Work Text
One late afternoon, I find myself perfectly content reclined in the hammock set up on the extended deck on the side of the beach cabin. The half-clouded sun gives me ample light as I read Rama II, looking up from time to time to see through my daughter’s big window, where she and Denis have been spending the last hour drawing storyboards on the backs of index cards and arranging them on her wall with sticky-tack. I take a quick break to get up so I can put the lasagna I constructed with Penélope earlier into the oven, but when I return outside, I discover that my spot—and my pastime—has been re-occupied. I take a deep breath, cross my arms over my chest as I walk over, use my foot to stop the hammock’s idle swaying. Ryan smiles over the edge of my book, gives me a wink. “Just keeping her warm for you.” “You better not have lost my place.” He wrinkles his brow as he squints at the first page. “This is some supremely geeky stuff. Is Denis really gonna make a movie out of the first book?” “I hope so,” I say, grabbing the old paperback from his hands. I check and see my bookmark is still in place. “One day, maybe,” I add with a sigh. “I read the series many years ago and I needed a refresher. It’s like Arrival on steroids.” “Pfft, I believe you,” he says, swinging his legs around over the edge of the hammock fabric. He pats the spot beside him and tilts his head. “Join me?” I put the book on the picnic table and oblige him, both of us side-by-side, my legs dangling as he gently pushes us back and forth with one toe on the ground. He curls an arm around me, leans his head against mine as we both sigh with the breeze, rustling the palms tree fronds like muffled maracas. Ryan kisses my temple, holding it for a few seconds longer than expected. “Clicquot?” “Beanpole?” He takes a deep breath, finds my hand and squeezes it tightly in my lap. “I need you to know something I haven’t told Denis.” My heart skips, then races. I freeze. “Yes, sweetie?” “It’s so strange how I even know this, but… I know it and I knew it, and so should you.” I bite my lower lip, then turn my head toward him, but his eyes won’t meet mine yet. Ryan clears his throat. “When I was… pregnant… I knew she was ours. Yours and mine. Just ours. I was actually carrying right before Denis’ birthday.” I slowly close my eyes against the sharp pang of pain snapping like a whip through my chest. I’m shocked more by this than I was by the initial knowledge of the miscarriage. When I open my eyes again, he’s blinking at me, a sad smile tugging his lips, which makes the tears well up within me even faster. “It had to be that night in your sanctum,” he whispers, his voice warmly sweetened like genuine syrup—not the high fructose kind. “We must’ve had a particularly synced up moment in our hearts.You’re the only one I’ve told I wanted to take Denis’ burden, remember? Not even he knew I was willing to be a seahorse dad.” He chuckles a little, wipes at my unfallen tears, kisses my cheek. “I should have told you sooner, but I felt I needed to get a handle on it myself first. At the time, I felt even worse because I thought I had failed you specifically.” “Jesus, Ryan,” I say past the lump in my throat. “You have turned out to be everything I could’ve wanted and then some—” “I understand your feelings now, Madam, I really, truly do,” he says, the smile growing somehow. “I understand how much of a gift Penélope is, how much of a gift it is even being here with both you and Denis, which I didn’t fully appreciate before… and I’ve learned that even though the miscarriage itself had no purpose behind it—it was just bad luck in the end—I’ve managed to give meaning to it. And I wanted you to know that.” I suck in a huge breath and let it out, quickly wipe away my tears so I can kiss him heartily, holding his face close to mine. His humbled smile cracks my heart, and his confident kiss melds it back together. “I am so thankful that you’re healing, Ry,” I whisper between kisses. “We’re all healing.” He caresses one side of my face and gives me one more sweet, chaste kiss before staring right into my eyes. “Thank you. I love you so much.” “I love you too,” I say, sniffling as I nervously fiddle with the lapels of his deeply unbuttoned shirt. “Will you tell Denis?” He sighs, nods. “I will. I wanted to tell you first, of course. But I will. I promise.” I nod as well, cup his bearded cheek in one palm. “He’ll understand.” “I know he will,” Ryan says, swallowing hard. “He’s always good for that.” “God, I love you both so much,” I mumble, picking up his hand and holding it against my fluttering heart. “You’re both too wonderful I can’t help it.” “Well, Denis is the wonderful one. He’s a fuckin’ wonder of the world. The tenth wonder of the world, or something, how many are there?” “I think there are at least seven?” I say, feeling a giggle rumble up through my original happy sob. “Wasn’t King Kong the eighth or something?” “Oh well, Denis is definitely the ninth then.” “That makes you the tenth, doesn’t it?” “Oh well, thank you, Madam, I’m genuinely flattered.” “Actually, nine and half.” “Wait I was my own full cardinal number a second ago—” “You were the one humbling yourself before—” “Just tack me on between Denis and who? Who else? What else?” “Pen.” Ryan shuts his mouth, holds up a finger. “I stand very much corrected.” I snort and that starts his actual laughing, and all the oncoming tears are a happy baptism. Just then, Penélope emerges from her room and skips across the deck toward us, her iPad under her arm. She stands a moment, staring at us bemusedly as we try to calm our fit of laughter. “Maman, will you come with me to scout locations for my movie? Papa says I should take pictures.” She holds up her well-encased device. “¿Por favor?” “Yes, of course, chérie,” I say, then give Ryan a quick kiss before leaning forward to carefully stand out of the hammock. I stretch my arms above my head, then the moment I drop them, my daughter grabs my hand and drags me toward the beach. Over my shoulder, I say, “Watch the timer for the lasagna! I left it on the counter inside!” Ryan waves at us, continues to rock back and forth in the hammock as Denis walks up to him, hands in his pockets, a big smile on his face as he watches Penélope lead me away. When Denis looks to Ryan, he instantly notices something in his eyes besides tears of laughter. “How are you, chér?” Denis asks. Ryan puffs up his chest with a deep breath. “I gotta confess something,” he says, then picks himself out of the hammock, takes Denis’ hand, leading him inside the cabin. He sits Denis on the sofa, then quickly goes to grab the timer from the kitchen before joining him, setting the timer on the coffee table in front of them. A good 50 minutes before dinnertime yet. Denis rests a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, rubs it slowly. “What is it, my love?” Ryan leans forward, elbows on his knees as he musters some courage. “I was just talking to Madam about this just now… I wanted to tell her first, so now it’s your turn.” Denis’ eyes flash with fear. “Tout va bien, Ryan? Are you OK?” “Yes, I’m fine, it’s nothing bad, just…” He sighs, scratches at his neck as Denis rubs his back. He looks up at Denis with an even stare. The pure concern and love in Denis’ warm gaze hit Ryan harder than he expects. “I ummm… the child we lost… she was ummm…” “She?” Denis breathes, takes up Ryan’s hand. “Une fille?” “Yes, she was… she came from me and Madam… a little while before your birthday when we were alone. I didn’t actually feel whose she was until the day before I lost her.” Denis hugs Ryan the moment the words escape him, realizing that his earlier mirth outside was covering up some strife. Denis allows Ryan some space, a few minutes time in silence, then kisses his cheek, his forehead, hugs him again. “Désolé, mon amour, I am so sorry.” Ryan sniffles, nuzzles Denis’ neck. “I’ll be OK, I’ll be OK. You’ve both been so good to me.” “You deserve no less, Ryan. I understand how much she meant to you, and you must know, any child between us, us three, all of us here with Madam in the Manse... that child belongs to all of us, and she is loved.” Ryan nods, sniffles and smiles. “Thank you, Denis,” he says, touching his face. “My dear Octopus. Always reaching out with all your arms to gather us in.” Denis grins. “I only wish I had more arms, Boulanger,” he says, then kisses his lips gently. “Je t’aime.” “Je t’aime,” Ryan repeats, hugs Denis again. “Je t’aime forever.” After a moment, Denis feels Ryan’s heart thump harder against his own chest, notices his breathing begin to hitch again. He closes his eyes, allows himself to absorb Ryan’s state, finally senses the core of Ryan’s dismay. Their Madam knew it already, and Denis didn’t quite believe it until then. He didn’t think to believe someone so brave and confident as Ryan could still harbor such insecurity. “You are enough, Ryan,” Denis says slowly, earnestly, hoping it sinks in. Ryan lets out a chuckle, pulls back to see Denis’ face. “Am I Kenough?” Denis shakes his head, then blinks, covers his face with his hand. “Oh, merde, I didn’t mean to joke—” “I know, Denis,” Ryan says, welcoming the laughter in his heart again. He cups Denis’ cheek in one hand, kisses the other cheek. “I know you meant it.” Denis laughs, his face red. “Mais oauis, mon ami, and I am glad it made you smile again.“