from the conflict and now that we’re rested, our emotions have clicked back on.” His tone was hard. Angry. “Because right now, I’m where you were when I spoke to you on the phone.”

  “I don’t blame you. It’s probably a very good thing that I wasn’t here, or I would have had security escort her off the property.”

  I could physically hear Neil’s jaw clench.

  He went on, “What on earth could Rebecca have been thinking?”

  “Barging in without knocking that way?” El-Mudad asked.

  “That was to be expected. It was really only a matter of time,” Neil answered grimly. “I mean the other things she said.”

  I lifted my head. “Oh, you mean about having to ‘deal’ with me being bi? Or having to ‘deal’ with that fact I married you?”

  “Well, now she has to deal with the fact that her husband knew about us this whole time,” El-Mudad said.

  Neil’s posture stiffened. Which, for a guy like Neil, was pretty impressive since he was usually wound pretty tight as a default. “What do you mean?”

  “I told her. That Tony knew. I mean, I implied it. No. No, I actually said it.” Dread curled in my stomach. “Oh my god. I did it again.”

  “Did what?” El-Mudad asked.

  Neil didn’t have to wonder. He already knew my history with my mom’s boyfriends.

  I stepped back and pressed my hand to my temple. “Oh my god. I did it again. I sabotaged their relationship.”

  “You didn’t sabotage anything,” Neil said firmly. “Tony couldn’t tell her, even if he’d wanted to. He signed an NDA as part of his employment.”

  “But she’s going to argue that you’re family and you wouldn’t sue family,” I reminded him. “She’s never going to believe—“

  “That I would ever do anything unethical or immoral?” he finished for me. “After what she knows now?”

  My heart sank. I’d tried so hard to get my mother to love Neil as much as I did. This had all undone it. To fix things, he would have to destroy it even more.

  If the situation were a tangled Slinky, Neil was about to take a pair of wire cutters to it.

  “You’ll talk to her, then?” El-Mudad asked him.

  Neil nodded. “Yes. I’ll make it clear to her that it wasn’t Tony’s fault for keeping this from her. And I have a few other choice words I’d like to say, as well.”

  “Please, don’t fight,” I begged him. “Things are so messed up right now. I just want you to save their relationship and then hopefully there will be a fucking wedding here in June, and after that, she’ll never have to set foot on the property or speak to her daughter ever again.”

  Yeah, that didn’t help me stop crying.

  Neil held my face in his hands to look me in the eye. “I’ll go to her immediately. I promise I will raise nothing else but the issue of Tony’s involvement.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut against more tears.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said, kissing my forehead. “We’ll find a distraction to take your mind off of all of this.”

  “I don’t think there’s a distraction big enough to take my mind off the fact that my mom is basically finished with me forever,” I said with a sniff.

  “Your mother isn’t finished with you,” Neil said firmly. “You’re her daughter. She loves you more than anything. I’ve never doubted that from the moment I met her and she clearly wanted to gut me in your grandmother’s kitchen.”

  I laughed at that through my tears.

  “Go on. It’s my turn for the painful confrontation. You two dream up something to lift our spirits when I get back,” he said, nodding toward where El-Mudad sat on the edge of the longue, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them.

  I reluctantly stepped back from Neil’s arms. He swept a tear from my cheek with his thumb and gave me a comforting smile that I miraculously believed.

  After he’d gone again, El-Mudad said softly, “If there’s anyone who could make sense of this situation for your mother, it’s Neil. I know they don’t get along, and this isn’t likely to improve their relationship, but it’s challenging to argue with him when he’s so...”

  “Infuriatingly reasonable?” I suggested with a smile. “You know, I really don’t like that about him when I’m arguing with him, but in cases like this it might be handy.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” El-Mudad agreed. “Now, we’re supposed to come up with a distraction. I don’t know about you, but I’m not feeling particularly sexy at the moment.”

  “No, me neither.” I considered our options. “We could go for a drive, maybe? Or a walk on the beach?”

  “Or we could do something that you like,” he said patiently. “Not something that will please us while you remain neutral.”

  Okay, he’d caught me. “Fine. Then we’re going to do what I want to do.”

  “We’re going to re-watch all of Poldark in two days, aren’t we?” he asked with a heavy sigh.

  “And you’re going to make me a cappuccino just how I like it,” I said, ticking off points on my fingers. “And Neil is going to paint my toenails. Oh, and for dinner, we’re getting pizza.”

  “Pizza?” he gasped in horror.

  “Yeah. Pizza. With cheese and grease and carbs and your abs will just have to take a hit, okay?” We didn’t have it nearly often enough. “We’re getting it delivered.”

  Not that any amount of pizza or Poldark would fix this situation. It was just a Band-Aid to hide the gaping wound. There was no simple way back from this. No one conversation, be it between Neil and my mom or me and my mom, no single confrontation would take things back to normal and make my mom view me as anything other than a freaky sexual deviant she was ashamed of. That hurt so much it felt like I was being crushed from the inside.

  Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why couldn’t you just have picked a normal life?

  The damage was done. Now, I just had to wait and hope that the choices I’d made wouldn’t cause me to lose my family forever.

  * * * *

  Yacht season in the Mediterranean was, apparently, a thing, and that thing was, apparently, something El-Mudad had assumed we’d be participating in. He’d been aghast when he’d learned that our honeymoon had involved a charter boat and insisted that the only way to properly break-in the Christmas present I’d bought us was with a trans-Atlantic crossing.

  At least it would be a good distraction from my fight with Mom. Two weeks out and my heart still stung.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to spend ten days on a boat,” I grumbled. “Just to get to Spain and get on a plane and turn right back around.”

  “We can spend more time in Spain,” Neil said, fastening Olivia into her car seat while A
ndrea loaded our bags into the trunk. “Mariposa could bring Olivia to meet us in Malaga.”

  “I am not going to ask our nanny to take a long flight overseas with a kid who has to use the potty every fifteen minutes,” I said. Then, glancing at Olivia, I added, “No offense.”

  “None taken,” she said, and it was like Valerie’s voice coming out of her mouth.

  El-Mudad emerged from the house, looking every bit the international man of wealth and status. He wore dark jeans and a thin sweater with blocky navy and white horizontal stripes. His mirrored aviator glasses had a perfect retro vibe, and his hair had grown out longer than I’d ever seen it; it brushed his shoulders now.

  I had a feeling that my Aidan Turner crush might have inspired that a bit.

  “You can sit beside Sophie,” Neil told him. “I’ll stay back here with Olivia.”

  We’d had to cut the Maybach loose from family trips, now that there were four of us. The custom extended Escalade suited our needs better, though Neil always protested that it felt like a minivan.

  We would drop Olivia off at Valerie and Laurence’s brownstone in the city before making our way to JFK to board our jet. From there, we would fly down to Antigua, where our as-yet-unused yacht had lived for the winter, and from there we’d make the crossing.

  I loved putting it that way. It sounded like we were explorers. Or going on the Titanic.

  Maybe that wasn’t the best comparison to make right before going to get on a boat.

  “Will you miss Olivia?” Olivia asked us on the drive. She’d started doing this weird third-person thing when she talked about herself that was oddly charming. I knew we were supposed to correct her so she’d learn the proper grammar, but it was so super cute.

  “I will miss Olivia very much,” I promised. “I’ll miss Olivia every day.”

  She beamed with pride.

  “Afi will miss you, as well,” Neil added.

  El-Mudad put in, “So will I.”

  “Everyone misses Olivia.” She hugged herself and squealed in delight.

  Though I often worried that our frequent absences traumatized her, other times, I wondered if they weren’t building her an ego the size of Greenland.