"You were wearing a black miniskirt so far up your thighs it was pretty much underwear."
"And tights," she added. "You can't forget I had tights. And a long sleeved striped shirt. So like—I was covered. Those were my good luck clothes back in the day. I was so, so nervous for that opening. Especially when this deranged man with blood all over the front of his shirt walked into my show and didn't talk to anyone."
"No one would talk to me!" Adrian laughed, grabbing Simone's legs and pulling her towards him on the couch. "Everyone spoke French. I didn't speak French. Well, only the colours and days of the weeks they teach you in school. And that doesn't come up much in conversation."
At the show, when Adrian had eventually spotted Simone and realized she was the artist, he had tried to give her a compliment. First in English, then remembering the trouble he had been having with that so far, he stumbled over his French. She thanked him, though, in English, and then kept talking to him in English about Lou Reed and Kim Gordon in a calm, even voice. When he realized there was blood down most of his shirt, he had apologized profusely.
"Do you remember what you said to me?" Adrian asked, squeezing Simone's ankle.
"I do! I said, 'Hey, if I thought the blood was a big deal, I wouldn't have just told you my personal feelings on Kim Gordon. Or asked you out for coffee. So, tell, me, are you free?'"
Simone mocked her former French accent that had mostly faded away now as she recounted the story. She had played up her French-ness persistently when she was in art classes—and definitely during art shows—because she thought it gave her an air of seriousness she didn't normally have. Pretending to be someone bigger, smarter, and fancier than she really believed herself to be was key to surviving those shows. Simone Lamont, bilingual, bisexual, and ready to make a couple of random sculptures with what she found in the Thrift Store trip she took last fall and sell it for three hundred dollars without blinking. That was her persona, what she tried to affect that night in the art gallery—and to Adrian, she was utterly perfect.
Up until that night, when he was twenty-nine years old, he hadn't met a single person who could talk shit about themselves and everything else around them, but still go home and create something beautiful at the end of the day. Simone never took herself too seriously, but she always knew when to stand up for someone. Their first date had been the following night. Adrian had told her about Curtis, actually, and they had spent most of the night talking about their exes—mostly of the same sex, though Simone had a few pretty serious relationships with guys.
"And do you remember what you asked me that night when we were out together?" Simone said. "When we were shit talking our exes?"
"It wasn't really shit-talking," Adrian said. "But yeah. I remember."
"So tell me. Right now. Tell me." Simone's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. Adrian had to take a deep breath before he repeated the line without adding embellishment.
"'Should we really be talking about the past when we're on a date?'"
"And what did I say?"
"'Of course. You need to talk about the past to get to the present. So you don't repeat it in the future.'"
"Exactly." Simone gripped his face in her hands, and kissed him repeatedly. "Don't shut me out of your past. That's all I ask—whatever happens with this, with Curtis—don't make me a topic of shit talk at the table. I am the one doing the shit talking."
Adrian had let out a low laugh, before holding Simone close again. She placed his hands over her belly, and they had both cried that night—but only a little bit. Adrian knew he would always be with her, as part of his family, and he hoped—they both hoped, really—that Curtis could join them.
After their conversation on the couch, Adrian had tucked them both into bed. But while Simone slept, Adrian stared at the ceiling and imagined a million different futures opening up in front of him. He imagined taking Curtis to Montreal, the same way he had taken him to Waterloo, and showing him around the same place where his face had been bashed in and then where he had met the woman of his dreams. Adrian imagined all four of them, Darcy and Simone and Curtis and himself, at a table in the same restaurant Simone had taken Adrian to in Montreal, shit talking everything they loved, and then creating something beautiful out of it.
Eventually, when sleep finally came for Adrian, it had been light and restless. He woke up in the morning and shut himself in his office, put on Goo and then Daydream Nation, and tried to find the right house for his family.
As Adrian combed through a new address in the folder, something familiar niggled him about the address. When he typed it into Google Maps, and he recognized the Tim Horton's on the corner, he felt like an idiot. Of course, he thought. This place is right next door to Curtis. Adrian angled the picture differently to be sure—and there it was. Curtis's house was right next door. How had Adrian not seen the for sale sign there? This had to be a brand new listing, or else Curtis would have mentioned it. Adrian zoomed in on the photo and saw Curtis's doorway with small, pink boots outside on the porch. As he rotated the view, Adrian thought he could even see Curtis inside the house—or maybe D? Either way, it didn't seem to matter. This was their house. No mistaking that at all.
This was where he wanted to live. But could that really happen? It was like a fairy tale, moving next door, looking in the window, and seeing his best friend and family. This dream could come true… if Darcy would allow it. If Curtis would allow it. Adrian almost added, if Simone will allow it, until he realized she had given him the listings in the first place. She had always been the one to say okay when he was still unsure; she was always the one who made him face his past, so they could have a better future together. Simone was the woman of his dreams, through and through. Adrian had to pause the music on his computer, just to take a couple deep breaths between his legs before his heart actually burst.
A moment passed and he heard Simone's puttering footsteps on the long, narrow stairs. She had stayed home today, knowing she was going to be far too tired after their late night reminiscing. After she had taken Kayla to school in the morning, she had gone back to bed and, from what Adrian could tell, spent most of that time feeling sick. He brought her soup and whatever else she craved, but mostly stayed in his office. It would still be a while until one of them had to pick up Kayla, and now that he knew Simone was up, Adrian felt better. He waited on the edge of his seat until he heard her walk up the rest of the stairs, then turn to spy through his half-open doorway. She was still in her PJs, her hair messy. She spotted him staring right away and popped her head into his office.
"Perfect. I was looking for you."
"And me, you."
"Really? Well, I'm afraid I've come for a rather pedestrian reason. Do you know where our Drano is?"
"Um. Under the bathroom sink—on the first floor, maybe?"
"Thought so. Can I ask you to pour it in our bathtub soon? Anytime I step in there to take a shower, I can't help but splash around." She made a motion like a duck in a lake and whispered 'splish-splash' as she moved. Adrian's heart melted. It was such a silly movement, but it made him love her so much more.
"Not to mention," Simone went on, no longer paddling like a duck, "that the chemical smell in the Drano makes me feel ill more than I'd like. So I can't do it myself."
"Sure. Of course I can do that. Super simple. Do you want me to go right now?"
"No, no," she said and wandered over to his desk. She sat on his lap, and he slid his hand around her belly easily. Her belly was bigger this time. Yes definitely bigger. Even if the kid was still the size of a pea, he held her belly as if she carried the world. He imagined this new kid in the house he had seen on Google Earth. Right next to Curtis.
"So I want to hear your news too," Simone said, kissing Adrian's forehead between his part. "Were you looking at houses?"
"Yes. Finally." Adrian pointed to the one on Google search. He didn't have to say a word until she realized what one it was.
"Ah, yes. I figured you'd like it t
here. I just found it a few days ago and slipped it into your files."
"Well, thank you." He squeezed her tighter.
"Not at all. I'll make an appointment with them later this afternoon."
"Good...What are the odds someone else has snapped it up?"
"How about you leave the odds up to me? That's my job, and they won't want to mess with a pregnant woman. I can tell you that much."
Adrian bit his lip. How could he get so lucky—with her and with Curtis? But you don't know Curtis yet, he told himself. You have to calm down. So he pulled Simone close again, the one thing he knew for sure in the world, and he kissed her feverishly. She tasted like a hint of mint and coffee, her smell comforting and warm. He lost himself in her body, and memory, for a moment longer.
"You're humming," she said to him. She put her ear against his throat, and then he felt her lips form a smile. "I know that song. I like that one."
Adrian continued to hum "'Cross The Breeze" until her lips met his again. They lingered like that for a long, long time, before she eventually got up. She moved down to their first floor so she could phone about the house, and Adrian found the Drano in their shared bathroom. The chemical smell was pretty bad, but nothing he couldn't handle. As Adrian waited for the Drano to work, he pulled up the house next door to Curtis on his phone, just for good luck. While he rinsed away the residue in the tub, his phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. When he saw that it was an incoming message from Curtis, Adrian clicked accept right away.
I told her, Curtis's message read. She's okay—but she wants all of us to talk. How about dinner with lots of coffee tonight?
Adrian's fingers shook as he typed his response. Sure. We'll be over in about an hour.
Maybe I can get this lucky twice, Adrian thought as he walked downstairs to find Simone. Maybe, maybe. It sounded so much better than what if.
Chapter Twenty
"So many people think that the opposite of monogamy is infidelity," Darcy said. "But it's not. It's polyamory."
"Poly, yes!" Simone exclaimed. She cupped her hands over her decaf coffee and motioned eagerly across the table to Darcy. "I had a girlfriend in art school whose parents were like that!"
"Swingers?" Curtis asked.
"No, no. But that's always the joke, right? But her parents were actually really into one another and they had a third person who lived with them. My girlfriend called her Aunt Mollie, but it was clear that Mollie was sleeping with both her mom and her dad."
"That's a triad!" Darcy said. She pushed the book across the table towards Simone. Simone slid her mug of coffee and her dinner plate out of the way as she flipped the book around to read the passage on triads Darcy had highlighted.
They had decided to order pizza for dinner, since it was the easiest thing to feed a group of four people, one of whom was eating for two. Now they were on their second—third, if they included the separate decaf—pot of coffee. They were at Curtis's house, inside his kitchen, with all their kids tucked away upstairs. Camille had come over to help keep the house in order, and she had brought one of her roommates who had met with Lacey and Sierra before. Though Adrian and Simone had debated bringing Kayla over too, Simone figured it was probably a good idea to call her mom to come get her. It was more familiar, and during a time when things were about to get unfamiliar (but not necessarily strange, Adrian reminded himself again and again), it was good to have consistency.
"The kids are my main priority. The main thing I'm worried about if we go into this type of relationship, is how it will affect the kids," Darcy said eventually. "Before we all get too deep into anything, I need to know my kids are okay."
"Mine too. I'm pregnant—not far along, and the kid isn't so much a legal person yet—but I'm thinking of the future. I have to."
"I know..." Adrian said trailing off. He—and Curtis, too—had mostly been letting the women dictate the meeting and nitty-gritty of the discussion. They were the ones with the most to lose. They had been happy with their lives, before Curtis and Adrian came along and messed it all up. If he had said that, both women would have kicked both of them under the table. The first order of the discussion had been to repeat over and over again that no one here was a home wrecker. Adrian and Curtis were not bastards. Everyone has feelings, as Darcy had said. The main goal was to figure out what to do with them.
"I know, too," Curtis said, leaning in on the table and seizing a moment. "The kids have always been my main concern. Adrian and I will take them when you guys need some space. We've done it in the past, and we can do it again."
"You're competent fathers, no doubt. It's just..." Darcy turned to look at Simone again, who was nose deep in the book Darcy had out. "Hey, Simone. What did your girlfriend think about her parents? The whole Aunt Mollie situation?"
"Oh." Simone curled her hair around her ear and pursed her red lips. "Um. Talia kind of hated her parents, but so did most kids in art school. I think it was more of a front than anything."
Adrian couldn't help but baulk at the word hate. He couldn't stand the idea of that happening. He needed to have Kayla ask him to sing "Fake Plastic Trees" to help her to sleep, or to check under her bed three million times before bed. There was no way he could live without those things, and whatever else this new kid would end up needing, too.
"But…" Simone went on. "If I remember correctly, Talia's parents tried to hide everything from her. The whole Aunt Mollie thing is so tired, you know? She's clearly not her Aunt. Don't call her an Aunt. It's obfuscating the entire point."
"And what is the point?" Darcy asked. "What else was she supposed to call Mollie? I have friends who call people they're not blood related to by aunt or uncle."
"Yeah, but those parents probably don't fuck the aunt or the uncle, since you know, that title implies blood relations. The term aunt—while it's great—makes the connection about familial love only, and removes the desire and sexuality from the coupling. Which may work for most relationships, but you know, it made Talia feel as if her parents were just lying to her when she understood what was going on."
"Huh." Darcy considered this for a moment. "So I ask again: what should they have called Mollie?"
"Just that. Her name. Mollie is her name, so why not call her that?"
"Even when they lived together?" Curtis added.
Simone shrugged. "I know I may seem like I don't care—trust me, half the people I meet think I'm a dick because I laugh at everything—but I'm serious about this right now. Why bother hiding? It's all fuelled by shame, and I don't have time for that."
Adrian nodded. When he glanced over to see Curtis, he saw Curtis nod along too.
"I'm pretty sure kids know what's going on, too, with most things," Simone added. Adrian couldn't help not note how her hand slipped below, over her belly, as if she was gripping it for comfort. Adrian wanted to extend his foot under the table, rub up against her, but he didn't want to disturb her focus. "Kids may not have the language to articulate what they understand, but they do. Even when we're teaching them in school—about money and banks and world history—it's already there. They don't suddenly get introduced to the world inside of school; they already live in the world. School just gives them language to communicate."
Darcy seemed to take a while to process this. She gestured towards her book, and Simone gave it back to Darcy without qualm.
"I think that's why I've been reading about this stuff so often," Darcy began. "I got some of the language and terms before when I was doing my sociology degree. Sometimes I even pick up a lot of what I learned when I do parties. You see into a family's private worlds that way, you know? And everyone has their thing. Every family has different rules, different boundaries. No couple gets absolutely everything from their partner. Not even us on our strongest days. I suppose…I suppose I always liked that you two had one another. I had tried in the past to be someone's everything and only ended up upset. I knew I never wanted to do anything like that ever again."
"Me too," Simon
e added. "That's why my girlfriend, Talia, and her aunt Mollie had been so interesting. Because they were so bold that they didn't get everything from their partners and went out to find it elsewhere."
"Right, exactly. It doesn't always have to be physical, but it can be. I always liked that you two—Adrian and Curtis—went to concerts together, because I didn't always have time to go," Darcy said.
"But now?" Curtis added. "If it's more than concerts?"
"I admit I never really anticipated the idea of physical things with other people..." Darcy's eyes lingered on Adrian. "But it makes sense. When I knew you two were friends again, I remember feeling relieved at the same time that I was slightly worried about something like this. But why should I be? All the nights that you, Curtis, and me aren't on the same page, I knew it was never because we didn't love each other. But if you go off with Adrian, I need to know—and remember—that it's not a reflection on me. It's just another part of something larger."
"Another path," Curtis added quietly. "Something like that."
"Totally," Simone said. "I know everything seems really hard to articulate right now, but I think we're getting there. It will take time. But think of how divorce has changed the language of the modern family. We know what a blended family is, so why not a poly family? Just give this time and it will come into mainstream, maybe. It takes longer, but the culture does shift. And in the meantime, we can figure out what works and what doesn't for us."
The sudden mention of divorce made Curtis flinch. Adrian saw the movement from the corner of his eyes; he still hadn't heard much from Curtis—one on one, like they were used to; they had pretty much both been swept into conversation right away, eating pizza and drinking a lot of coffee. But in that moment, Adrian needed to say something, to do something. He slid his hand underneath the table to touch Curtis's fingers. When Curtis noticed, he pulled away, only to look back at Adrian—then Simone and Darcy.
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