Page 5 of The Men of Summer
My phone chimes, breaking the monotony of the running kitchen faucet. Sighing, I let go of Jeremy’s soapy plastic plate and grab my phone from the counter with the slightly less wet hand. I wave at the happy toddler, who’s smiling at me from his booster seat. Happy because I took him to the Palo Alto Junior Museum and Zoo after lunch; Saturday is our bonding day. Happy because I read a story in French after his nap; Saturday is our French day. Happy because he was just fed roasted chicken, his favorite food as of today; Saturday is our “try out new things” day. Yeah, I’ve quickly come to learn that routines help children thrive. His erupting molars led to a rough night, and consequently, we had a slow morning. Thankfully, his good mood returned and so did mine. This kid has the ability to soothe my soul. Despite the tragic events that brought the boy to California, I can’t imagine our lives without him. Of course, I wish Dante was around to enjoy bits and pieces with us. I keep reassuring him to take his shot at hitting it big, and I offer him unwavering support.
As much as I love my nerdy job as an ethical hacker, it is no longer my priority. Jeremy is. I have no regrets, especially since my company allows most of us to work remotely, except for our monthly staff meeting and a handful of functions. Naturally, I’m solo on such occasions. Discretion is our motto. My sexual orientation has never been an issue with HR, and as my domestic partner, Dante is covered by my health insurance plan, as is Jeremy. Still, I haven’t mentioned Dante to my co-workers, and we intend to keep it that way.
Why flaunt our relationship?
Granted, he’s not the most famous performer out there, but he’s still a public figure who prefers to keep his love life under wraps, and I’m a private person too. After all, it’s nobody’s business but ours. The lack of support from our parents surely contributed to our hesitation as well. His dad didn’t take his bisexuality well, and they haven’t been on speaking terms for years. As for mine, I eventually made the trip to France and dropped the bombshell that I’ve been living with a dude when Dante got official custody of Elsie’s son. Yeah, yeah, I’d been stalling, assisted by my favorite ally: my twin sister, Farah, who now lives in Milan.
She kept my secret for years whenever her family of four visited our parents in France. It wasn’t her story to tell, but the distance I purposely put between my parents and my own family raised endless questions. When they got their answers and said I was always welcome, I was grateful… until my parents—a multicultural couple who always preached about love, tolerance, and freedom of speech and religion—clarified that their views didn’t extend to my family. Fuck them! It broke my heart, but they are dead to me… unless they reach out, apologize, and make amends for Jeremy’s benefit. Their loss.
Thankfully, besides my sister and Dante’s wonderful mom, our biggest supporter is Ines, hisabuela. I’ve only met her inperson once, when we went to the Dominican Republic to attend Dante’s grandfather’s funeral, but video chats are a common occurrence. She’s as eager as Dante’s mom to watch Jeremy grow. People say that you can’t have it all, but I feel bad for Dante and send him fun videos and tons of random photos whenever he’s away.
Swiping to open my phone, I click on the text to discover a photo of my man with Brea and his manager taken a few hours ago. A smile stretches across my face that’s flushed with excitement. “Félicitations!” For some reason, the remainder of my words are delivered in English, although I spoke French all day. I show Jeremy the pic. “See, your father rehearsed with one of his idols today! I’m so glad I talked him into making this happen.” Extending his arms, he squeals his reply. “Just a sec’.” He makes a funny face that’s a dead ringer for Elsie’s quizzical expression. Not mad or annoyed, just perplexed. I tap a quick answer to Dante’s text.
Zayn
Good 4 U. About to put J to bed. Will text more later.
I’m surprised to see three little dots bouncing.
Dante
Just got back to the hotel from my first session with Brea. Video chat in 15? Having a blast in LA, but miss you two so much. Wanna share a slice of your day.
I confirm that we’re on, slide the phone into my shorts pocket, and grab the boy. Strolling to Jeremy’s bedroom with him tucked to my left side, I kiss his forehead and discuss ourevening routine. This information is met with a squeal of delight. “You’re too cute for your own good.”
Still, my boyfriend’s broken heart emoticon makes my own heart lurch. No wonder why he chose the music industry, and I work an IT job which includes an NDA. We’re polar opposites in that respect: Dante thrives in the spotlight while I prefer the quiet solitude of the shadows.
And yet, despite the glamorous life he leads outside of our Palo Alto rental, there’s been a before and after Jeremy. Once we departed Seaside in a car jam-packed with loads of baby items, our new role dawned on us.
At first, unplanned parenthood required constant adjustments. Like in Seaside, our bedroom becamehis. My cherished California king-size bed went straight into storage, and despite—or because of—the urgency of the situation, we didn’t think twice about our living arrangements. We relocated and sleep on the beat-up fold-out couch. Dante, Jeremy, and I grew together, learning the basics one day at a time, and went from there. Despite Dante’s initial—claimed—reluctance at his new role, he can’t fathom missing out on seeing Jeremy when he’s away for more than a day; hence, the daily fix in the form of video chats, on top of the zillion pics and videos.
Unsure exactly when he’ll call, I angle my phone in such a way that I can answer while changing Jeremy before his French bedtime story. Sure enough, Dante’s name flashes on the screen. “Ohhh, you’re in for a treat, man!” I exclaim. Yup, I talk to myself, and I’m not even ashamed of it.
I chuckle, and Jeremy follows suit as I open one side of his diaper, scrunching my nose at the stench, then plaster a smile on my face to answer Dante so he won’t suspect what’s unfolding. Eyes on the camera, I wave at Dante, then return to the task at hand. I hear him grumble his disgust. I grab Jeremy’s ankles and greet my man. “Perfect timing.”
The boy sends him air kisses, his eyes widening with amazement; my geeky self hopes he already understands modern technology. He and Dante have a typical exchange where the latter obviously does most of the talking while the former responds with two-word sentences and chuckles due to his nakedderrièrein the air. My attention is on Jeremy, securely lying on the changing table. I make quick work of cleaning his delicate skin and applying lotion. “Is cold!” As always, he wiggles his nose at the clean scent, a welcome change.
“Gee, thanks for the visual! You could have warned me, dic—” He stops in his tracks, sighs, and corrects himself before I complain thatdickheadisn’t appropriate language to be used in front of his son. “Dixie!” How he comes up with these odd alternatives is beyond me.
I bat my eyelashes and offer in my most “trad wife” voice, “Anytime, honey.”
He doesn’t miss the devilish sparkle in my eyes. “Dude, that was brutal.”
“Tell me about it! At least, the camera spares you the smell.”
“Are we really discussing poop?”
“Guess so… It’s my gift to you since you asked me to—and I quote—be a part of the…” Air quoting the words sends the little redheaded devil into such an ecstatic, free, and genuine giggle that emotion overwhelms me. Rapidly blinking to clear the tears from my eyes, I catch my breath and continue like nothing happened. “The mundane moments ofyour son’slife.” Pursing my lips to avoid commenting on how he squinted his warm chocolate eyes at my words, I open my mouth with a loud pop, which, once again, earns me a cheer from the boy whose constant gurgling and fidgeting make holding a discussion difficult. In turn, Dante starts a conversation with his son… I grin watching them interact, even through a camera. Once they’re done and I’m ready to close the diaper and ask Dante tocall me back for a more adult interaction after Jeremy’s asleep, I can’t help but comment, “Remember the notebook we used to carry everywhere after we left Seaside.”
“Notebooks, you mean?” Yeah, plural is accurate. “That was your favorite pastime at the beginning, documenting every little thing because it might be relevant for the pediatrician.” I don’t bother reminding him that he was an active participant in the ritual since the guttural sound that escapes from his throat is unbearably moving. Rapid Spanish usually follows this action, but his uproarious exhale is followed by, “I do.” His voice turns softer. “Are we overprotective parents?”
“Oh, fuck!” is my witty response when warm liquid soaks my T-shirt-clad chest and jaw. “Dammit,” I curse again. “Seriously, Jay? You’re peeing on me now?!” Yuck… “I am beyond mad,” I snarl and wipe my chin with the back of my hand. “Potty training is back at the top of our to-do list. I’m counting the days until diapers are history.”
His freckled face falls. He sniffs. “So… sorry.”
I shrug and carefully consider my next words. I should have known better! Dante betrays me as I belatedly hear the sound of a camera click; trust me, this one willneverend up in a photo album. When my eyes shoot him daggers, he yells in triumph, “Busted! You might want to grab another wipe for that nasty drop on your chin…”
Wiseass!
