The Other Man(40)

Gustave, on the other hand, was insensitive to almost an extreme.  He was a fighter.  He could both take and land blows with precision.  He fought for everything he thought was worth his concern.  Causes.  People.  He’d always been a tank of a boy, designed to defend.

For being so dissimilar, I thought their personalities complemented each other quite brilliantly.

But when they fought.  Oh, Lord.  It was agony for all three of us.  Just the worst.  They hated being at odds with each other.  Went to great, careful, tedious steps to avoid it, so when it happened, it was usually unavoidable and terrible.

Terrible for me because my boys were hurting, and your children in pain is at least ten times worse than literal pain to yourself.

At least.

Terrible for Raf because he was sensitive, all criticism focused inward, and he kept it bottled up tight, rarely letting it lash outward.  But when it did go outward, and he said things that were usually true but that he knew were hurtful, he suffered double the impact.

Terrible for Gustave because, though he was the insensitive ying to Raf’s empathetic yang, he treasured his brother’s vulnerability, felt it was something he should protect, and so when it was not protected, he knew he had failed, and in his own resilient way, he was every bit as self-critical as his brother.

They had a row back in high school (over a girl) that I swear was more painful to go through than my divorce.  That bad.  Eyes were blackened, young hearts broken.  They hadn’t spoken to each other for nearly a month.

When they’d at last reconciled, we’d all been unutterably relieved.

They worked well as a team, and suffice it to say, anything else was unthinkable.

There were a tense few minutes, when I initially introduced Gustave, the younger, more volatile of my boys, to Heath, but all things considered, it was to be expected.

Me even having a love life was going to be an adjustment for them, and the reality of it in the form of a man like Heath, well, I just assumed that would not go smoothly right away.  I knew it would take time.

That being said, I could tell Raf had spoken to him, convinced him to behave, even if it was just with cool civility.

I’d take it.

I put the flowers in vases and set them as centerpieces along the middle of my large dining room table.

Without having to be asked, Raf began to set out plates and napkins, while Gus put out the silverware.

I hadn’t raised my boys to be idle little princes.  They always pitched in.  They’d moved out of my house knowing how to take care of themselves, and while Raf liked to tease his brother by announcing to me that Gus had girls doing his laundry for him at his dorm, I’d made sure he knew how to do it himself from the time he was thirteen.

Like tonight, for instance.  Since Heath and I had cooked, it was no question that the boys would be in charge of cleanup.  This was how I was raised and a system I’d passed on to them, because it worked perfectly.

My father would perhaps have cringed, but for convenience sake, we ate buffet style, filling up our plates in the kitchen and carrying them back to the dining room.

Clearly thinking the same thing, Raf smirked and muttered, “Grand-pere would have a fit,” as he carried his loaded plate out of the kitchen.

I entered the dining room last, but all of the men were still standing behind their chairs, politely waiting for me to sit first.

I felt near to bursting as I took them all in.  I couldn’t help feeling more than a twinge of pride at being surrounded by such magnificent men.

I said a quick prayer that they all wouldn’t kill each other and took my seat.

CHAPTER TWENTY

No fists flew.  No dishes were thrown.  No profanity was spewed.

All in all, I counted the evening a victory.

Of course it wasn’t perfect.  Gustave and Heath did not meet and hit it off.  They didn’t bump fists, talk about sports and become best friends, but I’d known they wouldn’t.

For the most part, Rafael and I kept the conversation going, light and easy.  Heath and Gustave were largely silent, answering questions when asked, but in general just eating in silence.  This, also, was how I’d known it would go.

Heath loved the pot pie; going by the way he cleared his plate and went back for seconds.

Gustave was not far behind him.

I was fairly preening, knowing that at least with my cooking I’d done well tonight.

We hit a slight bump in the road when Raf asked Heath in a friendly way, “What was it that you do for a living again?”

“I work in security,” was Heath’s typical vague answer.

Gustave took exception, instantly and obviously.

He set down his fork, eyes boring into Heath.  “What does that even mean?  What do you do in security?”

Heath was unfazed.  “Lots of things, most of them confidential for the sake of my clients.”

Raf, ever the peacemaker, promptly changed the subject to something else.

Another little bump occurred some time later when Gustave burst out with another question, delivered with a frustrated tone.  “How old are you, anyway?  And how did you meet my mother?”

Heath finished chewing his mouthful of food.  “I’m twenty-five, and I met her at the grocery store.”

“Are you usually into older women?”