Rory is in the bedroom, dead to the world after a turbulent few days, and I want to make this as painless as possible for my wife.

“Debbie.” I open the door, stepping aside. “Do you need help with your suitcase?”

“I didn’t bring one. I wasn’t expecting her to—”

“Forgive you? I wouldn’t, either. But Rory’s better than that.” Than us.

She still refuses to look at me. If nothing else, her shame is evidence that she has a soul. That’s good. Souls are rolling, organic, never-dying things. Bodies are born and die and decay in between.

Debbie steps in gingerly. I make her a cup of tea without asking if she needs it, while she perches her arse on a stool by the breakfast nook.

I slide the cup toward her and stand at the other end, waiting. Her chin is still tucked into her neck, and she’s doing everything she can to avoid eye contact.

“I didn’t…” she starts, then clamps her mouth shut. She opens her mouth again. “I mean, my daughter has always been my number-one priority. She still is. You should know that.”

“Funny thing is, she was my priority, too,” I answer evenly.

“You can’t blame me for not wanting her to repeat my mistakes,” she says to her thighs. “You know what went down when I was here. The entire village does.”

“No, but I can blame you for naturally assuming I’m as bad as Glen.”

She finally looks up at me, her eyes big and green, like Rory’s. Unlike Rory’s, they’re also sad and crinkly and bloodshot. They’ve seen things they never wanted to witness. We have that in common.

“You were a young boy, a drunk, a busker, a shameless flirt.” She shakes her head. “Look, I’m not here to fight. Thanks for the ticket, but I’m here to see my daughter and go. And I’ll be taking her with me.”

“Fat chance.” I yawn, cupping my mouth and revealing my wedding band.

Just to be clear, it is not the same wedding band I wore when I married Kath. I couldn’t chance jinxing my marriage to Rory with a band that was a constant reminder of the biggest tragedy in my life.

Debbie’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, about to say something, just as we hear a groggy voice from the corridor.

“Mom? What are you doing here?”

Rory is rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and whaddaya know? Her ring twinkles as she does. Debbie looks between us, her mouth slacking in shock. Guess I should’ve given her a heads-up before I got her on that plane. Oops.

I stand up and rap the counter.

“I believe you have some things to discuss. Have fun, ladies.”

“Mal! What the heck?” Rory grabs my wrist as I make my way to the door.

I need to visit Tamsin and explain to her with my usual delicacy (of a tank) that there’s someone new in our lives. Someone I love dearly.

I kiss the side of my wife’s neck. “Tamsin only has two grandmas. Don’t you reckon she deserves three?”

That’s all I need to say to make her melt and smile at me cunningly.

“You’re a pig,” she whispers.

I steal another kiss, laughing as I march to the door. “Then you’re my shit.”

Rory

“Explain yourself,” I tell her.

I flick the kettle on and try to calm my heartbeat. Talking to my mother right now is the last thing I want, but it needs to happen. On one hand, I’m grateful and surprised she’s put on a show for my entire existence, feeding me sweet lies to protect me. It’s kind of endearing, in a screwed-up, totally dysfunctional way. On the other, she tore Mal and me apart for years. Everything would have looked so different had she just given me his letters.

But then again, Tamsin wouldn’t have been born.

Mal wouldn’t have her.

I would never know that Summer is a backstabbing friend who slept with my boyfriend.

And I never would have landed the job with Ryner that taught me who I am as an artist.

“No, you explain yourself to me, Rory. What is this marriage nonsense? You hardly know the guy! Plus, you have a boyfriend.” Mom shoots on her feet, waving her hand in the air, her bangles clashing, creating a wind-chimes kind of sound.

It transports me back to adolescence, and I find myself touching the hoop in my nose, gritting my teeth.

“Callum and I broke up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I cheated on him. And before you say anything—please remember you cheated on your boyfriend with Glen, too.”

Mom’s face falls. She raises a finger, about to defend herself, but I interject.

“Besides, I found out afterwards that he cheated on me first—with Summer, of all people. Although, to be honest, looking back, I’ve always had my suspicions. He always tried to change me, to clip my wings in small, roundabout ways. And anyway, Mal and I are married, and after the bullshit Ryner pulled when Ashton Richards died, I’m not in a hurry to get back into the glitz and glamor of this industry.”

I didn’t know this to be true until the words escape my mouth. But as soon as they do, it becomes crystal clear to me.

I should be doing something different.

People like Ryner don’t inspire me. I’m a photographer. I take photos. It brings me, and others, joy. I could be a photographer anywhere. I could take pictures of things that are far more interesting than pampered, delusional, plastic pop princesses and self-entitled rock stars who think the sun shines from their buttholes.

Mal sold his soul to the devil and started selling his songs because he had to.

I don’t have to.

I don’t need any special medical treatment. I am perfectly content making pennies.

“Rory! Oh my goodness. How am I supposed to react to this? You didn’t even invite me to your wedding!” Mom slaps the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Mom, we married in private. Just the two of us and witnesses.”

“Like, in Vegas?”

“Like, in Cyprus.”

Her eyes are wide and frighteningly, radioactively green. “But Rory, what if he isn’t the one?”

“He is.” I take both her hands, ushering her to the backyard. I want her to see where we fell in love. On that piece of green grass, under the sky that was lit with a thousand stars.

“Look here.” I point at the backyard. “Eight years ago, almost nine, I sat here with Mal and knew that no other boy would ever make my heart beat as fast and hard. And you know what? No one ever did. I know you are wary. I know Ireland brings many harsh memories to the surface. Father Doherty told me all about them. I’m sorry, Mom, but I knew you never would, and I needed to learn the truth.”

She blinks at me, clearly willing her tears away, and I wrap my arms around her, speaking into her hair.

“But I don’t have a baby to take care of, and I’m not doing this out of fear or desperation or because my conscience won’t allow me not to try. I’m doing this of my own free will. Because he makes my reality better than my dreams. Because I am so painfully aware that we will all end up like Glen and Kathleen one day. We come from dust and return to dust. But while I’m here, on this planet, breathing, living, I want to do this alongside the person who makes me laugh. Who loves me unconditionally. Who kept a tattered, stained napkin that was a complete lie for nearly a decade, on the off-chance we’d meet again.”