“Mmmm, eye candy. Zero calories and better than licking a lollipop.”
“I’ve got a lollipop you can lick.”
Mom, of course, happens to walk over to us just as he says that, and she pretends to be shocked, then pretends she heard nothing.
“So, Declan, did Shannon invite you over for Easter dinner?”
Huh? We never discussed this. Why is Mom acting like I—
“No, Marie, she didn’t,” he says slowly, not making eye contact with either of us, his body bent in half as he rolls up his yoga mat. We’re greeted with the mighty fine view of his ass, and we sigh in unison.
I elbow Mom—hard.
“I can’t help it!” she hisses.
“You better help it. It’s icky.”
“You’re right! You’re right.” She appears to take me seriously. “It is icky. I’ll stop right now.” She gives me a look that’s genuinely contrite.
“Well,” Mom says loudly as Declan turns and faces us, “even if Shannon didn’t invite you, I’m inviting you.”
His eyes travel slowly from my face to Mom’s. “When is Easter?” he finally asks.
“This Sunday!” she sputters. “In three days.” With a frown, she says, “But I’m sure you have plans with your family.”
“We haven’t celebrated Easter in more than ten years,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“How awful!” Mom exclaims, grabbing his arm. Her eyes almost glisten with tears, and she’s truly shocked. She pauses. “Are you Jewish? Is that why?”
“No.”
The lack of additional information unsettles both me and Mom. Declan has this way of being shut off. He’s not cold, exactly. It’s more like talking with a lawyer who isn’t going to give one single additional bit of information than is necessary in court.
Except we’re not in the middle of a legal proceeding. We’re in my mother’s yoga studio, talking about a holiday where the Easter bunny and a giant ham prevail. What’s up with him?
“Mom, if he were Jewish he wouldn’t have celebrated before. He just said it’s been more than ten years since…” I turn to him. “Since your mom died?”
He nods. But nothing more. He’s so…wound, suddenly.
“Will you be there?” Mom asks, her smile so sweet and warm. “We have a loud, crazy family and I’m the queen of it all. And I make a killer ham.”
“You buy it from the ham place down the street,” I say. “The kind with the crusted sugar on the edge, all spiral sliced, and then she makes the sweet potatoes with little marshmallows…” My stomach growls.
He thaws. “Who can pass that up?” Eyes that were green tundra seconds ago warm up, and his body loosens. “Thank you, Marie. What time?”
“Two for dinner, and at three we do the Easter egg hunt.” Mom looks happier than Martha Stewart being told that Gordon Ramsay’s coming for dinner.
“What can I bring?”
“Your helicopter.” She is practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.
“Um, I was thinking more like a bottle of wine, Marie.” Declan wraps his arm around my waist and presses an absent-minded kiss against my temple. He smells like sweat and comfort, spices and safety.
“Okay, fine. The helicopter would be one hell of an entrance.” She just doesn’t know when to stop.
“Where would he land it, Mom? In Dad’s garden?”
“Why not? He hasn’t planted anything in there this season yet.”
“How about I arrive in my own SUV, wearing something other than a suit, and I bring suitable Easter egg hunt items and a bottle of wine?”
“And your Batman costume,” I add with a smirk at Mom.
“Leave our sex life out of this,” he stage whispers.
Mom turns pink and stammers. “I—I’m so glad you’ll be there!” She skitters off to the office.
I hit Declan in the pec. My fingers crack. “Why did you say that?”
“Because I like to beat her at her own game.” His smile is so impish I stand on tiptoes and give him a grateful kiss.
“You’ll never win,” I say, sighing.
“Never say never.”
* * *
“You need to pee,” Tyler says as Declan walks in the front door of my parents’ house on Easter afternoon. It’s two o’clock and my boyfriend (that still gives me shivers to say it) is punctual. And, as promised, he drove his SUV, is wearing a long-sleeved, blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and jeans that fit him achingly well, and holds a lovely bottle of wine.
Declan bends down to be at eye level with my four-year-old nephew, who has his standard, serious look on his face. Little bow-tie lips, short brown hair, and brown eyes fringed by eyelashes so long they reach the ceiling.
“Thanks, buddy, but I don’t need to pee.”
“You need to pee!” Tyler insists as Carol comes running from the kitchen and whisks him away to the bathroom.
I get a questioning look from Declan and try to explain. “Potty training. And Tyler has a language disorder, so right now he confuses ‘you’ and ‘I.’”
The lights go on for Declan. “I see. So he was saying ‘I need to pee.’” He laughs. “I hope he made it.”
Carol starts clapping and cheering from afar.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Declan’s kiss is polite and brief, so routine it warms my heart. That is the kind of kiss you give someone you’re becoming very comfortable with, and I love it.
Love him.
“Declan! You’re here!” Mom comes barreling out of the kitchen wearing a red apron that says “Will Cook for Sex.” She gives him a warm, motherly hug. He’s a head taller than her and yet she’s the one enveloping him. He closes his eyes and surrenders to the embrace. A tiny corner of my heart grows a little more.
“Wine, as promised,” he tells her, handing off a bottle of something white. Looking artfully around the empty front room, he says with some care in a whisper, “And I have a bunch of plastic eggs stuffed with candy and toys out in my car. Where should I put them?”
Mom’s grin splits her happy face and she gives him a big kiss on the cheek. “You sweetie! When we’re ready for the egg hunt we’ll just grab them and hide them.” She holds the bottle away from her, squinting to read the label. “Jason! Come see Declan and take this chilled bottle out of here!”