Patrick often wondered how their needs were ever met in this arrangement. Any divisions in a threesome, like with his siblings, were usually two against one. It would be difficult, he imagined, to be in a relationship like this, and also the slightest bit emotionally frail. It was one of the reasons he admired them.
“Why I’m here,” Patrick said, and flipped through the stack of his mail on the entry table. He hadn’t missed much if the top few envelopes—bills mostly, and a few solicitations for money—were any indication.
“Oh, but stay. Can you stay?” Dwayne asked.
“We’re very sorry,” John said, placing a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
He couldn’t deny the air-conditioning felt good (a few degrees colder than he kept his own house), and while he had his issues with JED, it was already a refreshing change of pace to be around adults. Kids had so many questions. All the time. “For a few minutes.”
Eduardo shouted from the kitchen, “I’m making Aperol spritzes!” Patrick heard it in Grant’s voice—spwitzes—and smiled.
“The kids are with my housekeeper. I left them looking at videos on my iPad. Can you believe it? I have a sixty-five-inch television and they have no interest in watching it.”
“They’re not size queens like you,” John teased.
“Oh, leave them be,” Dwayne fussed. “I can’t imagine what they’re going through. Is your brother here, too?”
“Greg? He’s in Rancho Mirage.”
“He’s not staying with you?”
“Are you ready for this? He’s in rehab.”
“Rehab!” they chorused. Even Eduardo peered around the corner, his necklace clinking against the hutch. They had a tendency to do this, chime in together. It reminded Patrick of the Bobbsey Twins, books of his parents he read when he was young in which two sets of twins would always exclaim things in unison. He always thought that read remarkably false—that couldn’t actually happen with twins, could it?—but now he had a newfound appreciation.
“For what?” John asked.
“Pills. Since Sara’s diagnosis. Apparently, it’s how he made it through.”
“Pills? Come, come,” John motioned, beckoning him into the living room. Patrick looked at the décor; there wasn’t a knickknack or piece of folk art they didn’t love. On the side table was a collection of African carvings in varying sizes of warriors with huge, erect penises, and the house was full of macramé.
Patrick settled in the drab olive-green lounger covered in crushed velvet that he’d silently dubbed the Ike Turner Chair, then kicked off his sandals before resting his feet on an ottoman. “The whole family was shocked. We had no idea.”
Eduardo joined them in the living room with a tray of drinks, handing one to Patrick before John and Dwayne reached for the others. “John was an addict once.”
“Cocaine,” John admitted. “But I don’t think it was addiction so much as the seventies.”
“We only let him have the occasional drink.”
“That’s right, only four or five a day. Tops.” He winked.
“What was your sister-in-law’s name again?” Dwayne asked, taking a seat across from Patrick.
“She was more than my sister-in-law,” Patrick said, before realizing he didn’t want to share more. “Sara.”
Dwayne raised his glass. “To Sara.”
“To Sara.” In this instance, the unanimous chorus was endearingly authentic; still, Patrick bristled. Once again, more people stepping in to mourn her, when he selfishly wanted her all to himself.
“How wonderful to have the children, though. Not the circumstances, but to have this time with them.”
Patrick realized he must have made a sour face when he looked up from his glass and saw JED staring at him from the other three corners of the room.
“You never wanted children?” Eduardo asked.
“No, of course not.” Patrick took another sip of his cocktail. “Did you?”
“Oh, yes,” John said. “Because of my niece, in fact. We were driving one time on the highway. I don’t even remember where we were going. But we passed a big truck filled with chickens in wire coops, and white feathers rained down on us like snow. She watched tiny clouds of feathers float around us and then she asked, ‘Uncle JoJo?’ She called me JoJo. ‘Does that hurt the chickens?’ How marvelous, I thought. We were having this strangely beautiful moment, and she wanted to know if the wind was hurting the chickens.”
“I love this story,” Dwayne said, as if they sat around and told it every night.
“I just remember thinking, children’s souls are so gentle. I wanted to be around that all the time.”
Patrick smiled. “This morning Grant asked me what was inside an eel. He had this image of shucking one to see what he would find.”
“Well, that’s just boys,” Eduardo said, and the others agreed.
“I wasn’t like that.” Patrick chuckled, remembering as a child only caring to know what was inside Julie Andrews that allowed her to hit those high notes. He raised an eyebrow. “You all feel this way?”
John nodded and Dwayne said, “We do.”
“Then why not have kids?”
“Oh, sweet Patrick,” John chided. “You’ve been in the desert too long.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
John pursed his lips and his sharp cheekbones became even more pronounced. “It’s not exactly a traditional arrangement we have.”
“So? This is California.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one’s going to give us a kid. No agency is going to work with us.”
“But you would be such good parents!” Patrick pulled a coaster from a stack; he looked at it twice before recognition set in. It featured the X-ray image of a man receiving oral sex. “Maybe after a little baby-proofing.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say. Still.”
“The world is changing, but not that quickly,” Dwayne added.
“Well, two of you could adopt formally, and then all three raise the kid.”
Eduardo sighed. “Alas, we’re like the Musketeers. All for one and one for all.”
“Eduardo actually has a child. A son, in Mexico. But he’s not allowed to see him.” John moved a potted fern away from his chair and into the light.
“You’re kidding. That’s so unfair!” Patrick didn’t know if this was some family or immigration issue and didn’t want to pry about anything as personal
