"I...I don't know how to tell you this. But I think I've fucked up our life."
Darcy sighed. She touched the nape of his neck, not saying anything, until he turned to her.
"Curtis, don't look at me like that. You probably haven't fucked up our life. Probably. I checked the bank statements before you left and I know we're fine there." She grinned—and he couldn't help but grin also. He felt a stray tear bubble over the surface, but he shook it away. He hoped—prayed—she didn't see it.
"Adrian's been seeing other people," Curtis said quickly, hoping he could get it all out at once. "He told me about it a while ago. It's been bothering me for a while."
"Because Simone's pregnant?"
"No. I didn't know about that until I told you. She's fine with him seeing other people, too. They have an arrangement. It's just sex, and only with men. There are... rules."
Darcy nodded. "I should hope so. Rules are good."
Curtis tried to scan her face. Was she angry? Jealous? How did she react to this news—and could she read between the lines so Curtis didn't have to spell it all out? When she said nothing else, only continued to comb her fingers through the hair on his neck, he went on.
"I love you more than anything else."
"You've said. And I love you, Curtis."
"But I think I want to be with him. Adrian."
"The way you used to be with him?" she asked. Curtis could hear no emotion, positive or negative, in her voice.
"No, not quite like that. Because I don't want to be twenty-five again. I like being my age now. I like being with you. You're... everything to me. The girls are everything." Curtis turned to face her now. He grabbed her hand, and placed it on his thigh, where her tattoo was. She had rolled her eyes when he showed it to her the first time, as it was healing, but he knew she liked it. Some mornings, when they were still waking up, he caught her tracing lines over it. She kissed the tattoo a lot as well, whenever she went down on him. Her fingers spread out across it now, touching the sky, engulfing it like she really could.
"But you love Adrian too," she said it not like a question, her eyes still fixated on the spot of Curtis's thigh where the tattoo was.
"I do. Yeah. I love him and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know how to reconcile anything anymore. I just know that I don't want to fuck up our life. Tell me what to do so I don't fuck up our life."
Darcy patted his skin lightly and placed her hand on his cheek. She stared at him, and when a tear fell down from his eye, she pushed it away with her thumb without saying a thing about it. For a long time, Curtis thought this was all they were going to do; just stare and sort out emotions this way. He was okay with that, too. So far, this was turning out as a best-case scenario. No screaming, no yelling, no threatening to leave with the kids. Just a lot of eye contact and skin clasping. Curtis could live with that.
"Do you remember what I said when we started to date?" she asked. "When we were worried about looking at other people?"
"Yeah," Curtis said, his eyes wide. "Look but don't touch. That's why I'm so upset now. Because I want to do more than look."
"Shhh." When she placed her finger against his lips, he kissed it aimlessly. "That's actually what you told me. Do you remember what I told you?"
Curtis shook his head. He had thought for so long those were her words. Her instructions. He had no idea, but as he scanned his memory now, even that seemed shaky. Her hands slipped down from his face to hold his palms again.
"When we both caught one another staring at the same waiter, you got really upset—more at yourself than me—and declared that we should just look, but not touch. Never any harm in looking! But I told you that while you had a right to be upset at your behaviour and set your own personal standards, you had just made a decision about our relationship without asking me. You took some random law from the culture and decided it was the rule between us. I had been okay with the rule—but I told you that it was your assumption that had upset me. We had a brief discussion over bread sticks, until the waiter came back and we both looked at his ass. We had laughed then, because yeah, looking but not touching was going to be our rule for one another. But only after we had discussed it."
It all came back to Curtis now. The waiter had had long hair, the kind like Eddie Vedder had for most of Pearl Jam. The waiter's voice had been just as deep and as husky as Vedder's too. Curtis was rarely that attracted to random men, but that guy had moved him. Then he scared him, because it had been so random and sudden, especially when he was sitting with the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Curtis could remember the entire conversation now, even the stale taste of the bread sticks after he had snapped them in two. He knew why he had fucked up after he listened to Darcy explain it to him, using some of her sociology notes as a reference point. Back then, it had made perfect sense. But he had forgotten all of it until now—and he didn't know if he was still doing okay.
"I remember," Curtis said.
"Good. I knew even then that we'd have to revisit the rule at some point. I may have even said that out loud, or maybe our food came and we both got distracted. You always have to revisit rules as a couple, because it's the assumptions that tear people apart. And you and I have discussed stuff. We've revised a lot of our expectations in the past ten years. We discussed when we wanted to have kids, and then I stayed home with them. When they got old enough, we sat down and figured out when I would start up event planning again. When I wanted to have a fantasy party, I made sure it didn't make you uncomfortable. And then, of course, you asked me to fuck you. And I did."
Curtis felt his heart thunder as a grin spread across Darcy's face. She leaned forward and put their lips together, the kiss more out of comfort than desire in that moment.
"We're always negotiating. Always. Don't ever get upset because you think you've violated some rule. It's just like that discussion in the restaurant all over again. You get angry at yourself for breaking some standard we never agreed on. Then you take on the world trying to fix it, when you really should let me help. I want to carry the world too, Curtis—or at least, I want to help you carry part of it. I love you. I want to make your life easier, too. In a way that I hope you want to make mine."
"I do," Curtis said. He gripped her hands tightly. "I do want to make your life easier. I'd do anything, D."
"Then talk to me about Adrian. Tell me what you want."
Curtis's blood went cold. His body slowed and everything was dim. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He expected screaming, upset emotions. But that's because it was what had been shown on TV. On Friends or any other sitcom with canned laughter. But he and Darcy were real adults now. Darcy had always been an adult about this—while he had been the child, trying to hide the mess in the corner. He hoped so far he hadn't ruined anything too much.
"I don't know where to begin," Curtis said.
"Okay," Darcy said. "Tell me from the beginning."
Curtis paused. Was it the Pixies show? The first Facebook message? Or ten years ago, when Curtis had gone to a house party and met Darcy, instead of meeting Adrian's parents? Or at that bus stop, when their eyes caught one another, and they thought they had a friend?
"Um. Well..." Curtis started slowly, before it all came out.
*~*~*
"So…" Curtis had finished talking and his throat felt dry. After reiterating some of the stories from university he hadn't told Darcy for context, Curtis had gone on with current times. He told her what they had been doing—skirting around the rules, and where it had ended them: in a hotel in Waterloo, ashamed. "Is everything okay?"
"Well, no. Not right now. But I think it could be." Darcy smiled crookedly. She hadn't been crying, but Curtis recognized the hollow tone of her voice. "Look. I—I'm upset you guys kissed without talking to me first. I'm upset it's been going on this long, mostly because it didn't have to. I just wish you had talked to me."
Curtis stared down at his hands in his lap, still ashamed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"I know you are. You're talking now, and that's what matters. And Adrian is right, too. What you both have been doing is ridiculous. We need to do something about this. So… what do you want, Curtis?"
"What do you want?" Curtis countered.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I want you. I've always wanted you."
"And I want you, too," Curtis said, squeezing her hand.
"You also want…" She waited for him to fill in the blanks. He wished he could remember everything Adrian said about that stupid Robert Frost poem. Two roads in the woods, and Frost had taken the one less travelled. But they were both the same road, weren't they? That had been Adrian's—and Frost's—main point. Curtis wanted to take both the roads and have both of them matter. But he couldn't figure out how to articulate that or what it would look like in real life. He could only feel his body, the places where he had been touched, and the words that had been used. "I like him. I always have. I thought I had to pick one or the other—you or him. Simone said…"
"Just because it works for them doesn't mean it works for us," Darcy said.
"I know."
"But we could try."
"We could?"
Darcy sighed. She squeezed his hand before she got up, giving him a quick glance to signal that she'd be right back. When she returned, she had a glass of water for him—like the saint that she was—and a book with a couple of marked pages. "I've been reading stuff from the fantasy party. Camille actually made me get this. She's tried out relationships like this before, with more than one person."
Right, Curtis thought. Camille had taken her boyfriend and his boyfriend to Thanksgiving. Curtis once thought that had been a stunt, but he saw it with the clarity he'd lacked before. That relationship was just as valid, just as normal as anything else. He glanced at the dog-eared pages and focused in as Darcy explained what she had been reading about the structure some relationships could take, what it was called, and how it all worked.
"Communication is key. It has to be with that many people involved. Simone sounds like she knew what she wanted when she and Adrian discussed this. And I... well, given time I think I could know what I'd want too."
"To date again?"
"No! Not really for me right now. I like dating you just fine. Maybe we could go out more, pretend to be kids again."
Curtis smiled. "I think I'd really like that, actually. Take you to the movies again. Maybe to a similar bad Italian restaurant."
She narrowed her eyes and batted his hand. "No. But I think I'd probably like to go on trips. Small vacations. Have some alone time, you know? I'm with the kids, but that time is very different."
Curtis nodded, understanding. "I'll watch the kids. You can run away to Mexico—so long as you come back."
Her bottom lip trembled a bit. "And you'll go off with Adrian? Or other men, too?"
Curtis looked away. It was still so hard to say aloud, but getting easier. "Just him, D. It's really only been him. I just… I want to see if what I left behind could still happen."
"I think it could," Darcy said. "I always did. That's why it's scary."
Curtis wanted to hold her so badly right then, and so he did. For a long time, they murmured back and forth with the book wedged between their lap. They talked about the worst case scenarios. They rehashed all they had seen from TV and dismantled why it was wrong. Darcy quoted sections from the book, and a couple stories from Camille. Curtis tried to talk about his feelings for Adrian, but it was still so new to articulate outside of what he and Adrian had already done. And even then, that was a pile of sex talk... along with music. He could always show Darcy music to help her understand why he liked Adrian. He was pretty sure he still had the mix CD Adrian had made. Those songs—in that order—was pretty much all she needed to know. After a while, they didn't talk anymore. Curtis kissed her forehead and glanced at the clock.
"We're gonna have to pick up the kids soon."
"I'll get Camille to. She doesn't have class today, anyway."
"Okay."
They were quiet again. Darcy nestled into the crook of his arm and toyed with his shirt. She undid one of the buttons and did it up again. Her fingers seemed more urgent than usual, and when he looked down at her, she kissed him. She opened her mouth first, and in a sudden burst of relief, Curtis also did too. They kissed deeply for a long time.
"I love you," she said. "So much."
"You too. Always, D. No matter what."
She nodded. "I think… I think we need to call them, you know. This isn't just about us anymore."
"I know." Still balancing Darcy on his arm, Curtis reached into his pants' pocket and pulled out his phone. "I'll text Adrian. Just give me a second?"
"Sure." Darcy pressed a kiss to his forehead before she went into the kitchen and started another pot of coffee. Curtis also thought he heard her call Camille. When he glanced down at his phone, Curtis saw he had missed a message from Adrian: a lyric from The Mighty, Mighty Bosstones. Curtis stared at it, hope blossoming. You didn't break out ska-punk without feeling hopeful again, that was for sure.
I told her. She's okay—but she wants all of us to talk now. How about dinner with lots of coffee tonight?
After reading it over again—and again—he sent the text. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.
Chapter Nineteen
24 Burnt Bark Dr. Toronto. Close (kind of) to the hospital and the subway. What do you think?
Adrian sighed, not remembering where the hell the intersection was. Toronto had been built and rebuilt so many times in the past few years the only thing that seemed constant was the construction itself. He pulled up Google Maps and then Google Earth and plugged in the address on the listing Simone had given him. A two storey red-brick semi-detached house came up on a newly paved subdivision—complete with kids playing in the background of the Google Earth photo. Okay, it's nice enough, but... Adrian closed his eyes and tried to envision moving in. What did the neighbourhood sound like? Feel like? When he glanced at the photo again, he paid attention to the background, and soon noticed a bright green sign that belonged to a grocery store. He shook his head. Not a chance. The smell from the garbage would be too bad in the summer, as he found out when he'd worked downtown next to a grocery place. He looked at a few other places she'd listed in Google Earth, but rejected the next two without any kind of weird visualization. Still not quite the place yet. His dismissals were ridiculous and probably superstitious, but he had to have the right feeling when he bought something. From music CDs and T-shirts, down to two storey houses just outside Toronto's downtown core, he had to go with his gut. Simone understood. She relied on her practical skills to find options, but it was really Adrian's sudden impulse that crafted most of their major decisions. She gave him firm choices, so he could be free in between.
He was lucky he to have someone exactly like that. They were a good fit, a really good one, but there were moments he forgot.
When he had come home from the Waterloo trip with Curtis, Simone had been up waiting for him. She'd claimed it was because she felt sick, and because Kayla had trouble getting to sleep in the first place, but Adrian could see through that to her worry. She had given him permission to go on this trip, permission to be with other men, but Curtis was different. Curtis had always been different—but they still hadn't discussed what that meant in specific terms. They had just hoped the other understood.
On the Sunday night Adrian returned, he had taken Simone into his arms while she cried and he told her everything that had happened and had been happening since early February. She was upset—he didn't blame her—but even Simone insisted that she was probably more upset than she needed to be. She kept blaming her sudden, erratic tears on her "stupid pregnancy hormones" but Adrian had cut her off.
"It's not your hormones. You're allowed to be upset."
"Not this upset. This is stupid, this is..."
Adrian put his fingers against her lips. He kissed her, tasting the salt from her tears, before h
e asked, "Do you remember when we first met?"
"No. Actually, wait!" She laughed, catching her train of thought. "Of course I remember. You came to my art show. Almost ruined it, actually."
Adrian chuckled. They had met in Montreal, a few years after Adrian and Curtis fell out of touch. The scene itself had fallen apart. All the shows that Adrian had liked to go to were now nonexistent—the bands either finding popular success or breaking up—so he found himself going all the way to Montreal for one. He had found some random obscure band, one that still used MySpace, and had gathered all of his funds he had remaining for a bus ticket. When he arrived nearly seven hours later, he had gotten into the mosh pit and lasted no more than three minutes before someone socked him in the nose. Blood gushed everywhere. The bouncers yelled at him in French until he was eventually tossed out. He tried to clean up in the bathroom of a coffee shop, but the patrons were just as freaked out by his nose. He knew his nose wasn't broken, so he just grabbed a couple napkins from the counter to finish cleaning off and figured things were fine. He didn't want his night to be over—he had spent all that money on a ticket—so he had walked across the street to an art gallery. When he saw the current show's flyer had been Xeroxed the way old fanzines or Riot Grrrl posters had been, Adrian had hoped he'd be let in. Skipping around the front desk, he managed to wander around and examine the pieces. He realized most of the sculptures in glass cases were made of paper when he got close enough. These were better than paper cranes though; the crate paper had been dyed and constructed into pinwheels for some pieces, hanging trees into others, and a long carnival procession for the biggest display at the back. There were some other found art displays, along with some sketches that had buttons sewn into the canvas. An eclectic mix, all around. When Adrian heard Sonic Youth playing in the background—Daydream Nation and then Goo on repeat—he headed toward the speakers almost incidentally. And towards Simone, like a beacon in the night.
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