Secrets

4

We were all seated around the kitchen table, the lasagna, fresh out of the oven sitting in the center. I was feeding Iris a bottle of formula, praying that nothing bad would happen tonight. I had tried to call Leila to warn her, to beg her not to ask any questions, or offer any information but she wouldn’t answer her phone. This was about to be a disaster.

“So Gregorie, Jason told me you work at a law firm?”

“Yes. I’m an intern. Which means I do all the dirty work,” Gregorie laughed. “And you’re Mr. Beckham’s receptionist, yes?”

“Yes. Well, actually, Mr. Beckham moved out of state. I’m now Mrs. Mahoney’s receptionist.”

“Ah. Jason did mention the going away party.”

I cleared my throat as Iris began to choke and cough. I patted her back, in hopes that she would be enough of a distraction. We failed.

“So how’s the love life? Go on any dates lately?” Leila asked Gregorie. I froze, unable to move, unable to stop this conversation from happening.

“Dates? No. Why would I? I’ve got everything I need right here,” Gregorie smiled and patted my hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Jason and I are lovers, dear.”

 “But wait. Isn’t that incest?”

“Incest? Oh no. Sweetie, incest is when you have sexual relations with family members.”

I was on edge. Gregorie was overusing the terms of endearment. Which meant he was getting really anxious, meaning this will end tragically.

“But aren’t you guys brothers…?”

“Of course not! What made you think that?”

“Well, you both have dark hair, the same nose, the same ears; you look very similar—“

“Honey, we look nothing alike. Jason never told you we were together,” asked Gregorie. I felt his gaze on my cheek, but I still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

“No. Wait. So you’re seriously together. Like forreal, forreal?”

“Yes, sweetie. How many times must I tell you? Jason and I are in a committed, romantic relationship. With each other.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God—“

“What? What’s wrong, honey?”

“I slept with a gay man?” Leila’s high-pitched scream filled our apartment. It was so loud, so sudden that it shocked Gregorie and me. Iris began to cry, yet again.

“Ugh! Would somebody please shut that little shit up,” shrieked Gregorie. I could tell he was furious. His eyes snapped to my face as I adjusted Iris in my lap. I was able to talk again.

 “Leila, shut up and sit down or get out,” I shouted. Leila stared at each of us with tears in her eyes, in turn, and walked out. She slammed the door behind her. I turned to Gregorie. “And you, don’t you dare speak that way about my daughter ever again.”

“You have no right telling me what I should and should not dare to do,” he said in a low voice. “Now you can either go next door with your little mistress or you can go live on the streets. Either way, pack your shit and get out. And take that little bastard with you.”

I stood from the table, rocking Iris in an attempt to calm her down. We walked into the office to my laptop and started unplugging the wires and packing them into my laptop bag. I then tucked my manuscript under my arm and then retrieved Iris’s diaper bag from the bedroom. When we got to the door of the apartment, Gregorie was standing in the living room with tears in his eyes.

“Where are you going,” Gregorie asked. I looked down at Iris. She looked up at me, bundled up in her blankets.

“We’re going for a walk,” I said. Then we left the apartment. We walked down the sidewalk, away from my apartment door, away from Apartment 21D. We walked to the publisher’s office. I needed to get some work done, and spend a little more time with my daughter.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ll go home soon,” I said. And she yawned, content in my arms.