by Sarina Bowen
“Yeah, maybe.” But I know she’s right. I was so angry with my ugly secret. I’d spent a lot of time wishing it weren’t true.
“Sorry guys,” Roderick says, entering the room again. “It’s time for a margarita. And the lasagna will be warm soon.”
I look up at him in relief. The conversation was getting heavier than I could bear. “Margaritas?” I ask, glancing at the tray he’s carrying. He’s filled it with three glasses and a pitcher of iced liquid. We never make mixed drinks.
“Well, tequila will always remind me of you, so I bought us a bottle a while back and then forgot to drink it.” He sets the tray on the coffee table. “Mrs. Shipley, would you like a margarita?”
My mother looks between the two of us like she’s trying to untangle a puzzle. “Sure,” she says a beat too late. “Just a half glass, though, because I’ll be driving.”
“I can do that.” He pours her a modest drink and hands her the glass. “Kieran?”
“Hell, yes. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He looks up from what he’s doing, and our gazes lock. He gives me a smile so warm that I can’t imagine why I wasn’t willing to do anything he asked of me. Roddy is everything. I’m so lucky to have him in my life.
When my mother leaves, I’m so wiped out that I can hardly keep my eyes open.
“Come on,” Roddy says. “Upstairs.”
I follow him on command. I’d follow him anywhere.
He supervises while I brush my teeth and wash up. Then he literally tucks me into bed, pulling the comforter up to my neck. “Here,” he says, plugging in my phone on the bedside table. “If there’s any news about your dad, you’ll hear it.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, my eyelids heavy. “You can stay upstairs tonight? If you want to.” Please.
“I’ll be back,” he promises. “Sleep, okay?”
I’m not sure if I answer him or not. Sleep takes me, either way.
The next thing I know, Roddy is reaching over me in bed, grabbing my phone. The screen illuminates the dark room with a notification.
My sleepy mind is sluggish. My only thought is Roddy is here.
“What time is it?” I croak as I start to wake up for real.
“Three thirty. The message is from your mom. She says that your dad woke up. He’s talking.”
“That’s good, right?” I rub my eyes.
“Yeah. Very good.” Roddy puts the phone face down again, plunging the room back into darkness. “That’s all she wrote, though.” He runs a hand down my arm, clasping my hand. “My alarm goes off in an hour and a half. We should sleep.”
I can’t, though. Roddy is here, where he belongs, and I’m distracted by his nearness. I just lie quietly for a while, wondering what it all means. There’s a really awkward conversation with my father in my future. Everyone knows our darkest family secret.
So, what’s one more secret? I’ll come out to my family—the ones who haven’t already heard, anyway. I feel deeply uncomfortable knowing that I’ll be the topic of discussion for weeks to come. But if it means I have Roddy by my side, it’s all worth it.
“I missed you,” he whispers suddenly in the dark.
That’s all the encouragement I need. I roll onto my side to get closer to him. “I missed you, too. Like, a ridiculous amount.”
He runs a finger down my nose. “I’m sorry. I was trying so hard not to make all the same mistakes.”
“You aren’t, though. I’m ready now. So don’t you dare find some new reason why we can’t be together.”
“I won’t. I swear. I just didn’t want to pressure you. It couldn’t be me who pushed you over the edge.”
“It wasn’t.”
“True.” He rolls up onto an elbow, bringing us nose to nose. “I’m not going to find any more reasons to keep us apart. I wasn’t very good at it, anyway. I forced myself to get out of the house and make some new friends. But I spent a lot of time wishing you were there with me.”
“Don’t move out,” I beg.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Now, do you think you can go back to sleep?”
“Not so much.” I slide a hand under his T-shirt. “But why would you want me to?” His taut stomach is warm and firm under my hand.
“Fair point,” he says, grasping the hem of his shirt and then struggling to lift it off over his head. “You feel like showing me how much you missed me? Because I’m in the mood to give you a personal demonstration.”
“Yeah. Same.” My words are short, but I have reverence in my heart as I lean down to kiss his shoulder. And then his chest. The familiar, soapy fresh scent of his skin is so good that it makes my eyes sting.
“Kieran,” he whispers. “I need you so much that it scares me. I wasn’t looking for this when I came to Vermont.”
“Don’t be scared,” I murmur against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” I lift my chin to find his eyes in the dark. And I finally take the biggest leap. “I love you, and I need you, too. I can do what you need me to do.”
Roddy grasps my face in his hands. “You already are.”
We inch closer, neither of us wanting to break the moment. But I need to kiss him so badly. So I do it. I lean in and take his mouth with mine. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in, returning my kiss with the same urgency that’s driving mine.
And when Rod’s alarm goes off an hour later, we’re tangled up together, mouths swollen from kisses and hearts full.
Kieran
The next morning is just as awkward and weird as I suspected it would be.
When I show up at the coffee shop in time for my shift, Zara and Audrey are there. They both seem to pounce on me. “Kieran! You didn’t have to come in today,” Zara cries.
“Sit, sit,” Audrey says, waving me toward a table.
“Hey, I’m fine,” I insist. “And I quit my job at the ad agency yesterday, so I wasn’t about to lose these hours. I’ll probably have to find another afternoon job now.”
“Don’t worry about any of that yet,” Zara says. “How’s your dad?”
“According to my text messages, he slept all night. I’ll go see him later.”
Roderick emerges from behind the counter to set a plate down in front of me. I look down to find a fresh bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon. He gives me a wink and heads back to the counter without a word.
Audrey and Zara watch me with big eyes.
“What?” I ask, uncomfortable with their attention.
“Nothing,” they chorus.
“Uh-huh,” I grunt. “Go on. Ask your questions.”
Audrey puts on her best who me face. “I’m not nosy.”
“You are the nosiest person I’ve ever met,” I counter.
“Well, I try to rein it in,” she says with a sniff. “But Zara said you kissed Roderick right in front of her. And I missed the whole thing.”
“What if Zara was just putting you on?” Roderick suggests from behind the espresso machine.
“Just answer yes or no,” Audrey says. “Is he really your boyfriend? I’m having a little trouble believing it.”
I never wanted to be the center of attention, but now that I am, I might as well have some fun with it. “What would you say if I told you that Griffin already knows the answer?”
“No.” Audrey’s eyes widen again. “Before me? How is that even possible?”
“Well…” That’s when my bravado runs out. Because I really don’t want to explain that super-awkward moment from Christmas morning. “Roddy?” I call. “Help!”
“Aw, you call him Roddy!” Audrey squeals. “That is the cutest thing ever.”
“So do you!” I point out.
“It’s more adorable when you do it. Say it again. Wait, let me get a video.” She unlocks her phone.
“No!” I yelp.
Laughing, Roderick reappears. He sets an espresso next to my bagel plate. “What’s the problem?”
“Come here a second, please. Closer,” I beckon. Since I’m not a fan
of explaining my feelings, this just seems easier. When he’s near enough, I grab him by the T-shirt and pull him down for a lip touch. “Thank you for the bagel and the coffee.”
“Anytime.” Smiling, he gives my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Oh man,” Audrey says with a dreamy sigh. “I ship it.”
“You—what?”
“She’s a fan,” Zara says from the counter. “Audrey, leave that boy alone. You can go home, too. This wasn’t supposed to be your shift.”
“But I’m here now.” She swings her feet onto an empty chair and rubs her belly. “I’ll only go home if you guys promise to come to Thursday dinner next week.”
“What’s on the menu?” Roderick calls from the back. “Kieran needs an incentive to be dragged out to Tuxbury and gawked at.”
“There will be no gawking,” she says with a sniff. “But there will be buttermilk-fried chicken, creamy potato salad, spicy Asian pickles, and corn fritters.”
“Oh man,” I breathe. “The gawking might even be worth it.”
Everybody laughs.
Around noon, my dad is moved into a regular hospital room and is allowed a couple more visitors. “I should go up there,” I say, dreading it. How is my father going to feel about me now that his secret is out?
“We’ll go together,” Roderick suggests. “We can get noodles afterwards.”
All the noodles in the world won’t make it easier. But I head to the hospital anyway, with Roderick at my side.
When we approach my dad’s room, we see my mother standing at Dad’s bedside. She notices us and joins us in the hallway, closing the door behind her. She looks exhausted.
“Sally,” Roderick says. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But when is the last time you slept?”
“I don’t remember,” she says.
“Let me take you home, Ma,” Kyle says, appearing in the hallway with a cup of coffee. “I’ve been saying that for hours.”
“Okay,” she says. “Thank you. Let me get my coat.”
While she’s fetching it, Kyle puts a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I grunt. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Because this is stressful as hell. Is he taking good care of you?” Kyle nods toward Roderick.
“Well, yeah. But I’m all right.”
Kyle crosses his arms and frowns. “I’m sorry I was a tool yesterday.” He turns to Roderick. “And I’m sorry if I was a tool to you at any point.”
“I’ve met bigger tools,” Roderick says curtly. “But this macho big-brother thing you’re working today is kind of hot.”
“Roddy.” I sigh.
He snickers. “Sorry. I’m more inappropriate when I’m nervous.”
Kyle flashes him a quick grin. “Okay. Whatever. I’m taking Mom home now.”
“You want help tomorrow?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I got it. Go on.” He points at Dad’s room. “You take over here. He’s been asking for you.”
“Okay,” I say as my stomach rolls.
I can’t avoid it any longer. I step into the room alone. My father is lying on his back, his eyes shut, his face pale. There are bandages visible on his chest, and he seems frail, older than a man in his early fifties.
I’ve spent plenty of time irritated at my dad, but until now, I never spent much time wondering what it would be like to lose my dad. And I’m not ready. I sit down heavily in a chair and try to hold myself together.
His eyes flicker open, and he turns his chin to see who’s there. “Kieran,” he says tiredly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice cracking. “Sure.”
He closes his eyes again. “That’s how we always do it, right? We say we’re okay no matter what.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “We do.”
“Your mother told me everything. I can’t believe how we failed you. In a tree at church? That is not how I wanted you to hear the truth.”
“I wasn’t supposed to hear it at all, right?”
His eyes flip open again. They’re a dark brown color that the Shipleys all share. “I’m sorry. That was a mistake. If I could go back in time and find a better way, I would. You were such an angry teenager, and I struggled with it.”
“I know.”
“I understand now that you probably thought I loved your brother more. He was easier for me to understand, though. I had no idea what you were going through—that it was my fault you were so angry.”
My throat is closing up now. “Water under the bridge,” I croak.
“Secrets burn you,” he whispers. “I didn’t understand that when I was young. Don’t make the same mistake, if you can help it.”
“I’m trying,” I say, fighting off tears. “I swear.”
He swallows hard. “Good.”
“I have a boyfriend. You met him,” I blurt out. “Roderick. Maybe that seems weird to you, but it doesn’t to me.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’m sure I can get used to the idea. Thank you for telling me.”
I gulp back tears. “You’re welcome.”
“Hey, my wallet is in that drawer.” He nods toward the table beside the bed. “There’s a picture in there. Pull it out for me.”
Grateful for something to do, I open the drawer and fish out my dad’s ancient leather wallet. Inside there are slots for two photos. One is a picture of Kyle, circa first grade. And the other one is a photo I’ve never seen before. I’m maybe one year old. My dad is holding me, and I’ve got my small hand on his face. And he’s smiling so widely at me. The way a man smiles at his little boy.
“It wasn’t always difficult,” he says. “Let’s both try to remember that.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice breaking.
“You take that one,” he says. “I have the same photo on my bureau at home. Show it to your boyfriend, so he knows what a cute baby you were.”
I slip the picture out of the plastic sleeve. My relationship with Dad is heavy. But the photo is light in the palm of my hand.
When I finally come out of Dad’s hospital room, I find Roderick and Father Peters on adjacent waiting room chairs, their heads bent together in deep discussion.
“Hey,” I croak. “What are you two scheming about?”
“Tacos and enchiladas!” Father Peters says. “We’re trying to figure out which one is easier to serve to two hundred people.” He jumps to his feet. “How is your father?”
“He’s all right for a guy with severe lacerations and no spleen.”
“Ah. I’ll visit him in a moment. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “Better, actually.”
“Good.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m going to ask you a question, but I don’t expect an answer right away.”
“Okay?” That sounds ominous.
“Do you want me to find your biological father? Your mother told me about him this morning. I’ve never met the man, but I’m sure I could track him down. If that ever becomes important to you, just say the word.”
“I don’t think so,” I say abruptly. “But thanks.”
He gives me a quick hug. “You call me if you need anything. My door is always open to you. Both of you,” he says, including Roderick. And then he strides out of the waiting room.
“Whoa,” Roddy says, rising to his feet. “Would you ever want to meet your sperm donor?”
I’ve wondered about him, for sure. But the man got a parishioner pregnant and then made himself scarce. “Parents are difficult. I think I already have all the parents I can handle.”
“Aw. They sure are.” Roderick wraps his arms around me and gives me my second hug in as many minutes. “Are you ready to go out for noodles with me?”
“More than ready,” I admit. And I give him a tight hug back.
Roderick
Let it be said that Audrey makes terrific fried chicken. It’s crispy and juicy and even a little spicy. I’m in heaven as
I sit elbow to elbow with my man, eating this terrific food.
And I’m pleased to report that during the blessing, Kieran did hold hands with me under the table. I never thought this day would come. But here we are.
Kieran was a little quiet on the ride to Tuxbury. He hates attention. And tonight is the first time he’s seen all his extended family at once. But now he’s communing with his dinner and spreading butter on a piece of cornbread that I made for tonight’s feast.
There have been several not-so-subtle glances toward this end of the table, but—lucky for Kieran—it’s not us they’re looking at. In a bizarre twist of events, we’re not tonight’s biggest story. Not even close.
Grandpa Shipley invited a guest for dinner. A woman. Her name is Lydia. She’s seventy-nine years old, and she’s eating her fried chicken daintily with a knife and fork.
The Shipleys are mesmerized. Every one of them.
“So, Lydia,” Ruth says sweetly. “You’re new in town?”
“I was new in town when FDR was president,” she says. “But my family traveled extensively. My father was in the army.”
“We met in high school!” Grandpa says, reaching for another piece of my cornbread. “I thought I might ask her to marry me, but she moved away again. If she hadn’t, you all might be different people.”
Lydia sets down her fork and turns to him. “That is a creepy thing to say to your lovely family. And you don’t even know if I would have said yes.”
Grandpa blinks. “I’m sorry, Miss Lydia. You’re right. I shouldn’t presume.”
Every Shipley jaw hits the floor.
He doesn’t notice, though. He uses his knife to swipe a pat of butter, which he applies in a thick layer to the cornbread. “Roderick, this is fabulous stuff. You can come back any time.”
“Thank you, sir. Good to know.”
“Do you make this for my grandson?” he asks, giving me a pointed look.
“Well, I make lots of things. But I don’t think I’ve made the cornbread at home.”
“Hrmf,” he says through a bite. “Well, you should. It’s delicious. And that boy works hard.”
