I feel her body move in a shrug. “Just testing to see if you prefer it.”
“God, no. I'm Marty to you.”
“But your parents call you Aiden.”
“I'm Aiden to them. And that's okay. I want to be Marty to you,” I say.
“What was Arnie's real name?”
“How do you know Arnie wasn't his real name?”
“Well, first of all, I don't know many twenty-something-year-olds with the name Arnold. And secondly, I assumed Marty was originally his nickname for you, and so you must have had one for him.”
My chest gives as I exhale. “You're right, but it's not much of a story. We were kids playing rugby together and nobody was called by their first name. O'Martin was my surname. His was McArnold. Marty and Arnie. It was easy.”
“Yeah, zero points for creativity.” Jenna chuckles.
“I think for two eleven-year-old boys it was pretty creative.” I sigh and slide my hands up to keep her grip on me. I suddenly feel like I'm about to cry. The one thing that stops me is the silence that we share as we watch the sun continue to sink lower. Her chin is on my shoulder, her hair tickling my cheek. I feel safe and I feel loved. I can't help but wonder if it's her love I feel, or Arnie's.
Or maybe, possibly, both?
“You miss him so much it hurts, don't you?” she whispers in my ear.
I nod. “Pretty much feel like it might kill me sometimes.”
“I loved hearing you talk about him at dinner,” she says, her hands stroking my chest. “I know doing so must hurt, and I see how being with your family is also like a near constant reminder, but please don't stop talking about him, Marty.”
“I want to keep talking about him,” I say, and my tentativeness is so audible in my voice. “Can I keep talking about him with you?”
Her exhale moves my body. “Of course.”
“We only have one more sunset here together after this,” I say and saying it feels like a new sharper knife piercing a new fleshier part of my heart.
“Marty,” she says. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
“But we could have more sunsets somewhere else?” I ask, ignoring her warning.
“We could,” she says but I struggle to hear the certainty in her voice. I feel her head move, her eyes now face down in my shirt.
It's not the answer I want, but it's not the answer I feared most. And more importantly, I've started the conversation.
The sun has all but melted into the sea when we hear a click behind us, and our heads turn in sync. My sister is there holding up her phone.
“That is the kind of photo that could launch your social media career, Aidey, just in case you need something to fall back on,” she says. “Also, we need you at the table. It's cake time.”
The cake is indeed there on our table and Jake is standing beside my mother, looking even pinker and more harassed than before, but I know she won't notice as she chats away, touching him lightly on the arm. I take Jenna's hand as we walk back to the table and choose not to mention how the shoulder of my shirt is now damp, because even if she was crying, she is smiling now.
Back at the table, I admire the cake – a layered strawberry and cream creation - and dutifully sit there grinning while Jenna, my family, her brother, surrounding tables and a handful of equally harried-looking serving staff all sing Happy Birthday to me. It's more people than I expected to be celebrating my birthday this year, and while there is one voice I miss with every note, I can't help but feel buoyed by their singing. I blow out the candles with far too much gusto andfanfare, which I hope covers up the fact I made what feels like one of the most important wishes of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jenna
When all the candles are blown out and Marty has served us all up a piece of cake, he puts the knife down without slicing one for himself.
“Right, that's enough of this celebrating horseshite. I thank you all for being here with me and behaving, for the most part,” he says with individual looks at us all. “But now I want to treat myself to a little extra birthday fun.”
He stands and looks around the seating area. He catches my brother's eye, who is seating that group of twenty and looking like he's not going to make it back to the pantry in time for his next crying break.
