Let me back up, though. A lot had happened over the past few months.
I got a new job teaching English lit at a private high school in Pasadena, won the part of the third murderer in Macbeth…which was not the role I wanted, but hey, it was a start, right? And I was currently an understudy for the second banana in the playhouse’s upcoming production of Our Town. I probably wouldn’t see the stage, but I loved being part of the process. And it felt nice to have my professional life on track again.
On a personal note, I moved in with Seb last September. I know…we kinda jumped in quick, but why wait? It was ridiculous to waste rent money on a place I never slept in, and we planned to spend the rest of our lives together, so we figured we might as well get to it. Don’t worry. We made sure this was something that would work for Oliver too. I didn’t want to needlessly create waves in Seb’s family. But Oliver loved the idea.
He’d pointed out that it would be easier to collaborate on his new Claymation short about the ongoing adventures of Bill and the Oreo. We worked on the project a little bit every day and if I do say so myself, it was pretty damn good. We bonded over molding clay and taking endless photos, chatting about kids in junior high, his classes, Charlie’s new cat, and his own personal quest to talk his dad into getting a dog.
We’d become good friends. Oliver didn’t need another father figure. I admit I was guilty of imagining what life would have been like if the child I’d thought was mine was part of my story. Oliver was a salve in his own way. A reminder that the future was bright and the past had no power over me. Unless I gave it power. And I had no intention of doing so. Staying in the moment, appreciating life’s interesting twists, seemed far more important.
Twists like…Seb Rourke, one of the most powerful producers in entertainment, was mine. My friend, my lover, my better half. He’d opened his home and his heart and brought me into his world. In turn…I gave him Al and Fran, my sisters, their husbands and kids, and Macy, the eccentric “auntie” who showed up to read our cards to make sure our chakras were good…whatever that meant. I wasn’t sure if I should apologize or remind Seb that he’d asked for it.
But honestly, Seb loved the chaos. And I think he was not-so-secretly grateful that my family provided a dose of “realness.” My parents were the grandparents Oliver had never had. They moved into the guest wing for a week each time they visited, took over the kitchen, the remote control in the great room, helped Ollie and me with our clay project, and supplied endless comedy.
I wished I’d have filmed their expressions the first time they stayed at the house. My mom kept saying, “It’s like a palazzo.” And Dad’s commentary went something like, “It kinda reminds me of Southfork. ’Member Southfork? JR Ewing’s house in Dallas. Nah, you’re too young to remember that show.”
“Actually, I’m not too young,” Seb had admitted sheepishly. “I remember it.”
“Me too, and this house looks nothing like Southfork, Dad,” I’d said.
“Yeah, yeah. But it’s ginormous like that, you know? And that’s a damn fountain out there. Who has a fountain in their front yard? You know who…people who got a barn full of cattle on their ranch.”
“No cattle here. Sorry.”
“Oh, well. You got a TV?”
Seb had chuckled as he escorted them inside. “We have a few of those.”
See? My folks were easy. A giant flat-screen, a well-stocked kitchen, and a kid to spoil made their day. And of course, they were happy that I was happy.
I kissed Seb’s cheek and inclined my head. “C’mon. Let’s say good-bye.”
He squeezed my hand and moved ahead of me into the great room, where my dad and Oliver were lounging on the sectional while my mom bustled around them with a tray of antipasto.
Mom set the plate on the coffee table and covered her mouth. “Oh, my. You’re so handsome. The both of you. So handsome. Stay. I’ll take your picture.”
“Mom…” I sighed. “We’re gonna be late.”
“We’ll be fine,” Seb assured me before wandering toward the television. “How does the red-carpet action look?”
“Lame,” Oliver reported, leaning forward to grab a slice of salami.
“I agree. Does anyone care who’s wearing what? I mean, who watches this stuff?” My father threw his arms in the air, then swiped some cheese from the tray.
“You’re watchin’ it now,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah, but Ol and I are watchin’ it ’cause of you. Aren’t youse supposed to be there now?”
Seb checked his watch. “We’re on our way. Justin and Gray are meeting us here.”