Page 115 of Pieces of Us

‘That’s enough. Stop molesting my baby girl.’ I know he’s only kidding, but I don’t want to piss him off right before I’m about to ask him the biggest question of his life.

‘Thank you, baby.’ I say sincerely, looking into her eyes, because this present is a dream. Tapping her on the ass she scrambles off.

‘We can do a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, too. Remember that was always on our bucket list!?’ She claps her hands in excitement, which warms my soul.

Ever since we’ve been back together, it’s like she has this extra glow. There were a few hiccups at first, especially as I waded through adjusting to her issues, but now I can tell when she’s triggered and I know how to help, rather than be a bigger problem.

On New Year’s last year, we worked out that she’d split her time between Los Angeles and here, and while she was back here, she’d stay with me. I don’t want to get into the specifics, but I feel like this was completely different to when Billie and I had a temporary go at it. It felt more natural between Amity and I.

Despite Amity making my place her homebase, she was still only here for maybe less than half a year, which sucked. Her constant jetting around the world continually stole her away from me, but I took every chance I got to join her if my own schedule allowed. My work was a lot more flexible than hers, meaning I could virtually work anywhere in the world at times, which, lucky for me, took me to all sorts of new places. I visited places like Old Trafford Stadium to see my team, Manchester United, to New York to see the Yankees.

The last year was pure bliss, falling even more in love with Hart.

A picture perfect example of her beauty, grace and forgiveness was when we bumped into Billie. It was the anniversary of the miscarriage. When we lost the baby, Billie wanted to take a walk along the beach, so we did that on the day we lost them, and every year after that, even if we weren’t together. With everything that had happened last year, Billie and I hadn’t spoken, so I had no idea if she’d go down to the beach. After cutting ties with my old group and her effectively, and her moving onto another temp job, there was honestly no reason why we’d be in the same room together unless we bumped into each other. She attempted once or twice to message me, but I blocked her number straight away. I wasn’t interested if she wanted to apologise or if her aim was to try and seduce me again. She was a big part of my past, but Amity would always be a bigger part of my past, present and future.

As Hart and I walked along the beach that day, hand in hand, feeling the sand between our toes, I wondered how difficult it must have been for Amity to be reminded of yet another first I didn’t give to her. Apart from the clashing of the waves and a few seagulls squawking, there weren't many other sounds. We didn’t fill the silence with chatter. We just got lost in our own heads. It wasn’t until she saw Billie sitting, with her toes dipped in the ocean that she said anything.

‘I’m going to go see if she needs anything.’ I was stunned, and before I knew it, Amity was already sitting down next to her. Standing there in shock, I didn’t know if my presence would be welcome or not, so I watched my wonderful woman embrace Billie as if she hadn’t destroyed her world for years and years. When she let go, she squeezed her hand and teetered over to me again ‘You should go sit with her for a bit. I’ll meet you back home.’ With that, she wandered off down the beach.

As expected though, emotions on both ends were amplified, and we needed to call Dr April to steer us through it. Amity was still hurt that I’d given away every significant milestone to date to someone else, and truthfully, she was right. My first kiss. First Fuck. First baby. First time living with someone else was with someone else. What she didn’t know was the first and only time I’d be getting down on one knee would be to her. My first earthside baby would be with her, and a guarantee I could give her was every one of my lasts. My last kiss. Last fuck. Last look. And last breath.

‘I’ll get dessert ready,’ Amity says, stuffing the balls of wrapping paper in a bag. She’s made Jagger’s famous pumpkin pie, two of them actually. She knows we all devour it when she makes it.

‘Sounds good, baby. Need any help?’ Uncle Mark asks. He’s hosting this year as it was at Dad’s last year. All the girls jump in and offer to instead, which I’m thankful for because I don’t want to be sus as fuck by calling him away. I guess I could always ask him about work, but we have a rule not to talk about work during family time.

When the girls are safely inside the kitchen, far, far away from where we are, I make a point of turning up the TV just in case. We’re all stuffed from Christmas lunch, which I guess is a good thing because if either of the dads don’t like what I have to say, they won’t be able to get very far on full stomachs.

‘Uncle Mark. Dad.’ I cut their siestas short and just in time too because Dad looks like he is going to take a nap.

‘Yeah?’ Dad grunts.

‘I, ah, I have something to ask you, Uncle Mark, but I also really want Dad to be here too.’

Both sensing something is fishy, they snap their attention to me. I see a look pass through them as if they know what’s coming, but I can tell they want me to have this moment.

‘Inside study talk?’ Uncle Mark asks. I nod. I know he keeps the top shelf whisky there and truth be told, I could really use one right now.

‘We’re just going to study for a minute. Work stuff,’ Uncle Mark shouts. If it comes from him it sounds more convincing as it was his rule to not talk about work to begin with.

‘Five minutes. You said no work,’ Amity calls back.

We scurry to his office as if we’re escaping the scene of a crime.

Apart from Amity’s old bedroom for obvious reasons, this is my favourite room in their home. On one entire wall there is a collage of black and white photos of all of our lives together. I see a few empty spaces are left to be filled, which gives me hope that one day our wedding photos will adorn the walls.

As the lock clicks into place, I know there isn’t a chance in hell that anyone is getting in here—or out, which makes me slightly nervous.

‘Glenfiddich?’

‘Please.’

‘One for me too,’ Dad adds.

As Uncle Mark busies himself with our drinks, Dad and I sit on the lounge. Another reason why I love this room so much is because of the sports memorabilia Uncle Mark has collected over the years, which includes a basketball signed by Michael Jordan and a football signed by Lionel Messi. He’s promised me that when he dies, he'll leave his collection to me, which is a sign in itself that he sees me as his son. Still, my palms are perspiring at the thought of asking him this question.

Passing me the drink, I swallow the finger whole.

‘Son, if you need to be drunk to ask me what I think you’re going to ask, that doesn’t bode well for you. Do you need to be drunk when asking me this question?’ he calls me out, making Dad laugh.

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