by T. J. Klune
“Twins,” Otter says from somewhere behind us. He sounds just stupid with awe, and through the haze, I am barely grasping what he’s saying. “Jesus Christ. We’re having twins?”
DO YOU remember how it all began?
I do.
And this is where it begins again.
One last time.
PAST
Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
—George Santayana
1. Where Bear Makes the Wrong Assumption
I PARKED in the driveway, massaging my head, trying to curb the headache that’d been threatening all day. It probably hadn’t helped that I’d spent the day standing in the front of a classroom populated with the minds of the future. (Read: pubescent, hormonal teenagers who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have their smartphones out when Mr. Thompson was talking, and you can’t just take it away from me and put it in your desk, wait until my father hears about this. It was so hard not to snark right back that I couldn’t wait until his father heard about it, but since I was the responsible educator, I merely smiled and said the phone could be collected at the end of class.)
The sky was starting to streak, but it was unseasonably warm, the air already muggier than I had ever hoped it would be. For a moment, I allowed myself to miss the Pacific Ocean, but I pushed it away. This was our life now, and by choice. If I had to do it all over again, I’d be in the same exact place. Being here wasn’t about me, not really.
I pushed open the car door and stepped out, trying desperately to ignore the Easter decorations that had somehow popped up since I’d left this morning. I fumbled with my messenger bag and the key fob, grumbling about husbands that felt the need to have a ceramic rabbit carrying a basket filled with eggs sitting on the grass next to the cement path that led to the door. I paused when I reached the porch, rolling my eyes at the pastel garland wrapped around the railing.
(“But Bear, we need it to look amazing. You know that the spirit of the holidays flows through me and that there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Uh-huh. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Melanie Marshall from next door got first place last December in the neighborhood Christmas decoration contest and lorded that over you.”
“Absolutely not. And even if it did, everyone knows that the contest was rigged and that Melanie Marshall probably slept with half the judges. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I am going to crush her this year.”
“She didn’t sleep with half the—”
“You don’t know that.”
“Otter, you are thirty-seven years old and just declared war against a WASPy housewife who you accused of sleeping her way to first place.”
“Isn’t New Hampshire weird?”
“Fine. Just as long as you don’t sleep with the judges this year.”
“No promises. I want that damn blue ribbon.”)
The porch light was already on, and I felt the day slowly melting off me now that I was home. It was a Wednesday. The Kid had a late class on Wednesdays, which meant that it’d just be the two of us. I was okay with that.
I pushed open the door, groaning at what sounded like a group of small children screaming HAPPY EASTER overhead.
I shut the door behind me and the children ceased at once.
I opened it again, and there went HAPPY EASTER.
It stopped as I shut the door.
“What the hell?” I muttered, glaring at a little white box set just above the door. On second thought, maybe I wasn’t okay with coming home at all.
“Found it at Lowe’s,” a smug voice said behind me. “Let’s see Melanie Marshall beat that. It has settings for almost every holiday. Even National Cheese Day in July, and is the sound of a farmer milking a cow. It’s…terrifying, if I’m being honest. We don’t have to celebrate that.”
I turned around to see Oliver Thompson leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, that familiar crooked smile on his face, big arms across his chest. And maybe there were more lines around his gold-green eyes, and maybe his light hair was just a bit thinner, and maybe he was a little softer around the middle, but he was still the handsomest man I’d ever seen, and even after all these years, my heart stumbled in my chest at the sight of him, safe and warm, wearing a pair of ridiculously tight jeans that did things for me and a blue sweater that clung to his chest.
“Hey,” he said, sounding amused, as if he knew what I was thinking.
“Hey yourself,” I said back.
“Did you see the decorations outside?”
“What?” I asked, trying to figure out if my headache had eased enough that I could try and get him out of those jeans.
“The decorations.”
“That’s super.”
“Are you staring at my crotch?”
“A little bit.”
“You’re objectifying me.”
“Probably. But I’ve had a rough day, so I think I’m allowed.”
“Is that so.” Otter pushed himself off the entryway and walked toward me, steps slow and deliberate. “I’m a little offended.”
“Yeah? I feel real bad about that. Question: how did you even get those around your thighs? And a follow-up: I think I need a demonstration.”
He rolled his eyes a little, but that was okay. He slid my messenger bag from my shoulder and hung it on the rack next to the door. There were little crinkles around his eyes as he smiled down at me, taking my face in his hands. His wedding ring felt cool against my cheek as he leaned forward and kissed me sweetly.
I sighed into the kiss, happy to be home.
“Hey,” he said again as he pressed his forehead against mine.
“Hey yourself,” I said back, because that’s the way it always went. He’d crowded me up against the door, and it felt good being overwhelmed by him. It always did.
“Rough day, huh?”
I shrugged as he brushed his thumbs over my cheeks. “Molding the minds of the future is hard when said minds belong to little shits who think they already know everything.”
“And yet this is what you chose for yourself.”
“Ugh. You would say that. Why didn’t you ever try and stop me? I’m pretty much convinced that it’s all your fault I’m stuck with ninth graders all day. I don’t know that there’s anyone more self-centered than a fourteen-year-old. I was never that bad.”
“A little.”
I snorted. “Yeah, because Julie allowed for something like that to ever happen. I didn’t have time to be selfish, not with trying to find ways for the Kid and me to stay alive.”
Otter’s fingers tightened just a little on my face, and I didn’t like the frown he wore very much. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I didn’t know why I did.
And no matter what you do, that voice whispered, that damnable voice I didn’t think I’d ever get rid of, she’ll always be right there, won’t she? You can go for days without thinking about her, and then surprise! There she is, all over again.
“Ignore me.” I nuzzled his hand just a little, trying to distract him. “I’m just bitching because I can. Tell me what else you bought in order to take down Melanie Marshall like the responsible adult you are.”
“What makes you think I bought anything else?”
“Otter.”
“Bear.”
“Everyone knows you can’t walk into Lowe’s without coming out with at least ten things you didn’t know you desperately needed.”
“I’m a man. That’s what men do.”
“Oh Jesus. I’m a man and I don’t do that.”
“Kind of a man.”
I shoved him off as he laughed at me. He snagged one of my hands and tugged me toward the kitchen, walking backward and grinning at me. “Come on. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him but allowed him to pull me along. “This better not be anything like the last surprise.”
“Yeah, okay. But that wasn’t my fault at all. That w
as on the Kid.”
“Both of you brought home that dog. And don’t you try and tell me different, Otter Thompson. I saw the look on your face.”
“Yeah, because we could possibly have known that you’d be allergic.”
“I got splotches. On my everywhere.”
He grimaced. “So you showed me. And that’s still an image I’ll probably never get out of my head, so thank you for that.”
And maybe I was trying to play at being annoyed, but my husband was holding my hand and I just so happened to love him a lot, so I huffed out a breath and said, “As long as it’s not an animal.”
“Not an animal,” he promised. “It’s better than that.”
“I don’t even know how to take that.”
His smile took on a bit of a wicked curve. “I’ll show you how you can take it a little later.”
I stared at him.
He waggled his eyebrows at me.
And I laughed. Of course I did. I’d had a shitty fucking day, and all I wanted to do was make it to the end of the week and we’d officially be on break for the holidays. I was cranky and tired, but Oliver Thompson was here, looking like he did, acting like he did, just being himself, and so of course I laughed.
God knows life hadn’t been exactly the best. We’d been dealt a shit hand for a long time. And even when things had started getting better, there was always something that seemed to come up that threatened to break apart everything I held close to my heart. Some of it seemed like a lifetime ago, days by the sea where I was young and scared and sure that there’d be a knock at the door with news that we were being evicted from that shitty fucking apartment with the brown wooden steps that creaked dangerously when walked upon.
Or it would be someone there who’d found out that she had gone off to parts unknown, leaving an eighteen-year-old in charge of the smartest ecoterrorist-in-training, a vegetarian with more brains than common sense. They’d come inside and he’d be yelling for me, begging me to not let them take him away, and yes, I’d fight for him, I’d scream and punch and kick, but I’d be held back, and Tyson would be gone, gone, gone, placed in a home where I couldn’t get to him, where they wouldn’t let me see him.
Those were the fears I had lived with.
But then it was other things. Those things I didn’t expect.
Like my best friend’s older brother coming back to the little town by the sea that he’d left behind. And even though I’d been so angry at him, even though I wanted to forget everything that had ever happened between us, I still found myself getting pulled right back in, even if I hadn’t understood the why of it at the time. There had always been this spark, this fire that burned me up because of him, and I pushed and pushed and pushed until I couldn’t anymore.
I’m not gay, Otter. I don’t care if you are, but I’m not.
Naïve, that.
And I should have known, really. That we would crash and collide as we always had. There had always been something there between us, and even though I hadn’t always recognized that, I’d fought tooth and nail for something with him, even after those three years in which he ran to California and lived a life away from the drama of Bear and the Kid.
I still had that letter. Tucked safely away.
I know you were hurt and have every reason to be angry, but just know that there hasn’t been a day that has gone by that I haven’t thought about you and Ty. Maybe that’s my punishment, knowing you are doing well and knowing I had nothing to do with it. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, for having done so great despite people breaking their promises to you.
It was good to see you, even if it was only for a moment. I am glad I got at least that. I’ve missed you, Papa Bear.
Yes, he’d broken promises, but so had I.
And he limped, didn’t he? Even now as he pulled me toward the kitchen, there was that little hitch to his step that you probably wouldn’t even see if you weren’t looking for it. It’d gotten better after all these years, but he still favored it when it was cold. I still remembered standing above him, the machines beeping around him, a tube shoved down his fucking throat, eyes taped shut as he breathed and breathed and breathed. Everything gets taken away from you, the voice had whispered then. Either you push it away because of a woman who dared to call herself your mother, or shit like this just happens. It piles on top of you, and it’s going, going, gone.
Except he hadn’t gone.
She had, though. Mrs. Paquinn. She’d gone.
And yeah, he limped just a little, but he was here with me, wasn’t he? Here with that mischievous smile on his face, that look that I knew so well, and there was a history between us, long, long years that I never thought I’d get to have.
I was almost thirty years old, and I’d been with the love of my life for the better part of a decade.
There were days that I waited for the other shoe to drop.
I didn’t think I could ever stop doing that.
Maybe it was the way the Kid was vague about how school was going, how he seemed to be dead-eyed some days, where I’d wonder if the doses he was taking for his panic disorder were far too high. Or maybe it was the way that there were still secrets we kept from him, of a kid named Ben born only a couple of weeks ago. Otter disagreed, but he didn’t push, and I told myself it was the right thing to do, that I wasn’t keeping this from the Kid because I wanted to. No, I was doing it because I had to. There were still earthquakes sometimes, and we’d wait for everything to stop shaking as we curled up in the bathtub, his breath rattling around in his chest as he struggled to breathe.
Maybe one day I wouldn’t worry about what happened next. Maybe one day I could just… let it go.
Maybe I could even start today.
There was a handsome man with his hand in mine, and he loved me more than anything else in the world.
I’d certainly put him through enough shit.
There was more garland on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, and something bubbled in a pot on the stove. There were candles lit on the kitchen table in the breakfast nook. Silverware sat atop folded napkins next to plates that we hardly ever used, a gift from his parents as a housewarming present when we’d moved to New Hampshire. They were certainly nicer than anything I’d ever owned before.
Shit.
Had I forgotten something?
It wasn’t anyone’s birthday.
It wasn’t our anniversary (the main one, but then Otter was a dork sometimes and he’d say, “Eight years ago today, you told me you loved me for the first time,” or “Six years ago today, we did that one thing that’s probably illegal in seven states, so we should probably try it again”).
Shit.
“You didn’t forget anything,” he said as he pulled me toward the table.
“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t even thinking that. I remember everything.”
“Uh-huh.”
He dropped my hand as we reached the table and pulled out the chair for me, looking at me expectantly.
So of course, I was instantly suspicious. “I didn’t forget anything,” I said slowly.
“Nope.”
“I know that. I’m just telling you in case you forgot.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Riiight. So….”
“Can’t I just do something nice?”
“Yes. But this reeks of not that.”
He squinted at me. “That’s probably just the Alfredo sauce on the stove.”
“That…. Okay. That was funny. I’m not laughing, because I’m convinced you’re up to something and I have to be distrustful, but I still thought that was funny.”
“All right, then. Wine.”
“You don’t even like wine. Not really.”
“Yes, but you do.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Well, when you preface it like that.”
I glared at him. “I’m going to ignore that. Are you trying to get me drunk so you can tak
e advantage of me?”
He patted my shoulder as I sat in the seat. “Wouldn’t be that hard. You’re a lightweight, and word on the street is that you’re pretty much a sure bet.” He scooted my chair closer to the table.
“Damn right I am. You know what those jeans do to me. It’s like they’re my—wait a minute. That’s part of it too! You’re trying to seduce me!”
He walked back toward the stove. “And why do you sound so scandalized at the thought? In case you can’t remember, been there, done that.”
“Wow. Our entire sex life has just been reduced to been there, done that. That’s…. I don’t know what that is.” But it still didn’t stop a Bear and Otter Greatest Hits montage in my head. Add in the fact that Otter was a hell of a lot more flexible than he looked, and I had to keep my gaze from sliding unfocused while I drooled at him.
There was a salad bowl on the table filled with leafy greens and bright red tomatoes, which were probably expensive as fuck. Money tended not to be an issue anymore, not with how much Otter made from his contracts (teaching teenagers, shockingly, wasn’t the moneymaker I was led to believe), but there was still that little tug at the back of my mind, that little itch that reminded me how bad it used to be. How there’d be days when there was only enough food left for Ty or me, not both of us. That was toward the beginning, when I still hadn’t quite figured out how to ask for help, when I was angry and defensive, sure I could handle this on my own. Wanting to prove I could handle it on my own. I’d made sure the Kid had milk and cereal for breakfast, and he’d get to eat free lunch at school, because he’d already been in a program. Then he’d come home and he was six years old, and he wouldn’t even say a damn word at the forty-nine-cent cup of noodles for dinner again, and I’d sit next to him, making sure he ate it all. He’d ask me where mine was, and I’d shake my head and say I’d eaten already. He’d frown and then hold out the fork, broth dripping onto the chipped Formica, telling me he thought it tasted funny and that I needed to check to make sure it wasn’t poisoned so he didn’t die. Neither of us was fooled, but I always checked. Sometimes I’d pretend to choke and gasp, head lolling down onto the table, and he’d shriek with laughter, tears in his eyes, little hands tugging on my hair, saying, Bear, Bear, Bear, stop it, just stop it, and I’d—
