by Jamie Knight
Duncan was a bit older than I thought he would be but that might not be a bad thing. It might actually be better. I had always heard the bigger the age gap, the less of the chance for sibling rivalry. With a 12-year gap it was almost guaranteed to be non-existent. Duncan would be well out of college by the time the baby started high school.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted.
The silence had actual weight. Both of them looking at me with a mix of surprise and wonder, much like how I had been feeling that morning when I realized that I probably didn’t just have a stomach flu.
“Cool,” Mercy said.
“How long?” Tobias asked.
“Have I been pregnant? I would guess about three months. How long have I known? Basically, this morning?”
“I’m going to be a brother?” Duncan asked, having a basic grasp on genealogy.
“Yes, Baby. You are going to be a big brother.”
“Is Tobias going to adopt me?”
“I could,” Tobias said, in that totally-not-joking way of his.
“Well, yes,” I concurred, the odd idea coming out of the clear blue sky, or so it seemed.
“Me too?” Mercy asked.
“You’re a bit old,” Tobias pointed out.
“Are you going to get married?” Duncan asked.
“Funny you should ask, my lad,” Tobias said, getting up from his chair.
Before I could say anything or even really think, my beautiful man was on his knee in front of me, a black velvet box in his hands. Lifting the lid, the tight, tiny hinges let out a soft sigh as he revealed a gorgeous blue sapphire set into a silver band.
“Addie Harris, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I shouted, before the word could even be processed in my brain.
Both hands flew to my mouth, covering it entirely, tears of joy already rolling down my cheeks. It was all too perfect. It had to be a dream, or some kind of elaborate and sophisticated computer simulation. It couldn’t be real, and yet it was. I could feel the coolness of the metal as Tobias slid it onto my finger.
To think the entire reason I was there in a near-mansion, reunited with my son, pregnant with another baby, free forever of my ex, engaged to the most wonderful man I had ever met, was because Mercy signed me up for a reality show because she thought it would be fun. We used to make fun of shows like Second Chance Bachelorette, watching episodes here and there, trying to figure out which bits were real and which ones had been worked in by the producers to heighten the already insane sense of drama.
Mercy actually got really good at it. I was only about fifty-fifty, as far as we could tell.
It was supposed to be a laugh. A carefree trip to the big city to try and forget about all the shit in my life. The advertising tried to sell it as something else, as if there was a real chance at fixing love through the reality show. It was a notion that had several seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette to contradict it.
It never worked out that way. Except it had.
When I least expected it, what was supposed to be an escapist lark turned into a new family.
Funny how things worked out sometimes.
Epilogue
Tobias
It was a church affair. I let Addie suggest it, knowing full-well about her Presbyterian background. I got the sense it was more for other family than her, though. She was more than willing to go with it.
It really was admirable how, even after all the shit she had been through, more than enough to turn most people to nihilism if not outright objectivism, she still put others ahead of herself. Even those she admitted that she hated.
It wasn’t so much a matter of going big as going old. The majority of cathedrals, both catholic and conservative protestant, got to a particular state of gargantuan before the 20th century. Devotion could make people do some strange and interesting things.
Despite the inanities of tradition, I more or less insisted on helping Addie find a wedding dress. We had more than enough options from all sides of our families. I did have seven sisters, after all.
Addie had gotten a bit bolder in terms of giving her opinion. My mother’s dress, while still quite lovely, was such a tight fit it made sweet Addie’s tits fall asleep. To be fair, she was quite well blessed in the chest area
The wedding was big but not particularly fancy. Neither of us were particularly keen on speeding hours or weeks planning or handing the occasion to the self-serving whims of a dictator with a clipboard, more commonly known as a ‘wedding planner.’ Besides which, it struck both of us that to add a thing, particularly anything as garish as cut flowers, to the existing beauty of the 18th century structure would very much be gilding the lily.
I stood tall at the altar, resplendent in a dashing Victorian tux, top hat and all. The latter tucked under my arm in prescribed reverence for their god. The slumbering infant strapped snugly to my chest detracted from the overall image not one iota.
The organ reared up like an awakening beast from deep in the imagination of H.P. Lovecraft. The leviathan did stretch the entire length of the sanctuary. The east and west walls were topped with row upon row of pipes like lines of brass teeth.
Our only point of disagreement during the mercifully brief planning process was the song to which Addie would perform her proverbial march. We were both against the bridal march and the Canon had become nearly as cliché. I knew that clichés become so for a reason but still, yikes!
It came down to a coin toss. Addie crossed her fingers for “The Gravel Walks,” with me throwing my support behind the crescendo of “O Fortuna.” Addie won, which was probably for the best.
She came toward us like a vision. Little Brogan bounced and gurgled at the sight of her mommy. I held her gently, calming her back into a deep, encompassing slumber. Addie was trailed by Mercy and Clementine, serving as her co-maids of honor. The rear was taken up by six of my seven sisters, all decked out in the same surprisingly tasteful bridesmaid dress. We had to call in help from a designer to make that particular miracle happen. Conspicuously absent was a best man, a violation for which I was certain the forces of tradition and conformity would soon enough forgive me.
I gave Duncan a subtle thumbs up just before Addie arrived. He returned it, letting me know everything was okay with our newly minted ring-bearer, going so far as to add on a terse nod.
The man in the fancy dress, who I thought might have been a vicar but wasn’t quite sure, started his whole greeting spiel, then got directly into the old ‘sanctity of marriage’ thing. He strongly implied that it not be entered into frivolously or, indeed, be enterprises but because it that would be generally a shitty thing to do likely not ending well for anyone, but because God will fuck you up if you try. Still, to be fair, self-preservation did seem to be a much stronger driver than logic or common decency, so I couldn’t really fault them for sticking with a winning strategy.
Eventually, we got to the vows, which we took the liberty of writing ourselves, forgoing the call and response pub sing-along method so popular for so long. It had its charm to be sure, but Addie and I were going for the personal touch when it came to the ceremony that would officially bind our lives together, the adoption already having gone through. Both of our kids were very much ours.
“You may now kiss -” the minister started, smiling beatifically.
“Thanks!” we said in unison, going in for some deep Frenching action.
At least that’s what happened in my head. In concrete reality, things were much the same, right down to the top hat and two maids of honor. The latter of which there was no argument about. We had both come to love both women as friends and couldn’t imagine not having either of them there or having to choose one over the other. We even wrote our own vows, but truth be told, they sounded a bit better in my head than in the actual building. The unforgiving acoustics didn’t help much. We might as well have had microphones picking up every potential stumble and gaff. No pressure.
We got the rings, both of th
em tumbling off the insecure fusion Duncan was holding them on. To his credit he did manage to pick them up right quick and put them back on, so it was all good.
Waiting for the full line before partaking in our first married kiss, sealing the deal at the same time like a sexier version of a gentleman’s agreement, we actually took the opportunity for several brief but passionate pecks, square on the lips. We couldn’t seem to be able to stop once we started.
The reception looked like a carnival. White top tents dotted the green space, buffet tables and guest seating were set up in lieu of game booths. It had actually been Addie’s suggestion to have the reception at the house.
There was plenty of room, and it gave the whole affair a homier feel. I also suspected that she wanted to show her sisters exactly how well she was doing now. The entire family, including her later deceased parents, wrote her off when she took up with Dave. It was a mistake she was not going to make a second time.
“Heya handsome.”
“Clem, how is everything?”
“As well as can be expected. You know, under the circumstances.”
“Wearing a beautiful dress at a lavish party held in the grounds of an American version of a stately home?” I clarified.
“Exactly.”
“Honey, stop it,” said the beautiful girl on Clem’s arm.
“I’m Tobias,” I said, offering a hand to the newcomer.
“Allison,” she said, taking it.
“We’re engaged,” Clem beamed.
“When did this happen?”
“About a month ago. You were so busy with the adoption and pregnancy and whatnot I decided to wait for a more opportune time.”
“Like our wedding reception?” I asked, trying to make sure I had understood correctly.
“Told you!” Allison said, smacking Clem playfully.
“Alright, alright don’t rub it in,” Clem conceded.
Leaving the happy couple to their bliss, we went to find where my parents were sitting. It was kind of like looking for a particular tree in the forest. Most of the guests were of my bloodline, but it was still worth a shot.
“Honey!” Mom shouted, leaping to her feet, still quite spry for her age.
The sudden noise set Brogan off screaming as sudden noises tended to do. Before either Addie or I had time to react, Mom had Brogan out of the sling and was bouncing her back to sleep. If there was one thing my mom knew about, it was babies. Dad, as was his custom, took an interest while hanging back awaiting instructions.
“She’s good,” Duncan said.
“Practice, Dear,” Mom replied, handing back a slumbering Brogan.
The table was only a four-seater, so we had to poach a few more chairs. Everybody seated for the moment, I handed Brogan off to Addie so she could get in some baby cuddle time.
It was something we found we both liked quite a lot. I was the oldest in my family, youngest sisters being all of 15. There was roughly two years between us with some bigger gaps near the end. They named the youngest one Joy, so she wouldn’t think she was an accident. ‘Accident’ made it sound far too negative for such a wonderful thing as a new baby.
My parents strongly preferred the descriptor ‘surprise.’ Something I fully planned to do with Brogan when she was older. She really was the most wonderful of surprises, even though neither Addie nor I had really seen her coming.
“Hello, happy families,” Mercy said, taking up her seat.
“Mercy,” I said with a nod.
“Mercy?” Mom asked.
“Like Sisters of Mercy,” Mercy said.
“The hospital, not the band,” I clarified.
“I figured that, Dear.”
“Can never be too careful.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” Mercy said.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“My last name is McGee.”
“Mercy McGee,” mom mused.
“Yeah.”
“Could be worse.”
“How so?”
“Your middle name could be Strange,” Mom said.
“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Addie asked.
“Tell me what?” mom asked.
By way of response, Mercy got out her driver’s license and put it on the table in front of my parents.
“Well blow me down,” Dom said. Dad continued his tradition of stoic silence.
“I heard you had another show,” Mercy said, looking for a changed of topic.
“Of course, you did, you were at the opening,” Addie pointed out.
“What kind of show?” Mom asked, picking up what Mercy was laying down.
“Thanks to Tobias, I am finally able to live out my lifelong dream of being an artist.”
“She’s good too!” Mercy added.
“Try not to sound so surprised,” Addie teased.
“Painting?” Mom asked.
“Mostly, yes. Some illustration, too.”
“She has pictures,” Mercy said.
“How many drinks have you had?” Addie asked.
“Three,” Mercy said, holding up five fingers.
“Might want drink some water,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” Mercy said, wandering off in search of such.
“Do you have photos?” Dad asked.
“Serious?” Addie asked.
“Always,” Dad and I said in unison.
Spurred by our shared interest, Addie got out her phone and stared looking for her best examples. She had produced over a hundred pieces since things got secure with our relationship, and she continued through most of her pregnancy, which turned out to be her most productive period. She was just getting back into it and finding her groove again.
“Oh, wow they are almost like photographs!” Mom said.
“Caravaggio,” Dad commented casually.
“He was actually an influence,” Addie said.
“I see a bit of Boris Vallejo, too,” Mom added.
“Oh, yes,” Dad agreed.
“Can I see?” Duncan asked.
“No,” chorused in unison.
He sat down and pouted until at being left out of what he assumed to be the fun, a sensation with which I was well acquainted. Making sure no one was looking, I slipped a wrapped bubble gum, the grapevine I had been addicted to since I was Duncan’s age, and passed it to him.
Addie didn’t like him having a lot of sugar, but a little bit of vice was okay. It was all about moderation, despite how pithy Wilde was in saying he could resist anything, except temptation.
As for me, I didn’t want to resist any of the beautiful joys in life. I was so glad to be married to my beautiful wife, an adopted dad of her awesome son, and expecting a baby as well. My life had changed so much since I’d met Addie, but I didn’t regret any of it. I only hoped it would last us an eternity, because there was no other life I wanted.
Addie
It wasn’t easy to leave my babies. Brogan and I had only recently gotten aquatinted, and already I was leaving. The fact that it was for the honeymoon only helped a bit. She didn’t seem to be taking it very well either until Mercy showed Brogan her magic act, which reduced the newborn to a mass of giggles. It was pretty funny.
Leaving the kids in the capable hands of Mercy and their grandparents was going to work out okay, I thought. My best friend was already working to imprint herself as the cool aunt in the developing mind of my infant daughter. It was yet another thing Brogan and Duncan would have in common.
Clementine was sweet enough to take some time away from the buffet table to drive us to the airfield. Allison came along of course, riding shotgun alongside her lady love. They really were quite beautiful together.
The plane was waiting for us when we arrived. The car drove right up to the bottom of the stairs. It helped that Tobias owned the plane and paid the pilot’s salary. He had a pilot’s license himself just in case anything went wrong.
It wasn’t about worrying about what might happen. It was about reasonable r
isk management, one of the keys to stoicism that didn’t require that one repressed emotion. Rather, the main idea was basically to think of the worst thing that could possibly happen so you can prepare for it. It was the ultimate expression of ‘Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’
That way, if the worst should come to pass, you were ready for it. Such as an abusive ex coming out of the woodwork after more than a decade and threatening to take you child away from you by using threats and blackmail.
I didn’t know where we were going. Tobias stayed predictably tight-lipped about his plans. What I did know for certain, despite the lack of information to go on, was that whatever he was plotting was going to be amazing.
The plane tipped in the general direction of Europe and was accompanied by the over four-hour flight time. My mind positively spun with possibilities. Were we going to London? Or to Florence? Paris maybe? It turned out that this last guess was the most accurate. The plane didn’t touch down in Paris exactly, but near the south where a lot of the resorts happened to be.
The sign was clear enough. Tobias Ford was written in clear, block capitals. The driver, a tall, handsome man with a dusky black coat and a gloved right hand, didn’t speak much English, which was not out of the ordinary, with tourists being mostly limited to the cities. Even those who could were somewhat resistant, which was understandable, given the history between England and France. Scotland and France teamed up at one point, a case of strange bedfellows known as The Auld Alliance.
It was a matter of great interest to the driver when he realized I was descended from one of the first breeders of Harris sheep, the source material for world famous Harris tweed.
My mouth actually dropped open at the grandiose 17th century building overlooking a pristine beach with sparking blue water. It was enough to make me want to go skinny dipping. I restrained myself for the moment.
“Shall we?” Tobias asked as the driver opened the door.
Hand in hand, we went to the empty resort, which I assumed Tobias also owned. Very little would have surprised me at that point.
Our footsteps echoed as we took our limited luggage through the massive front hall. Tobias insisted that we pack light, likely due to the lack of bellhops. The eyes of classic paintings watched us as we went. Like the ones in the dining room.
