That’s the thing, isn’t it? It doesn’t work. It’s not supposed to work. It’s just this week, and while Kelsey is twenty-seven years old and surely familiar with the notion of casual sex, I really, really don’t want to recap my conversation with her stepfather about how we’re just scratching an itch during her wedding week.
“You literally told me last night that you wish Jason would start dating again. You said you thought he was lonely. So which is it, Kelsey? Do you want him to be happy, or do you just want him to be happy in ways that are convenient for you?”
She flushes. “Oh, you’re going to make him happy? When's the last time you had a relationship that lasted more than six months, Daddy? And now you're, what, going to be the one who destroys Dad's career? His faith?”
I don’t double over from the gut punch but it’s a near thing. Because she's not wrong, is she? I've never made anything last. Also, destroy his faith? This is a casual fling. Jason himself suggested it. It’s not going to destroy anything.
Kelsey, at least, has the decency to look a little ashamed of herself.
“I’m just saying,” she says, her voice a little less shrill. “The Church is really important to him. You know that, right?”
“Kelsey.”
“I just…I don’t want you to get hurt, Daddy.”
“I appreciate that, but again, who I choose to sleep with is none of your business. I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
“And I don’t want you to hurt Dad, either,” she retorts.
I sigh. “I have no intention of hurting Jason. I think you’ve forgotten that your stepdad and I have known each other a long time.”
She gives me a sharp look and I curse my stupid mouth. “Not like—” I break off before I can actually lie to my daughter. “Look, I’m serious about this, Kelsey. Stay out of it. Jason and I are plenty capable of having a mature relationship and we don’t need you to look out for either of us here.”
“Oh, is that what this is? A mature relationship? The two of you, who haven’t spoken directly to each other since Mom’s funeral, who’ve spent the past fifteen years communicating with each other solely through me, are having ‘a mature relationship’?”
I swear to god, Kelsey’s finger quotes are killing me here. “Kels…”
“No.” Kelsey backs away, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. This week, of all weeks. I just—No.” She stalks off without looking behind her.
Fuck.
I stand on the path for a long moment, watching Kelsey's retreating back until she disappears around a bend. Then I continue on to our casita, my legs heavier than they should be.
Jason isn't back yet. Good. I need a drink before I face him.
I open one of the bottles of wine on the credenza and take it out to the balcony. The valley spreads out below me, green and gold in the late afternoon light. I pour myself a glass. Then another.
Twenty
Jason
When I return to our casita, Victor is seated in one of the cane-bottom chairs on the balcony, his legs extended, bare feet crossed and propped up on the balcony railing. He’s tipped back on the chair’s back legs and it looks barely sturdy enough to hold him, but he seems unbothered about that.
There’s a bottle of wine on the small table next to him and a nearly empty glass dangling from his fingers. The angle of the setting sun shines through the wine bottle and reveals that the level of wine is well below the halfway mark. I’m pretty sure I know why he’s drinking alone on the balcony of our casita.
I cross the living area and drop into the other chair on the balcony. “Kelsey knows about us,” I start without any preamble.
“Yep,” he says. He slides the wine bottle in my direction without looking at me.
“How did you know?” I ask.
“Adrienne confronted me at the pool today. Then I ran into Kelsey on the path. Didn’t go well.”
“Jesus, Mary, and all the saints,” I sigh. I grab the wine bottle and take a swig from the neck without bothering to go find a glass.
Victor looks over at me, snorts, and drops his legs from the balcony railing, which also drops the chair legs to all fours. He lifts up from the chair, sets his wineglass gently on the table, and pads into the living area. He returns with a glass for me, a second bottle of wine, and the wine key.
He opens the second bottle with the extra-careful motions of a person who is not entirely sober, swigs what’s left in his glass, and dumps the last of the bottle into mine. It’s more than a full portion but Victor just shrugs and slides the glass to me, then pours himself a similar amount from the new bottle. He props his legs up on the railing again and tips his chair onto its back legs.
