“You do it.”
“Yeah? I opened the last one.”
“It’s your envelope; it’s probably for you, anyway. You open it, but read it aloud again, please.”
He takes another long draw on his beer and shrugs. This isn’t granite jaw, anxious Mason. This isn’t collapsed deal, angry Mason. Who is this relaxed, laid-back version of the man I used to worship, love, and fear for?
“Ready?” He wipes his hands on his shorts.
I nod. I couldn’t speak now if I wanted to. My feet sway under the table; at least that way the top half of me looks put together and placid.
Dear Mason and Sabrina,
First, let me start by apologizing for the open crackers. I got hungry writing these and needed sustenance to see me through to the end of them. You will both have questions, and I’ll do my best to answer as many as I can expect. If I fail, then one day, maybe, I can cover them too.
I left tonight not for some lighthearted prank only to return for breakfast, or a business matter; I left for a matter of the heart. Not just one, but three.
The past year has been a challenging one. A year of highlights, deep despair, and waging an internal war over who I was and what I thought I wanted to be. Mason, you are my oldest friend, and Bri, my newest. I love you both with a deep-seated ache that keeps me up at night and kidnaps my daytime thoughts. Working with both of you, seeing you almost every day, was joy and wonder and everything that made my heart happy when what I yearned for couldn’t fill it.
My darling Bri. Bubble. All that is good and honorable, and right. I’m entrusting one of the most precious things to me into your care. It growls and snarls sometimes, usually when it is hungry or needs a bath, so be mindful to feed and water, and exercise it daily. Truthfully, all he needs is you, Sabrina.
You need each other. Before either of you roll your eyes, understand that as the other, weaker Hynd leg tothe tripod we were, I saw it all. The love you both have for each other should not be tamed anymore. No more lies, no more masks, no more hiding in the darkness when the world needs to see you both bright in the light.
Mason. I’ve spent half my life loving you. I watched you shed gangly limbs and develop the body of a man. Watched you run the very first razor down your cheeks and throat until you said, fuck it, no one should shave every day. And that made me love you more.
Under different circumstances, in a different world, and perhaps a decade in the future, there might be a safe harbor for us to shelter in. Our families and our legacies meant we could never do that. I realize now with the fortitude of hyndsight—yes; I spelled it like that on purpose, Bri, before you analyze my elite education and find my vocabulary lacking—that I was slowly starving my soul. Remaining tethered to unrequited love, I do not recommend. I’ve removed myself from the equation, knowing that time and separation will allow my heart to grieve privately and one day, perhaps, it may be fortunate enough to be claimed by another.
No hatred was involved in my decision-making. I ask that neither of you feel that way either. I hope in time that you will come to see my separation as a natural, progressive step. A necessary one for all of us.
Mas, don’t waste time or resources looking for me. I’ve been guided by experts in cyber intelligence and private investigations. I’ll start over with a clean slateand no ties. Please know that my choice will not be forever. One day, I’d love to share a meal with you or watch you raise remarkable children blessed with the best of your combined DNA.
Until then, know that I will forever love both of you from the safety of afar. Forge your love for each other, please.There is no one I trust more with either of you than the other.
Love each other for yourself, for the other, and for me when I couldn’t. Love openly and honestly and frequently. Make love. Make memories. Make babies. One day we will find our way back. Until then, know that from afar, you will be in my thoughts and wildest dreams of a handful of noisy kids with dark hair and kind eyes. Of hairy dogs that eat chips off the floor and faded death metal concert T-shirts, and questionable sweatpant stains. Love is love until love is loss. To find each other, you needed to lose me.
Xo T
Tears track down his cheeks and disappear into his thick scruff. He blinks repeatedly before folding the page and placing it on top of the torn envelope. In swift and silent movements, we meet each other in the space beside the table, each of us clinging to the other and drowning in heavy, choked sobs. We held each other for minutes, desperate for solace. He smells just like I remember. Masculine, woodsy, with a hint of salt and citrus. Fuck, I’ve missed this man.
My fingers fumble with the cellphone buttons. Bringing up Trystan’s details, I hit call and wait. The automated voice tellsus that the phone has been disconnected. Fuck. He left. He did it.
Trystan had sacrificed himself. He loved Mason with a ferocity so pure and steadfast, first as an exploring teen and then a deeper love that came with respect, understanding, and maturity. They couldn’t come out as gay or bi to bigoted families and in an industry where any deviation from social norms isn’t embraced; they’re crucified.
Trystan knew I loved Mason and entrusted me to continue to do so. All our prior conversations seem to click into place like the last few puzzle pieces. Cal Vincent, with his dark, wavy hair and dimpled smile hidden under three-day-old stubble, was almost a dead ringer for Mason Mercer. In Cal, he had tried to replicate the love of a man he had been intimate with, only to be shut down and almost shut out. Mason had broken his nose after all, to keep their secret safe. To the world and to Magnus, Trystan was kept on as an EA because he knew his shit. Mason hired Trystan when his own father set up restrictive covenants on a trust he’d never see a penny of as a gay man. Mason protected Trystan from Magnus. He protected him from his own father, and he protected him from the media. The one thing he couldn’t do was love him back; not in the way Trystan needed. Not in the way he deserved. Trystan loved Mason enough to let him go. Now Mason and I need to do the same for him.
The wind whips at loose hair in that annoying way, sending strands into your mouth no matter which way you turn. This will be Trystan’s doing. Another chance to show his hand on an occasion where his presence is demanded but only absence remains. It was like when Bri and I were gawking at an ultrasound monitor and the technician pointed out two blinking blobs. Twins. I expected him to step out from behind the curtain and grin at me while shrieking, “Surprise, motherfucker. You don’t think you can handle one baby? Here’s two!”
Not that you can tell, my radiant bride is pregnant with twins as she walks toward me, her abdomen just beginning to swell with the lives we created not by contract, but connection. Bri’s friend Jaspar has adopted the wedding coordinator role, and fusses with a boutonniere and the bride’s veil before allowing them to continue. Glyndon has his arm wrapped around his eldest daughter’s, his face a picture of concentration while Molly and Maeve mouth instructions to him in rapid-fire order. It’s a straight line to the celebrant; how many directions are needed? Left foot, right foot, repeat. And they do, all the way to where I stand with Frazer, Terry, and Kynan, who sensibly has his hair tied back with an elastic band. Smug fucker only had the one though and wouldn’t part with it for my unruly locks.
“All that money and you can’t afford ahair tie?” His question was pointed but delivered with a smirk. In the end, it doesn’t matter if I finish the ceremony looking windswept and interesting. My hair is longer; my beard is longer, and I don't get hung up on perceived perfection anymore. Bri loves mefor me. She kisses the fine lines at the corners of my eyes, knowing that they are there because she’s the one person who can always make me smile. She kisses the beginning of silver hairs at my temple knowing that she put them there. I kiss the swells of her breasts and rounded belly knowing that I put life in there for her to nurture, created from love. They will both, whether boys or girls, perceived perfection or otherwise, always know that they are loved and cherished by both parents every day. They won’t know poverty, nor will they attend overpriced, elite schools and be molded into robotic proforma sheep.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the celebrant beams. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Broe!”
Yes, that’s right. I took Sabrina’s name willingly. Both of us figured the Mercer name was too toxic. I’m looking forward to a new beginning of sorts, a phoenix rising tied to a surname synonymous with love and togetherness, not lies, betrayal, and greed. From my side, Fraze stands as one of my groomsmen and one of only three male guests of mine. Terry and George are the others. Nic sits next to Marin at the end of the aisle, often rising to chase down Ramsey when he darts off after birds or reassures a nervous Ava she’s doing a fantastic job with the petals. It’s the wind that has other ideas. Caitlin and Pen assist my gorgeous bride, who wears Marin’s engagement ring, but a new wedding band. Marin gave the ring and her blessing right after the funeral of her husband, and my father. The funeral I did not attend and have no regrets about skipping. If he couldn’t be there for me and love me in life, why should I mourn him in death? According to all reports, it differed vastlyfrom his birthday event, where Billy Joel performed on piano. The private service had a handful of old business associates among the mourners and even fewer family members.
I’ve moved on. Evolved, if you will. I’ve followed Bri’s urging and am doing what makes me happy. We have a modest four-bedroom house for when we’re not sailing, close enough to Trenton for the extended Broes, and enough of a drive to Nic’s gallery or home to make a day of it. I trade currency pairs when I’m not hauling sails or loving my wife with parts of me I never knew existed. Whole, encompassing love that she multiplies every time we’re together.
While we are being congratulated and Nic darts past to grab her son before he ends up in the water with the swans, I notice staff exiting the beachside restaurant we booked out for our reception. There are the usual waitstaff in white shirts and black pants toting trays of champagne, beer, no doubt whiskey, and sparkling apple juice for my bride. As they descend the stairs and move across the lawn to the waiting guests, they pass a man in dark jeans and a shirt leaning against the railing. He’s partially obscured by the sprawling vines, content to let the staff move while he steps back into the shadows. As the guests move across the lawn toward the drinks, I lose sight of him when Bri pulls me in for a kiss. Kisses I’ll never get tired of. Caitlin taps away at her phone before Eamon, now walking, reaches his chubby fingers out to her for balance.
