And we don't. We laugh every day, many times a day.
“If you could be older or I could be younger, would you want that?” I ask Marty, the question suddenly popping into my mind although I suspect it's been hiding there in the shadows for some time.
He stares ahead at the sunset and I know he's thinking about it. Taking his time. Searching for the true answer rather than what I want to hear or what he thinks is the right thing to say. He does this a lot now, thinking before he speaks.
“Honestly, yes,” he says. “I wish we could have been different ages when we met so that we could have had those five years together.”
I nod, my eyebrows pull together with a pang of sadness.
“But I also wouldn't change anything about where we are now. And if who we are now is dependent on every single day we have each lived, every single step we've taken to get to this point - together or apart - I wouldn't change a single thing.”
My frown flattens out.
“How about you?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose and look at the lush green of the trees on the horizon contrasting with the tangerine orange sky. “I wouldn't mind you being a bit younger. You were fucking hot at twenty-four,” I say.
His hand reaches down and slaps my arse with now oft practised precision, making me squeal.
“I'll kiss it better later,” he says. “After twenty more lashings.”
I shiver. “You better. Now, can I tell you what your present is?” I ask, unable to wait any longer.
“A day early? What have I done to deserve that?” he asks.
“Well, besides what just happened at home,” I say, and look up at him with a side smile. “I think I've made you wait enough for things in the recent past...”
He laughs as I hoped he would. He hasn't always laughed about it, and sometimes he's been downright angry with me - usually after a good day together when he demands to know why we had to forsake years of potentially good days - but there have been just as many times when he looks at me levelly and I can see what he's thinking. That maybe we are as good as we are now because of that time apart.
“I'd do it again in a heartbeat, and you know it,” he says as he stares.
“Well, surprise, that's your birthday present, another five years apart!” I tease, pulling my arms off him and rummaging in my bag.
“Feck off, Jenna! No way. No fucken way you're prepared to do that, not when I now have a sexy-ass beard and know how to cook all your favourite foods!”
It's true. He knows exactly how to keep me close but what he’s talking about is just the tip of the Marty-sized iceberg I love.
“No,” I say, pulling out an envelope. “It's this.”
“What is it? Another postcard my mother will intercept?”
“Ha! No.” I hand it over. “Open it.”
We both watch his hands open it and retrieve two printed pieces of paper, one with details for a reservation at a resort in Morocco and another for two return flights to Marrakech. On a small postcard of Dublin I've written:
Dear Marty, Happy 30th Birthday! How about seven sunsets in Morocco with me? I promise you. Everything will be okay. Jennax
His mouth falls open.
I smile at him. “Seven sunsets at my brother's resort. A room with a jacuzzi and sunset views. I booked time off with the restaurant already. We leave on Saturday,” I explain. “Maeve is coming to house sit and look after the dogs and your parents are giving us a lift to the airport because that's apparently a thing that close families do.”
He's smiling so wide as he skims over the pieces of paper. “A holiday... The first in a year.”
Marty wanted us to buy the house together. I kept my house in London and rented it out and the monthly income from that would have covered a decent chunk of our Dublin mortgage, but it was not what he wanted, and I know better than to argue with a determined Marty. He's been working extra hours and avoiding any additional costs for the last year to match me sum for sum on the repayments and any other outgoings. My first book did well, I have two new regular columns and now have an easier time pitching the pieces I want to write, all of which has helped me have a steady income as I now work on my second book, tentatively titledThe Importance of Being Patient, a more personal story about Marty and our relationship.
“Thank you,” he says as he pulls me into his body.
I turn my head while there, facing the sunset and look at how the sun’s radiance fills the whole sky as far as my eyes can see. A moment later I feel a thud against my ankles and look down to see AJ trying to squeeze his fat body between our legs while Rocky runs circles around us. Smiling I turn my head back to the sunset.
