Page 46

46

Jeremiah Blake

My alarm vibrates and starts shrieking. It’s a vicious assault that jolts me from a deep sleep. Not just a deep sleep. A delicious sleep. One that feels and smells like Ben Stirling.

I’m happily knotted in a set of heavy arms and legs, and when I try to move, Ben pins me down and grumbles, “Five more minutes,” without opening his eyes.

Resistance is futile, and leaving him is torture, so I snuggle closer.

This close, he’s a blur. A beautiful blur of dark hair and a cleft chin. A strong jaw and a dusting of stubble. He’s sleepy and warm, more perfect than perfect. He kisses me blindly, missing my mouth and getting a cheek instead, then my nose, before finally finding my lips and nuzzling against them.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he mumbles.

I drift off and wake with a start. I have no idea how long I fell asleep for. The room is dark, courtesy of Ben’s new and improved curtains, but it feels late. Way later than it should be. Way later than I usually leave in the morning.

I dress quickly and tiptoe downstairs, carefully avoiding the third and ninth steps because I know they creak.

I’m nearly there, halfway down the hall, front door almost within arm’s reach, when I hear it, a bright, exceptionally cheerful, “Hi, Jelly!” followed by an equally, possibly even happier, “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Luca!” I fall just short of matching his enthusiasm due to the shock of being caught mid-walk of shame.

He’s wearing his dinosaur pajamas and his hair is standing up on one side. He cocks his head at me thoughtfully and says, “Did you and my dad have a sleepover?”

By the time Ben makes an appearance, there’s coffee brewing, pancakes on the stovetop that need urgent turning, flour all over the counter, and a splash of milk on the floor, thanks to Luca’s invaluable assistance in making pancake batter.

“Good morning, Ben,” I say stiffly. I’m very unsure about whether the way I’ve chosen to handle the situation is the right one. Ben looks as confused to see me here as he does by the state of the kitchen, so I quickly explain, “Luca was here when I got downstairs, and he asked if you and I had a sleepover, and I said yes, and he said that in this house we have pancakes on days we have sleepovers, and he asked me to make them for him, and I said yes to that too.”

“Ah,” says Ben, trying not to smile. “I see.”

He swings Luca off his feet and hugs him to his chest. When he puts him down, he says, “Sweetheart, you know how Jelly has been spending a lot of time with us lately?”

“Yeah, he’s here all the time.”

“Do you know why that is?”

Oh shit.

Oh yes.

Oh no.

Ben’s going to tell him. Ben’s going to tell Luca what’s happening between us.

Oh God, please, please let him be okay with it.

“’Cause he’s your best friend.”

“He is my best friend, but he’s also more than that. He’s my boyfriend.”

Luca’s head bobs thoughtfully. He’s interested but not shocked and definitely not upset. Thank God.

“Oh, you mean like Jonah’s dads?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“That’s neat, Daddy.” His gaze wanders over to me and a trickle of concern scoots his brows upward. “But, like, I can still have candy, though, right? ’Cause candy doesn’t give me the zoomies. Look, I haven’t had any today, and I still have the zoomies.”

He proves his point by tearing around the kitchen island twice and then making a mad dash into the living room to do a figure eight around the sofas.

“Jonah was a boy in Luca’s class last year who had two dads. One of them was trying to limit his sugar intake,” Ben explains helpfully.

“Ah, I see.”

When Luca returns, several things happen at once. Ben starts blowing up balloons and tying them off, Luca sets out plates for breakfast, and orange juices and coffees are poured.

When all that’s done, Luca and Ben bring the pillar candles from the dining room and place them on the kitchen island.

“D’you know what this is, Jelly?” asks Luca as Ben begins to light the candles.

“Hmm, let me think. We have candles and a birthday, so it’s…a birthday party, right?”

“Yes! It’s a birthday party for you!” It’s so cute how happy he is. His eyes are sparkling, and he’s talking louder and faster than usual. “Is it present time yet, Dad?”

“You know it. Wait here, Jelly. I’ll go and get it.”

“Don’t forget the hat,” Luca calls after Ben as he ducks into the study.

The hat looks like something Luca may have made in preschool. It’s green and conical with foam stickers and glitter glue dotted on it at random intervals. It’s placed firmly on my head by Ben, with an elastic band secured under my chin just tight enough to pinch a little.

I’m so disgustingly happy it’s using every ounce of my strength not to burst into tears.

I’m presented with a small gift bag with a smaller box inside it. The box is wrapped in pale blue tissue paper held together with washi tape. As I carefully peel away the tape, Luca bounces on the spot, little hands darting out to help when I don’t unwrap as fast as he’d like. Behind him, Ben smiles, shrugs, and mouths, “Hockey hands.”

“What can it be?” I say as I try to work out how to open the box in my hands.

I have no clue what it might be. Ben and I haven’t spoken about gifts or anything like that, and other than the fact that I like books, questionable T-shirts, and dildos that aren’t lifelike, I have no idea what he’d think I might like.

As I slide my thumbnail under the clasp and pry the box open, Luca yells, “It’s a pistachio! It’s a pistachio nut!”

“Luca!” says Ben.

He’s right. It is a pistachio nut. A hand-forged pendant made of sterling silver that’s been oxidized to highlight the details and shadows. It hangs from a silver wheat chain.

“D’you know why my dad got you a pistachio, Jelly? Do you? Do you?”

I can’t help giggling. Luca’s enthusiasm has infected me, plus I love this gift more than I can possibly say.

“Is it because he likes me more than pistachio ice cream?” I ask hopefully.

“No,” Ben replies evenly. Before my heart has time to drop, he pulls me toward him. One hand snakes loosely around my waist and the other strokes my cheek as he looks into my eyes. “It’s because I love you more than pistachio ice cream.”

My face tingles, and so do my neck and fingers. Heat rushes up my body and back down again. Everything, and I really do mean everything, I’ve ever felt for Ben multiplies and expands. It’s an explosion, more than an explosion, of emotion.

“I love you too, Ben.”

My words are spluttery and soft, broken by jagged, uneven breathing. It makes Ben smile, and when he does, I see the way I feel about him reflected back at me in his eyes. Every good thing I’ve ever felt or seen pales in comparison.

“Luca.” I sniff. “Please don’t worry. These aren’t sad tears. They’re happy tears. I’m not crying becau—”

Luca throws his arms around both of us and says, “Jelly, I’m almost seven, and I’ve lost my front tooth. I know all about happy crying.”