Seven Days of Us(66)

It was dim with rain outside, and Andrew leaned forward to light the angel chimes on the table, saying: “Mustn’t let standards slip.” He held up the match to watch the flame dwindle, and said, “D’you know, Jesse, when I was reporting from Afghanistan, I learned to start fires with a magnifying glass.” He’d said the same last night—Jesse guessed it was one of his refrains. His own dad, Mitch, did the same. He was about to ask Andrew to elaborate, but seeing Olivia’s glare guessed that she had probably heard the story ten thousand times already.

“George shouldn’t just be out there at large,” she said, out of nowhere. She was wearing glasses, but the shadows under her eyes were unmistakable. Her time in Liberia must have been pretty harrowing, even though she never said so. Clearly, it was all about Phoebe in this house.

Andrew poured himself a second glass of red wine, and another for Jesse. Olivia refused, and Jesse wished he felt able to, too, especially after the biting G&Ts Andrew had mixed at noon. His head was already fluffy, but he didn’t want to be rude. He felt bad enough for eating differently. Then again, it was kind of liberating how his birth father drank at any hour of the day. And he could use a drink right now.

“Sorry about all that, Jesse,” said Andrew, ignoring Olivia’s comment. “It’s not usually quite so dramatic around here. Phoebe wouldn’t have meant anything by it.”

“Hey, it’s all good. She’s in shock.”

“What a cretin,” said Andrew. “Slinking off like that. And that appalling note. Despicable. People that can’t write, shouldn’t,” he added, as if George’s prose style had offended him more than the content.

“Did you realize there were problems?” said Jesse. He guessed Phoebe had no clue that George was bi, or gay—but perhaps her family had suspected something.

“I never thought he’d do this,” said Andrew. “Perhaps I was naive.”

“Did you like him?” said Jesse to Olivia. She stopped chewing, as if startled that he was asking her opinion.

“I thought he made Phoebe happy,” she said. “Except when he bought her the wrong earrings.”

“Earrings?”

“She asked him for these particular earrings for Christmas, and he got the wrong ones. She threw a tantrum about it,” said Olivia wearily.

“That’s what I meant,” said Jesse. It seemed safest to build on what she’d said. “I know I only just met him, but I got the feeling they hadn’t fully connected. It felt kind of forced. Like they were playing at being a normal couple.”

The second he’d said “normal,” he wished he could swallow it back, but Emma’s entrance distracted Andrew and Olivia.

“Poor Phoebs,” she said, sitting on a corner of a bench, beside Andrew. Jesse was now faced with three of them across the table. “She’s beside herself.” She shot up again, as if she shouldn’t have sat down at all. “Now, I was just going to make her a sandwich. She might want it later.”

“Emma, won’t you sit down for a moment?” said Andrew.

“Yeah, I’ll take her something, Mum,” said Olivia.

Emma looked doubtful, but sat down again.

“What did you mean, ‘normal couple’?” she said, looking at Jesse. Shit. He’d just promised himself he wouldn’t get involved.

“Nothing—I mean, I had no idea he was planning to bail on Phoebe,” he said. “I just sensed that maybe he wasn’t totally . . . certain.”

Olivia looked up, her face skeptical.

“I have, kind of, a radar for this stuff,” he added. Why did he make things worse every time he tried to explain himself?

“What stuff?” said Olivia.

“For when guys are, like, confused.” The second he said “guys,” rather than people, he realized there was no going back. “I mean, people,” he added.

“Are you implying he’s gay?” said Olivia. Her eyes, flinty now, looked just like Andrew’s.

“No! Yeah, no, I mean, maybe. Or bi. Nobody’s one hundred percent.” Fuck wine. He wasn’t used to drinking all day. It was making him say things he wouldn’t ordinarily.

“Based on what, precisely?” she asked.

“Nothing explicit,” said Jesse. “It’s just, like, an energy I got from him. Right off the bat.”

Andrew took a sip of wine and said nothing.

“It’s a pretty big accusation to come out with, based on ‘an energy.’”

“I know it sounds that way. But intuition can be very powerful.”

“So it’s a hunch? No actual evidence?”

“Like I said, you get a feeling for these things.” He resented Olivia interrogating him. He could hardly say: “I was making out with him in my bed three nights ago.”

“What the hell? George isn’t gay!” came a voice from the doorway. It was Phoebe, bedraggled and puce faced.

“Hey—I wasn’t accusing him of anything. I just said it was a possibility. A lot of straight guys are confused. It’s not uncommon.”

“Please! This is actually fucking disrespectful. This is my fiancé you’re talking about. What—did you fancy him yourself?”

“Jesse—I’m not sure this is helpful,” said Emma quickly. “George and Phoebe have been together for years. He proposed to her. It’s fairly obvious he’s not gay, or he—”