Page 63 of Oyster

Éti’s face softened. “I told him I wished I’d been around sooner so I could have met his wonderful wife. And that I’m envious of the happy home they created together for their children and that I’d be humbled to become a part of it. Do you think that was okay?”

A warm flush of pride suffused me. Pride in my girlfriend, my heritage, and for the life we were creating together. Maybe nottoday or tomorrow or the day after, but one day in the future, my family was going to be okay.

“There is only Zoë left to meet. And you will, any second now. Look.”

Florian led my family through the little beach gate and into the garden. Éti wiped her hands and patted down her hair. She had been shy about my sister. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will. You’re impossible not to like. And she’ll be glad of some female company.”

“Yes, but not with someone like me. She’s so cool—look at her! Mon dieu, maybe I should change into something else. I feel so old and frumpy!”

She plucked at her flowing dress; the red one she’d worn for our first-ever picnic on the beach. It was my favourite out of all her creations, showing off her toned arms and flat belly. “You’re beautiful, my sweet. Stop fretting.”

There was no denying my sister looked pretty good too. Spoiling Zoë and giving her little treats wouldn’t ever soften the loss of her mother, but if my dad could bring a tiny bit of pleasure to his daughter’s life, then he’d do it. And for Zoë, that meant clothes and makeup. He’d splurged and pampered and indulged, and today’s ensemble included a pair of shiny black DMs, a new patchwork clutch bag type thing, and a pair of sunglasses that hadn’t come off the ten-euro rack at the tabac.

“You didn’t tell me how pretty she was, either! La vache,now I’m even more nervous!”

Our guests halted as Charles took a bottle of white wine from my dad and placed it in the cooler. Max pointed at the pool pump, discussing it in-depth with Florian. A little lost, Zoë hung off the back of the group, nervously twisting her hair as she absorbed her fancy surroundings. Slipping an arm around my girlfriend’s waist, I planted a soft kiss in her curls. “It’s just armour. Underneath all that, she’s more anxious than you.”

“You think so?” Éti shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Because right now, I feel like I’m stepping up to take a winning penalty in a world cup final.”

“Don’t be silly. She doesn’t bite.”Not literally, anyhow.“And you never miss penalties, Éti.”

“I know, but I… Éti Salvador is about to make her first ever girlfriend, and she doesn’t want to fuck it up.”

Some sunny afternoons lived in your memory forever. As dusk fell, this one would be carefully folded up inside too, placed on top of dozens of others already stored there, memories that included my mother. Even though not with us in person, I felt her presence, in the way my dad went quiet, his gaze turning to the pine trees edging Éti’s garden and to the ocean glimpses beyond. In the tiered seafood platter Max had painstakingly prepared on my mum’s favourite china tableware. In Zoë’s laugh, a little husky, a little self-conscious, and a perfect echo of my mum’s.

Éti’s nerves didn’t last long. After all, she was PSG’s number ten; she’d faced down critics baying for blood, frustrated defenders, and CEOs of multinational conglomerates all seeking a piece of her. A seventeen-year-old girl should pose no problem whatsoever, even if said seventeen-year-old had several years more of experience navigating female friendships. They skirted each other at first, Éti fussing around my sister like she was made of glass, and Zoë still overawed by my girlfriend’s obvious wealth and status. But, as the wine was passed around and our group split into smaller ones, they both relaxed.

Us men all but forgotten, we talked soccer and beer and whether an upgraded air conditioning unit for the oyster sheds was worth the outlay. “It’s going to be nice to have another woman in the family,” observed my dad. We were flipping the last of the sausages on the barbecue—heaven knew who for, because we were all stuffed to the gills. At the table by the pool,with their heads together, Éti smiled at my sister, easing the fat diamond from her finger, letting Zoë try it for size.

“She won’t be here much when the soccer season restarts.”

“And nor should she be! We’re going to win everything next year too!”

Not once had my dad fucked up Éti’s pronouns. And if a laggardly old fart like him could get it right, then no one had an excuse. My mum would have been so proud of him.

Zoë tapped on her phone, no doubt swiping through photos, memes, TikTok videos and fuck knows what teenage girls found amusing. My Éti lapped it up. Taking out my own phone, I surreptitiously snapped a pic of them both together to show Éti later. My Eloise amongst a thousand Eloises.

Later that evening, when everyone had gone, we strolled to the beach for a sunset picnic. Éti’s bottomless belly needed more filling. We found our favourite sheltered spot, not too far from where I first hooked my mermaid out of the water. Aside from a man and a boy in the distance, picking over low tide for whelks, we had the beach to ourselves; few tourists ever bothered to traipse this far.

Laying out a blanket, I made myself comfortable against a smooth rock, then scooted Éti back into the triangle of my spread legs. With my arms wrapped around, I indulged, kissing my favourite part of her neck.

A scattering of low clouds drifted across the horizon; a parade of drowsy elephants chivvied along by the light island winds. My mum had lived for summer evenings like this. She would drag my dad out for a meander along the shore to fill his pockets with pretty shells. Even though he’d spent all bloody day working there, he’d always tag along. Tonight’s ripening sunsetwas shaping up to be a good one. Wherever she was, I hoped she could admire it.

“Zoë is a sweetie, Nico. She’s going to show me a few shadowing tricks to soften my jawline.”

Éti’s sharp jawline was pretty damned perfect, but her opinion mattered the most. “You should see her stumbling out of bed at seven in the morning. Less sweet, I assure you.”

“She adores you.”

“Sometimes she has a peculiar way of expressing it.”

Éti giggled. “Funny, because she said exactly the same about you. And you’re not so clever first thing either.”

“If you can imagine her about thirty-five years older, she’s what my mum looked like.”

“I know. She showed me some photos. She seems to be coming to terms with everything very well. Zoë’s strong. Like you.”

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