“Take my word for it, Ailene,” she’d say. “You dig in and look after your home and your man, and that young Alan of yours, and you’ll settle down just fine.”
Yeah, no. It was truly amazing how little my grandmother understood my mother, even after raising her, that she thought that kind of advice would work for her.
Having Mom drift in and out of our lives meant Dad and I had to fend for ourselves a lot of the time. Now if Grandma had given me that advice, it might have saved me a lot of failed relationships. But I think, that evening, making supper with Evan and Perry, I finally got what she’d been trying to get my mother to see.
Focusing his energy on a task, when his brain decided to cooperate, was dopamine gold for Evan. Not being the dumping ground for all of Evan’s jagged energy let Perry live in his own skin for half a minute.
Living there helped him to see what was lacking in his life. Sometimes, the man just needed to be on the receiving end of all the care and attention he gave Evan. Not that Evan didn’t care, or wasn’t attentive. In his own sweet, abundant way, he was. But sometimes, Perry needed calm. He needed someone at his back to weather the storm of affection that made up Evan Baily’s core being.
And having them both in my arms, even for that brief, way too fleeting amount of time, told me all I needed to know about whether I could be that storm break.
Not that it would be easy, because nothing worthwhile ever really was, but I had never quite wanted to be anything more than I wanted to be the shelter they were both looking for.
Even being the Skip of the potential Canadian Olympic Men’s Curling Team, with all the pride and responsibility it entailed, felt, for the moment, like a side quest.
I watched them go, hand in hand, to the bathroom between my room and theirs, deeply happy in a way I hadn’t been in quite a while.
“Tu va bien?” Carol asked, yanking me out of my thoughts.
“What?”
“You look like you’re half a galaxy away.”
I smiled. It probably looked goofy or dreamy. Or both.
Michael sighed and rested his chin on Carol’s shoulder so they could both watch me, part in concern, part in smug satisfaction.
“What?” I asked again.
“I love,” Carol said, “that you’re this happy about the sticky mess you’re getting yourself into.”
“Gross,” Michael muttered, wandering off towards the love seat.
“Mon ami.” Carol shook his head. “For a guy who doesn’t even like sex, you see the dirty side of every fucking thing. Mondieu.” He turned his attention back to me. “For the record, I was not talking about the sex. Though that will also be sticky.” He grinned.
“Asshole,” I told him.
“Mes oui.” He accepted that with a shrug. “J’aime te voir heureux.”
“What?”
“Happy,” Michael called over. “He likes seeing you happy. It’s been a minute. A lot of them.” He turned so he was draped over the arm of the love seat to look at me. “We were worried about you. Not that we’re complaining but you were getting a little rabid about the team. The twins brought out the worst in all of us and you were getting…”
“Trop compétitif,” Carol supplied.
I glanced from him to Michael.
“Too competitive,” Michael translated. “Too focused on winning. Talking about how we could never win with them. Like you lost the joy of the game and winning was the only thing you cared about.”
“Oui,” Carol said. “Ce qu’il a dit.”
“I don’t… am I like that?”
“Not as much now. Don’t get us wrong. We want to win. Évidemment. But we want to get back to where we enjoy the game too. Like Evan and Perry and Robbie do, still. Jason and Cameron, if they ever had that, lost it a long time before we ever met them. The only thing they want is to be on the winning team. To be able to say they’re the best. I don’t like the way it was rubbing off on all of us. I like this better.”
I nodded. “Same.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, rolling back around so he was no longer facing us. “Now it feels like we actually can win, and at the same time, like we’ll be okay if we don’t. Because we’re in it together.”
