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“Are you sure he’ll go for this?” I ask, already fidgeting even as Ryan helps me adjust the straps of the lacy black lingerie I very recently acquired at his suggestion. I turn around and watch him look me up and down with the gaze of a professional designer about to send a model out onto the catwalk: checking for wrinkles, smoothing out edges, pulling at a loose thread. He himself is clad in naught but a racy tight black speedo—also part of his plan for this special evening. After Ryan appears sure of his work, he puts his hands on his hips and nods. “Of course he’ll go for it, Madam. We both know he’s far too feminist to ever dare ask, but if you see it as empowering, he won’t stop you. He is, at the end of the day, still a male.” I sigh and close my eyes so he doesn’t see me roll them. “I’ve never been a fancy underwear person, Ryan. It’s not practical, it’s objectifying, it’s itchy—” “Of course it is. It’s all those things. You think I love my junk squashed like this?” I give him my best bitch face. “Then why do it? He’s never expressed interest in this kind of thing.” “Because we gotta surprise him somehow,” Ryan says pleadingly. “He’d never expect this, not from us, and especially not on his birthday.” He holds my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. “Besides, it’s not meant to stay on for too long anyway.” I shrug. “Well, you’re not wrong.” “And you look—” He winks, blows me a kiss. “Phenomenal, sweetheart. Denis better get home soon or I’m gonna open his present early.” I chuckle and blush, cross my arms over my chest. “Shut up.” “I am dead serious. He’s very possibly imagined you like this, but never once thought it would ever happen for reals.” He steps closer, slips his hands down to my hips as he gives me those bedroom eyes. “I know I have.” “Oh really now?” I say with a seductive smile, sliding my hands up his bare chest to lock my fingers behind his neck. “Maybe I’ve imagined you like this as well.” “Hmmm then everyone’s dreams are coming true today, aren’t they?” I giggle and kiss him, but only for a few seconds before we hear the front door open downstairs. “Salut, anybody home?” Ryan and I freeze, then back away from the railing to make sure he doesn’t spot us yet. We listen as Denis puts down his work stuff, walks into the kitchen, notices the crockpot of coq au vin on the counter we’ve had cooking all afternoon. He lifts the lid and takes a sniff, nods, hums his approval. He goes to the back door and steps outside on the deck, still looking for us. When he comes back, he crosses to the sofa and plops down into it, exhales with a big groan. He stretches his arms, tilts his head back, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, just draping over the cushions like a rag doll. “Awe, poor baby,” I whisper to Ryan. “Is he gonna have the energy for us?” Ryan shakes his head. “He’ll find the energy, trust me,” he says, beckoning me with one finger toward the stairs. “Come on, now’s our chance.” I grab his hand, tug him back a moment. “You practiced, right?” “Yes, yes, I did, but I’ll follow your lead.” “OK,” I agree, although my heart in is my throat, so full of nerves am I about this little act. We then sneak to the top of the stairs, still not catching Denis’ attention, and I begin to sing slowly as we descend:
Joyeux anniversaire
Heureux anniversaire
Tous nos vœux sont sincères
Pour ton anniversaire…
Ryan tries his best to pronounce the lyrics, and it takes all my willpower not to just break down in a pile of blushing giggles, but we hold it together, manage to cause Denis’ jaw to drop as we approach him in a seductive walk we had rehearsed earlier.
Tes amis aujourd’hui
Se sont tous réunis
Ton bonheur on l’espère
Pour ton anniversaire
By the last line, we’re both standing before Denis, and blow him little kisses with cheeky winks. Then we lithely sit down on either side of him, sliding our hands from his knees to his thighs as we lean in to kiss each of his cheeks at the same time. “Happy birthday, Denis,” we say in stereo. Denis gently wraps his arms around our waists, closes his eyes, licks his lips, shakes his head. “Now, I’ve had a very long day, and I’ve seen and dreamed a lot of things in my life, but I absolutely did not expect to see myself in this moment. All I can say is… Wow.” Ryan continues to rub Denis’ thigh, lightly, teasingly as he flutters his lashes at him. “Let us take care of you.” “However you like,” I add, massaging Denis’ shoulder. Denis grins, laughs once, squirms a little, clearly feeling a bit restrained by the sudden tightness in his jeans. He stares at us in turn as he blinks through his disbelief. “Shit, you are both… incredibly sexy right now, I am… having a very, very hard time choosing who to fuck first, en vérité.” Ryan and I can’t help laughing at his bold aknowledgement of the perennial threesome problem, and I can’t help feeling a rush of excitement at how deftly Ryan’s little plan worked. Unable to resist, I steal the first kiss, carding my fingers through Denis’ hair. We both moan softly with the pure pleasure, and I thrill to taste the pure anticipation on his lips, the fervour on his tongue, all amplified by his many weeks of pregnancy hormones. “We’re quite used to taking turns, rêveur,” I say as I pull back and nod to Ryan. “It’s your special day. Open your gifts as you see fit.” Denis’ smile morphs into something more carnal, more predatory as he kisses Ryan. Denis’ arm tightens around my waist as they deepen their kiss, and I unbutton his shirt, slip a hand across his chest, feel his heartbeat grow so strong it seems to press into my palm, as if I could hold his heart in my hand. “Hmmm, I will like to take you both… upstairs, my loves,” Denis states confidently, then switches into director mode, like he does sometimes in these situations. “Tu vas en premier… and I will follow, so I get a better look at your derrières before I make my ultimate decision about how to continue.” We both nod at him, give him a little salute. Ryan stands up first, bows, takes my hand and winks. “What did I tell you?” ************ Afterwards, lying together in the bed with Denis in the middle, we all slip into a light nap. The fresh sweat on our tangled limbs is delicately cooled by the ceiling fan at its lowest setting, our heartbeats gradually returning to a restful pace. Our breathing even seems to sync up as the gloaming fades into night. Eventually, the savoury scent of the chicken in the crockpot downstairs overwhelms Denis’ inexplicable parfum and reminds my brain how hungry I am. I blink open one eye, focus on the gentle rise and fall of Ryan’s hand splayed over Denis’ bare chest. I lift my hand and place it over Ryan’s, then cuddle closer so I can kiss the crook of Denis’ neck. He twitches and smiles slightly, breathes deeply. Ryan stirs at this, pulls my hand toward him and kisses it. “I dunno about you two,” I say, “mais J’ai la dalle.” “Hmmm, moi aussi, Madam. C’est dingue, argot français!” “Please tell me that means you’re as hungry as I am,” Ryan groans as he rolls onto his back. Denis chuckles, stretches his arms up into the air as he yawns. “You guessed it, Ry.” “Oh, thank God,” Ryan says as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “You and your moon language.” I laugh and sit up as well, then quickly lean down to snatch a kiss on Denis’ cheek. “Allons-y, mes amis,” I say as I slip off the bed and go to the dresser drawer to find us all some clothes. I grab three t-shirts and toss two of them at my men. “You two get presentable and I’ll nuke some potatoes.” “Porquoi tu ‘nuke’ les pommes de terre, Madam?” Denis asks with a hint of genuine fear. “Why not just cook them normal?” “Microwave, Denis, she’s microwaving them,” Ryan explains. “Ahhh, ouais ouais, forgive me,” he says, miming a slap to his head. “I never did hear that one before.” Ryan picks up Denis’ hand and kisses it, looks into his eyes with a frown. “You and your anxieties.” Denis grimaces, shrugs. “I cannot help myself.” Ryan shakes his head, but smiles anyway. “My dude… chill.” Just after I wash some potatoes, stab them several times with a fork, and toss them in the microwave, I look out the back window to spot Penélope—her little sundress as orange as the recently departed sun—sprinting across the sand toward the back door, Jeffrey hot on her heels. “I hope you’re both decent!” I call up to the loft before I go to open the door. “Maman, Maman!” Penèlope declares, catching her breath as she sinks down into the nearest chair. “I won the race!” she adds, theatrically tossing her long black braid behind her shoulder and wiping her brow. “I can see that, girl, wow, I can’t believe you beat Père Jeff!” Jeff still stands at the doorway, leaning on the jamb, making a show (or not) of being totally exhausted. He grins radiantly and reaches out for my hand. “Madam, would you spare a guy a glass of water?” I give him a quick kiss and turn back to the kitchen, fill up a glass at the sink. “Why the rush, my dears?” “Où est Mon Père?” my daughter asks, taking a small box out of her dress pocket and holding it up proudly. “I have a birthday present!” Jeff kisses me as I hand him his water. “Thanks, Red,” he says, taking a big gulp before continuing. “Yeah, uh, I helped her out with making something special. It was all her idea, though.” “Awe, that’s so sweet of you,” I say, then raise my voice. “Denis! Un cadeau pour toi! From Penélope! Come on down you two!" “Yes, yes, we’re coming!” Ryan says just as they both start down the stairs. “And we’re starving! Hey, Jeff! Is there enough dinner for everyone? Hey, Penny! Did you have fun today?” Penélope giggles as Ryan kneels down and hugs her. “Sì, sì, we made Mon Père a present!” “Cool, I can’t wait to see what it is, sweetheart,” Ryan says. Penélope holds out the box toward Denis as she runs up to him, hugs his middle tightly. “Joyeaux anniversaire, Papa! Te amo!” “Merci beaucoup, ma petit lapin,” Denis says, bending down to pick her up and give her a bigger hug. He gives her three kisses but then groans comically. “Ouh, là là, you’re such a big girl, let’s go sit down and open your present, my love.” Denis carries her to the sofa and Ryan and I sit down on either side while Jeff perches on the armrest, all of us rapt with anticipation. Penélope sits in his lap, arms around his neck as he lifts the top off the little box. His eyes widen. “Oh, quest-ce que c’est?” he wonders aloud,examining a macramé bracelet of thick black threads with tiny shells and multi-coloured beads woven into it. I spot the sudden and intensely genuine look of astonishment and paternal pride brighten his eyes, and my heart swells. “You made this, Pen?” he asks. She grins, nodding as she takes it and wraps it on his left wrist, then ties it closed. “I picked out the shells myself on the beach. Père Jeff showed me how to make the knots.” “It’s absolutely beautiful, mon trésor, grand merci,” Denis says, kissing her cheek. “You are quite talented, tsé.” I take Denis’ hand so I can have a closer look at the clever handiwork. “What a lovely idea, Pen. You and Père Jeff are a great team.” “What did you get for Mon Père?” she asks me casually. Looking up at Ryan, I smile awkwardly for a moment before Ryan replies, “Oh we got him new underwear.” Penélope giggles. “Qué?” Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, it’s really boring, I know, but it’s something dads need sometimes.” Jeff eyes me, gives me a wink. “You know, now that you mention it, I could use some new underwear for my birthday too, ya know. Just giving you a hint.” Penélope laughs even harder. “I don’t want underwear for my birthday!” “Non, non, we’ll get you something fun, don’t worry,” Denis says, his cheeks flushing pink as he holds up his index finger. “Although I have to say, it was very nice underwear, and I thank you, Ry, Madam, very much.” I cover my face with my hand and laugh. “De rien, rêveur. De rien.” “So, does this mean we can eat now?” Ryan asks sheepishly. “I can’t be the only one who’s dying for dinner.” “Quiero cenar!” Penélope agrees. “I smell chicken!” “Alright, let’s do it, then,” I say, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen. “And there is plenty for you as well, Jeff, please join us.” Jeff claps his hands together. “Alright, it does smell amazing, I have to say!” “Yes, thank you, Madam, pour la cuisine française,” Denis adds. “C’est un régal.”
“Spécialement pour toi, mon cher.”