Page 37 of Always Alchemy

Catholicism is at its heart a highly sociable religion, one that places family at its centre and embraces all generations in its rituals, in its cultures. But as one grows more extreme, as one allows that insidious sense ofus and themto develop, to grow its nasty, choking tendrils, that family-centric view can slip—and even flip.

Families are as messy and human and flawed as the individuals they comprise. Of course they are. And while I still adore and value the families I see at our local parish church, I’m confident I’ve made that shift from wanting,needing,that model for my own family, for relying on it as a benchmark of success, if you like, to understanding that families are allowed to look different. That my children have their own visions for their futures and their families, and that it’s okay to lean into those.

My husband is not leaning into any alternative family systems. He’s leaning out. He’s isolating himself more and more, increasingly angry with and worried about the world he lives in, increasingly unable to see Christ at work in it, and increasinglylost.

And I don’t know what to do.

Max has crouched down between Darcy and Dex’s chairs. She’s kissing his temple, while my son has his hand on Max’s shoulder and is murmuring fervently to him. While the table is too rowdy for me to hear what they’re saying, I don’t need to. They’re praising him. Thanking him.

Lovinghim.

I’m sitting between Darcy’s parents, Malcolm and Audrey, and Max’s father, Charles. Like me, he’s here on his own, although for very different reasons. Tragically, Max’s mother passed away from breast cancer several years ago.

That poor woman, God rest her soul, missed the opportunity to attend this wonderful occasion, and my bloody husband chose to stay away. I could throttle him sometimes, I really could. Although, If I’m honest with myself, it’s a relief to have watched the events of the past few hours and days unfold in the peace of Charles’ company rather than Ben’s judgement.

I know too well how I’d feel if it were Ben sitting next to me now, radiating tension, infecting us all with his disapproval and counting the minutes until he could escape to a church somewhere and atone for the abundance of sin he perceived.

On the contrary, Charles has been a wonderful companion, these past few days. It’s been quite fun being each other’s unofficial plus-one, actually. Malcolm and Audrey are very sweet, even if one suspects they’re very slightly at a loss to understand how their youngest daughter has ended up marryingtwomen. But Charles has been a most welcome ally.

With three parties in the wedding and Max having insisted on paying for everything, it was mutually agreed that the oldies would resist inviting hoards of their friends.Alas, most of our friends from the church are absolutelynotcapable of embracing a union like the one my son is making, so I’m more than happy to revel in their absence and in the open-hearted camaraderie of the younger generation.

One excellent exception is Verity, who’s here with Justin and on flying form. The night before last, we were treated to a blind wine tasting at this lovely hotel. We could see the colour of the wine in each glass, but the labels on the bottles had been covered up.

Unbeknown to us, Max had instructed the sommelier hosting the tasting to dye one bottle of chardonnay a convincing claret colour, which had us all scratching our heads when we tasted it. Charles was the only one of us to click, and boy did he lord it over his son for the rest of the evening. Those two are peas in a pod—both highly competitive alpha males, I suspect. I’d hate to see them take each other on at Monopoly, or any game, for that matter. What’s struck me most about their interactions is that they feel like equals—two grown men who think the world of each other.

The only time I’ve seen that dynamic between Ben and Dex has been when they’re talking shop. Otherwise, their relationship has always been far more patriarchal on Ben’s part and more deferential on Dex’s—on the surface, anyhow.

Charles is surprisingly young, too, given Max is a decade older than Dex. Apparently, he fought in the Falklands and knocked Max’s mother up pretty promptly after that when they were both at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Or something like that. We had that conversation during the wine tasting, and my memory’s a little hazy. In any case, he’s only sixty-four to my fifty-eight. We’re both spring chickens.

‘It’s really something to watch them together, isn’t it?’ Hislow voice says in my ear now, and I shift in my chair so I can face him. I find it so hard to have a conversation with such a din around us. As I turn, I don’t miss the appreciative way his gaze slides over my face and torso. I’m in a sleeveless Chanel shift dress, and I have to say I’m rather pleased with how flattering it is.

Verity and I had quite a chat about our new friend Charles last night. He’s certainly very dashing—tall and fair, and with that wonderful posture that tells one he’s a military man. He’s even taller than Ben, and a single glance at him tells one exactly where Max got those wonderful blue eyes from. Verity made some observations about his physicality that are absolutely too lewd to repeat but were highly amusing all the same.

I smile at him. ‘It really is.’

‘Those three can teach us all a thing or two about life and love, can’t they?’ he muses, his blue gaze shifting to where his son is still crouched between Dex and Darcy.

I sigh at the sight of the three of them, all young, all impossibly beautiful and vibrant. ‘It turns out, we know nothing at all. That’s how I feel, anyhow.’

He chuckles. ‘I fear you’re not wrong.’

He has such a warm, lovely laugh. It gives me the confidence to ask something I haven’t asked him yet. But now, basking in his happiness rather than the oppressive weight of Ben’s judgement, it feels easy. The stakes feel lower. I can tell, somehow, that I don’t have to weigh my words as much with Charles.

‘Can I ask, did you… see this coming?’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘The three of them? Oh dear God, no. Not a clue! You could have knocked me down with a feather.’

I nod slowly. ‘That is the world’s greatest understatement.But you took it well? It’s none of my business,’ I add hastily.

‘I took it on the chin, I suppose. If you know my son, you’ll know he never asks permission. He wants something, he goes after it. Orthem.Just as he said. He’s a strong-minded devil, but it all comes down to the fact that he has absolutely lashings of integrity, and therefore I trust him. When I pushed him on this whole… threesome business and asked if he was sure this was what he wanted for life, do you know what he said?’

‘What?’ I ask, my eyes wide.

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it!’ He slaps his hand on the table and laughs heartily, and I laugh, too. ‘Well, I told him I’d rather take his word for it. A threesome! Can you imagine?! It would finish me off, I’m sure. Not sure my old ticker could take it.’

I’m giggling hard now. Charles’ reaction of shock and utter acceptance is oddly reassuring. I suppose that’s what happens when you don’t walk through this world laden down with dogma. You take new, unknown concepts ‘on the chin’, like he said, and you assess the integrity levels of the person who’s experimenting with such concepts, and you evaluate the situation on its own merits.

How refreshing. I suppose that’s what living authentically means.

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