Design for Loving

by Doug Sanford

  “It’s true that we’re lucky to have her,” responded Leslie, “but we all work hard to make sure we can afford her—another positive in our situation. We’re all contributing. That makes a big difference because it eliminates all the financial problems that can wreck a relationship.”

  “Hey,” said Bart. “What about love? Isn’t it just that we all care about one another that makes everything run so smoothly?”

  “I know too many couples that honestly love each other—or did when they got married—and can’t live together on a day-to-day basis.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got something they probably didn’t have—rule number two. That’s sure made a difference.”

  “You’re right about that, Bart,” said Leslie. “Being totally honest with one another has made a big difference.”

  “Whatever,” said Bart, “But you can see what I meant by being a ten on a scale of one to five. We couldn’t have asked for a better set-up than we have.”

  “You know what I love?” he continued. “Evenings when we’re all home, doing our stuff—me lying on the couch working on lines between the two of you with Les curled up at one end reading or grading papers, and Marc at the other end, doing whatever it is he does on his laptop—I never have figured that out. I think he’s watching porn. And then to top it all off, Jeanine comes in almost on schedule every night with her ‘Do you need anything else, Ms. Leslie?’ as if Marc and I weren’t even in the room. It’s all so damned comfortable.”

  “I can see that, and I agree that’s great,” I said, “but my favorite time is the mornings when the door is open between our rooms, and we’re all back and forth, getting dressed and talking about whatever’s coming up that day or that evening or just listening to Bart tell me that no matter what I picked out to wear, it’s the wrong thing.”

  “Somebody’s got to straighten you out, old man.”

  “Not much chance of that now.”

  “The thing I like best isn’t a time,” said Leslie. “You’ll both laugh at this, but it’s all the kissing. My parents don’t kiss each other very much. We seem to do it every time we leave the house or come back home, or go to bed, or see each other in the morning, or sometimes, I swear, just pass each other going from one room to another. I thought it was silly at first, but now I have to confess that I like it. I know it’s just a peck and a quick hug or squeeze, but I’ve gotten so used to it that I do it without thinking any more. Did you always do that—before me?”

  “Marc started it,” Bart said. “It was weird for me too at first, but like you, I got used to it and liked it.”

  “There’s a book,” I explained, “called I Should Have Kissed Her More. I’ve never read it, but I always thought the title meant we should never miss a chance to let those we care about know how we feel. We may never get another opportunity.

  “It all goes back to something that happened in my family. My grandfather lived with us and when I was about ten, he had a heart attack at work and died before they could get help. What upset my mother almost as much as his death was that she hadn’t kissed him goodbye when he’d left the house that morning. It’s funny. I don’t think she made a regular thing about kissing him goodbye in the mornings, but still that was what she remembered whenever she talked about his death. I guess I’ve just over-compensated for that experience.”

  “That’s beautiful,” said Leslie.

  “All this time, and you’ve never told me that story, old man. I won’t ever make fun of you again.”

  “Fat chance, kid,” I laughed. “That would totally destroy our relationship and us as well. We’d both perish of boredom and sincerity, a deadly combination. Not that you could stop harassing me, even if you tried. You wouldn’t last a day, thank God.”

  “Are you saying I make fun of you on a daily basis?”

  “No. Hourly would be more accurate.”

  “Okay, you two,” said Leslie. “Enough. I’ve been thinking about something, and this is as good a time to bring it up as any. Having Uncle Buddy and AJ over was fun, but pretty much no one else has really visited. What about doing an open house for holidays? Invite friends, people from work, that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Bart. “When? Christmas day? New Year’s Day?”

  “I think, out of consideration for Jeanine—if she’s even willing to do it—that New Year’s Day would be best. She’ll want to spend Christmas with her family and grandchildren. What day is January first? I think I have a calendar in here somewhere,” said Leslie, beginning to dig in her purse.

  “The third is a Wednesday,” I said, “because that will be our seventh third anniversary. So that makes the first a Monday.”

  “Only you would know that,” Bart laughed. “I told you he was anal for dates, Les.”

  “I said you couldn’t stop. Your arm would be black and blue if I weren’t driving,” I said.

  “Honestly, sometimes with you guys I feel like a den-mother or referee. Marc, why don’t you pull off at the next exit, and I’ll drive?”

  I did. Leslie took the wheel, Bart fell asleep, and I put on the tape of Company.

  Chapter 37

  We got to Tucson at about 4:00. Because Robin and Doug didn’t have room for us, we’d splurged on the Arizona Inn which was not too far from their house and was someplace I’d always wanted to stay.

  Since Robin was cooking the next day, we decided to have them come to the hotel for dinner that evening. The restaurant was well known and had a four-star rating. It was probably the only place left in Tucson which still required jackets and ties for men in the dining room.

  We checked in and had connecting rooms as usual. We left the door open as we unpacked.

  “I vote for a nap. You said they weren’t meeting us until seven o’clock, right?” said Bart from the doorway.

  “Poor, boy. You’ve actually had to stay awake driving the last hour and a half after sleeping in the back seat most of the day. You must be exhausted,” I said from my room.

  “Actually, Marc, could you come in here for a minute?” said Leslie.

  “What’s up?” I asked, plopping down on their bed.

  “I have a confession to make. I’ve broken rule number two, and I’m not sure what the penalty is.”

  “You know us,” I replied, singing:

  “Our object all sublime,

  We shall achieve in time,

  To make the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime.”

  “So how bad was your transgression, Les?”

  “Bart, remember the phone call I got this morning right before we left?”

  “The one from your department secretary?”

  “Yes. I lied. It wasn’t.”

  “Do you have a secret lover I don’t know about? Is there such a thing as a ménage à quatro—or whatever it would be called?” asked Bart.

  “We were in such a hurry leaving, I didn’t want to slow us down by saying anything. And then the car didn’t seem the most appropriate place either. Anyhow, it was the nurse from Dr. Waghelstein’s office. Bart, we’re pregnant.”

  “Les!” he yelled grabbing her, hugging and kissing her. Then, he jumped back and cried, “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

  “Calm down, Bart. I’m not that fragile.” She laughed.

  I jumped up, got in on the hugging and kissing, and we looked like a huddle for a very small football team.

  “Leslie, that’s wonderful.”

  “When?” was the next intelligible thing out of Bart’s mouth.

  “It was a bit difficult to calculate, but he thinks about the middle of July.”

  “We should get some champagne to celebrate,” said Bart. “Oh, wait, I guess not, huh?”

  “No, Bart,” I said. “You’re right. Not. You two celebrate. I think I’m going to get to work on that nap you suggested.”

  I kissed them both again and went into my room, shutting the door quietly behind me and leaving them alon
e.

  * * * *

  At about 6:45, as I was knotting my tie, Bart opened the door and walked in with a huge grin on his face. He reminded me of a boy who’d gotten absolutely everything he wanted for Christmas.

  “You always look great in a suit, kid,” I said. “Come over here.”

  I put my arms around him and kissed him. “I’m so happy for you two.”

  Bart hugged me and said, “You mean us three, old man—or is that we three?”

  As he said that, Leslie came through the door, looking radiant. They say women look different when they’re pregnant. I don’t know if that’s what it was, but at that moment she looked unbelievably beautiful to me.

  “Wow,” I said. “You clean up even better than the kid here.”

  “Thanks, Marc. I heard what Bart said just now about us three, and I want you to know that’s from me too. But are you still going to be able to call him kid once we’ve got a real one in the house? It could get confusing.”

  “Maybe I’ll just have to call him dad.”

  “Dad,” he said, trying it out. “Dad. I’m going to be a dad. Les, my dad—we’ve got to call my mom and dad—and your mom and dad.”

  “I think we’re supposed to be in the dining room to meet Robin and Doug right now,” said Leslie, checking her watch. “We’ll call everyone in the morning. Then they’ll really have something to be thankful for tomorrow.”

  She was right. Robin and Doug were waiting for us. Of course, Bart told them almost immediately, and they were almost as excited as we were.

  And it turned out that we weren’t the only ones with news. We knew that Doug had taken Jack’s advice back when they first met and decided to go for his doctorate. We also knew he’d finished his coursework, but at dinner he told us that his dissertation had been completed, defended, and accepted, and that he would get his PhD at the mid-year commencement. It had been a long road—almost seven years—but he and Robin were as happy with their news as we were with ours.

  “When we call my dad, Doug, we’ve got to let him know about you too,” said Bart eagerly.

  “You’re too late. You’ll have to forgive me, but Jack was the first person we called,” said Doug with a smile. “Not only was it his suggestion that I do it, but he’s been really helpful all along the way whenever I had questions or doubts. I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to keep going without him.”

  “Damn,” said Bart. “And he never said a word to me about that. We talk to them every week, and he’s never mentioned anything.”

  “You know how discreet your parents are,” I said. “So what are your plans, Doug?”

  “I’m going to finish out the year in Tucson, but I’ve already started submitting applications for a college or university position next fall. Your dad wants me to apply to the U of I, which I will, but after our visits to you guys, I’d much rather find something in southern California if I can.”

  “Be sure to consider UCLA,” said Leslie. “We’ve got one of the best history departments in the country.”

  “That’s actually my first choice—but don’t tell Jack.”

  “From a purely selfish point of view, that would be great for me,” I said. “Robin and I have talked about starting our own business for years. We’d make an amazing team, right? And Johnny’s in school now.”

  And on it went. We sat in the lounge after dinner, still talking, and they left a bit after ten. When we got to the rooms, we were all tired and ready for bed. We said good night, and I honestly didn’t think I’d see Bart that night, but in less than half an hour he came in and crawled into bed.

  “I’m surprised. I thought tonight of all nights you’d want to stay with Leslie. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “You two treat me like a ping-pong ball,” said Bart with mock petulance. “You think I should be with her tonight, and she thinks I should be with you tonight. She wants to make sure you don’t feel left out. You guys are so weird.”

  “Good weird or bad weird?” I laughed.

  “No contest. Good weird,” he said, cuddling up to me.

  We made our calls the next morning. Both sets of parents were overjoyed, if in different ways. It was a little awkward because with only two phones, only two of us could be on at a time.

  Phil and Marian’s big concern was what they could get Bart and Leslie for the baby and the nursery. They were obviously very happy, but they expressed their love more with things than in feelings. But I was kind of blown away when, unprompted, they asked to speak to me after Bart and Leslie finished, and while they seemed a little unsure about what the proper thing to say to me was—who wouldn’t be unsure in a situation like ours?—they did congratulate me and told me to be sure to look after Bart and Leslie—as if that were my role, and as if I wouldn’t do that anyway. Still, I was really flattered that they thought of including me at a time like that.

  Jack and Ada were also thrilled, and they couldn’t wait until Christmas when they’d get to see us. We were looking forward to it as well. Just in the short time Leslie had spent with them the week before the wedding, the three of them had bonded, and Leslie clearly understood why we considered them friends as well as Bart’s parents. Still, Bart had to yell at his dad for not telling him he’d been helping Doug all this time. Jack just laughed and said it wasn’t his place to tell us if Doug and Robin hadn’t. So typical of him.

  Since Robin had refused all Leslie’s offers to help with dinner, we spent the rest of the morning driving around Tucson checking out old haunts before heading over to their house. Bart and Leslie both wanted to go by the restaurant where they went on their first date—it had a new name now—and of course we drove by Leslie’s apartment, Bart’s apartment, and our house around which the new owners had erected a stone wall for some reason, so we couldn’t see much. The Willow was closed for the holiday or we would have stopped in for coffee and tea.

  It felt good to be back at Robin and Doug’s. I’d spent four Thanksgivings at their place by myself, and three more with Bart. In addition to the three of us, there were two other couples invited: Jan and Mike whom Bart and I had both met before and a Sandra and Pete who were new to us.

  “Let’s not bullshit,” said Bart to all of us before the other couples arrived. “I’m tired of not being able to be open and aboveboard about our relationship. No crap, okay?”

  It turned out to be a bit more difficult than he anticipated, and a lot funnier.

  When Robin introduced Leslie to Jan and Mike as Bart’s wife, Jan said, “Bart, you’re married? But I thought—”

  At which point, Mike chimed in very loudly, cutting Jan off before she could finish that sentence, “Glad to meet you, Leslie. Good to see you, Bart, Marc.”

  “Yes,” said a recovered Jan, “It’s nice to meet you, Leslie.”

  Jan, however, wasted no time in confronting Bart as soon as she could get him alone, and the encounter, when he told us about it later, was pretty funny.

  “But I thought you and Marc were a couple,” Jan said to him. “What happened? Now you’re married to Leslie?”

  “We all live together, Jan. It’s fine.”

  “Does Leslie know about you and Marc? Doesn’t Marc get jealous of Leslie?”

  “No, it’s really, really fine,” he assured her. At that moment, without realizing she was making the whole situation more comical, Leslie walked up and put her hand on Bart’s arm. According to Bart, Jan looked around quickly—apparently to see if I had caught sight of what Leslie was doing as though she thought I wouldn’t know that Leslie ever touched her own husband.

  When Sandra and Pete arrived, Robin introduced us as Bart, his wife Leslie, and Marc—with no other indication whatsoever as to who or what I was.

  After the initial greetings, Sandra asked, “And Marc is?”

  Bart, in what I considered a stroke of genius, replied, “He’s my other third.”

  “Your other third?” she repeated puzzled.

  “Well, I’d say my other
half, but there are three of us. Nice to meet you, Sandra and Pete.”

  “You all live together?”

  “Yes, we do, very happily,” Bart answered.

  Later, Leslie told us that Sandra cornered her privately afterward ostensibly to congratulate her on her pregnancy, and then asked her, “So you’re married to—Bart, is it?—and Marc lives with you?”

  “He doesn’t live with us. We all live together.”

  “I’m a bit confused. If you don’t mind me asking, which of them is the father?”

  “Bart, my husband, of course. Marc is gay.”

  “Gay? And he lives with you? Aren’t you afraid he might try something with your husband?”

  As Leslie said to us, “At that point, I was so fed up with her obvious prying, I decided to let her have it with both barrels—nicely of course.”

  So Leslie replied sweetly, “As I said, he doesn’t live with us, we all live together. As far as Marc’s trying something with Bart, they’ve been together for eight years. There’s probably nothing new left for them to try.”

  “Really? But aren’t you jealous?”

  “No, I’m pregnant and quite happy, thank you. Excuse me. I’ve got to find my guys.”

  With that, Leslie walked away smiling and didn’t look back to see if Sandra had managed to close her mouth.

  Late that night, after the other two couples had left, Bart and Leslie told their stories to Robin, Doug, and me, and we all laughed appreciatively.

  “I thought Sandra was awfully quiet at dinner,” said Robin. “Now I know why.”

  “I couldn’t figure out why you invited them at all,” said Doug. “We’ve only met them twice before.”

  “They’re friends of Jan and Mike. Jan said because they were new in town and didn’t know that many people, they didn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving, so I said I’d invite them. I don’t think we’ll see them again.”

  “Hey, kid, I loved my other third. That was brilliant.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “The really funny part,” said Leslie, “was that Jan thought Marc should be jealous, and Sandra thought I should be jealous.”