~ 2 May ~

The moment I step through the front door of Josie’s house in Leonidas, I can basically feel the tension radiating from the walls. I don’t even need to hear my sister’s raised voice coming from the master bedroom. It sounds like a long, angry rant, and I can barely hear the rumble of Mal’s deep voice when he tries to get a word in, but he sounds tense as well.

I call out tentatively. There’s no reply, so I enter the kitchen. I can hear the TV from the living room, where I find my niece Soso, slouched into the cushions, legs dangling, relaxed as a little blob, one hand wrapped around a bowl of snacks and a juice box in the other. Her eyes are glued to the screen where SpongeBob SquarePants chases a runaway bubble across the streets of Bikini Bottom. She hardly acknowledges my presence when I plonk down next to her on the sofa.

“What’s going on here, princess?” I ask her, gently nudging her shoulder to get her attention. She just shrugs and stuffs another candy into her mouth.

“Where are Theo and Ezra?” I look around but can’t see any evidence of the twins being home.

“Nana and Grandpa picked them up.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Mama said you’d come around later.” Soso answers as if that was explanation enough. She turns to me and offers me the candy bowl. “You want a jelly baby?”

I look at them a little suspiciously. “I don’t think they’re vegan, princess.”

She frowns at me, looks down at the sweets and then back at me with a raised eyebrow. “They’re candy.”

I sigh and pick one. “Why are Mama and Mal fighting?”

“Mama’s gonna have a baby again. She says it’s Daddy’s fault.” Her reply almost makes me choke on the jelly baby.

“Your Mama is pregnant again?” I splutter, coughing and trying to dislodge the jelly baby in my throat.

Soso just hums, her attention back on the TV screen. I return to the kitchen, helping myself to a glass of water to remedy the jelly baby situation. I’m sorry my sister and her soon-to-be husband are having an argument, and the news comes as a surprise, but I can’t stop myself from grinning. There’s going to be another Dupree baby! Or Turner baby, more likely. I’m going to be an uncle again. Since I’ll never have children of my own, I’m grateful to my sister for giving me nieces and nephews to play with. I have to tell Rashid, he’ll be thrilled as well.

Before I can pull out my phone to text him, the shouting upstairs stops, and Josie comes storming into the kitchen. When she sees me leaning against the counter, she stops dead in her tracks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You knew I’d be coming over today…” I start explaining, but she buries her face in her hands.

“Oh mah gawd! It’s happening again. Pregnancy brain.” Then her head snaps back up, and she stabs an accusatory finger in the direction of her only daughter. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did. Congratulations, Josie.” I want to hug her, but I’m a Dupree. I know how explosive our temper can be. Boy, do I know… so I better keep a safe distance from the nuclear device in danger of detonating. With the kitchen table between us, just in case.

Josie lets out an angry huff. “Congratulations, my ass! It’s all just because he…” Another stab at Mal, who tried, unsuccessfully, to sneak past us. “… couldn’t keep it in his pants!”

I see Mal’s shoulders draw in at her words. My sense of loyalty is torn. Josie is my sister, but Mal is a good guy. I really don’t want to take sides or get involved in their fight.

“Now, now, Josie,” I try to keep my voice low and soothing. “I don’t think you were an unwilling participant.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I made the wrong choice. I can basically see the steam coming out of Josie’s ears. She grabs the first thing that’s in her reach and throws it at me. I flinch instinctively, but luckily for me, the object turns out to be a soft kitchen towel. Still, it’s time for a tactical retreat.

“I’ll take Soso for a walk to the park…” I say, fleeing to the door as quickly as I can, while calling over my shoulder. “Come on, Sos, let’s feed the ducks in the park!”

“You’re not supposed to feed the ducks. It makes them thirsty, Mr Brooks says.” Little Miss Smarty-Pants replies but joins me nevertheless. I quickly grab a light hoodie for her from the hook by the door, although it’s quite a warm and sunny day. I’m glad to be out of the house. I know, rationally, Josie would never turn violent, and that Mal would sooner cut off his own hand than hurt my sister – but the tension still sets something off in me. There’s no doubt where our temper comes from, and no question what scars it left. Thanks, Dad.

Once we’re outside, I take a few deep gulps of air. Soso is happily skipping along the street in front of me, apparently completely unfazed by her parents’ argument. She’s probably right, and it’s nothing serious. I know Josie loves her children, and she has mentioned potentially adding more to the family. Just maybe not so soon, especially not with the wedding next month. It doesn’t sound like the pregnancy was planned, so it’s most likely just a mix of shock, hormones and stress. It’ll be fine. She loves Mal, and he loves her.

Mal has been part of our family for three years now, ever since he and Josie started dating. As a single mom, she had her reservations about dating her boss, but the gentle giant caught her eye from the start. After months of wooing my sister, Mal finally wore her down and convinced her to accept his invitation to dinner. I remember Mal suddenly sitting at the breakfast table the next morning – grinning sheepishly, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. So much for Josie giving me a hard time when she thought Rashid had stayed the night after our first date! (He hadn’t!)

Mal basically never left since that day. About a year later, Josie got pregnant with the twins, and Mal proposed to her. He’s a great dad for Ezra and Theo, his own children, but also to my princess – he adores her as if she were his own. Soso also started calling him ‘daddy’ (without anyone prompting her), and his parents are ‘grandpa’ and ‘nana’. I can’t see the arrival of another Dupree-Turner baby changing this. Josie just needs some time to adjust and cool off. It’ll be fine.

Soso and I make our way to the park, where she beelines to the swings in the playground. We used to come here a lot when she was smaller, but not since I moved into my own apartment in the Warehouse District two years ago. It hasn’t changed much. The rusty bars of the playground equipment are maybe a little rustier and could use a fresh coat of paint, but everything else looks the same. I call out to Soso to be careful – it’s more for show so I can play the ‘I told you so’ card in case she does hurt herself. There’s a bench nearby, and I sit down to watch Soso, who gives a casual wave to some of the kids already occupying the slide and jungle gym before she hops on the swing.

I keep my focus on Soso, who’s pumping her legs, sending herself higher and higher, while I try not to stare at the basketball hoops in the corner. I haven’t touched a basketball in eight years – not since the day Remy died. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot some kids shooting hoops, and a tiny, stubborn part of me wants to go over and show them how it’s done. They’re teenagers, and they’d probably laugh in my face, my skills as rusty as the bars of the swing, but the thought of tossing the ball, even for a minute, makes me itch all over to try anyway. I miss the camaraderie of our team, who accepted me with no questions asked when I joined just after winter break. Before that I’d only occasionally fooled around with some kids in the neighbourhood, but I never considered myself school team material.

I’m not built like your typical basketball player. I’m only average height, so I was the smallest of the Riverside Panthers but quick and sure-footed – all thanks to the dance moves I’d taught myself, which worked surprisingly well on the court. Even though I was ‘Shorty’ (the team’s nickname for me), they saw what I brought to the team and appreciated it. Until one day ‘Slim’ Lin (I can’t remember his real name) caught me and Remy making out in the locker room after a game. We thought everyone had left until we heard a gagging sound behind us. We jumped apart, but too late. ‘Slim’ Lin just chuckled at our reaction and held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Dude, we’re a team. That’s like playing tongue twister with your brother. Gross!”

I could hear Remy growl next to me while my face heated up like a flame. But then ‘Slim’ Lin came over to give us both a manly bro-hug.

“Aww, guys, just messing with you. You two lovebirds have fun. Just stay safe, alright?” He swatted both our asses playfully and added with a wink at Remy, “You got yourself a cute one, Dubois.” Then his gaze shifted towards me with a sombre expression: “But I can’t for the life of me understand why you’d settle for this ugly mug, Dupree.” He cackled, and Remy shoved him away. “Fuck off, Lin!”

And that was it. Since that day, the team knew about me and Remy. There was some playful ribbing, of course, but it was always good-natured. No-one ever said anything negative. I wonder what they thought when I left school. If they thought anything. I can’t remember that day. Who told me about Remy’s death or where I was when I found out. Just shreds of memories, tumbled and distorted, most of them not making any sense. Until I found myself under a bridge, cold and starving, weeks later.

I never saw any of the guys from the team again. The few times I came back home to live with Josie, I was too ashamed of what I’ve become to reach out to them. They probably all went to college and became respectable people.

It’s getting colder, and I’m shivering on the park bench. I’m still holding Soso’s hoodie, but I forgot to grab a jacket for myself.

“Come on, princess! Time to go home!” I call for her. Of course she wants more time and starts bargaining for ten extra minutes. Lucky for me, she can’t read the clock yet – so I end it after five. She throws her head back and groans in frustration but then follows me. She has the Dupree temper and throws the occasional tantrum, but her Mama raises her well. I’m so proud of my sister; she’s a great mom. I’m actually glad I won’t have children of my own. Who’d want to burden an innocent child with my fucked-up genes? And I don’t want to be a shit father like my Dad.

When Soso and I get back to the house, it is eerily quiet. The TV is off, but I catch a glimpse of a figure slumped on the couch.

“Hey, Sos, why don’t you go upstairs for a bit and play with your toys?” I press a kiss to her crown, and she charges up the stairs. Once she’s gone, I join my sister in the living room and sit down next to her. She’s hugging her drawn-up legs, face buried between her knees.

“Hey, sis…” I say carefully, and I can see her shoulders shake. “Come here…” I say softly and wrap my arms around her to pull her close. She nestles into my shoulder and lets me hold her. It’s not often that my strong powerhouse of a sister needs my comfort, and I’m happy to be her human pillow this once.

“I’m sorry, I threw a kitchen towel at you.” She says after a while, with a sigh.

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, not sure I’ll survive the mortal wound it caused me.”

She pokes my ribs for my sass, and I press a kiss into her hair, just like I did with her little girl.

“Where is Mal?” I enquire after another moment of silence.

“Gone,” she mumbles.

“Gone where?” Surely, she doesn’t mean gone gone. “To Covington to get the twins?”

“Yeah… no… I don’t know… maybe…” She curls up into my side and places her head on my chest. “Wedding’s off, Wendell.” Her voice is dead and flat.

“What? Why? Because you’re having another baby with the man you love?” I can’t say I follow the logic. Her fight with Mal earlier sounded serious, but it surely wasn’t? Not that I’m much of a relationship expert…

“Because I’m not getting married like that. I’m not doing it, Wendell. I’m not walking down the aisle looking like some skanky ho, waddling around with a huge bouquet trying to hide a monster belly.”

I’m still lost on the logic. “But Josie… you already have three kids?”

Her head shoots up from its resting place, her eyes blazing. “Are you calling me a skanky ho, Wendell Geronimo Dupree?”

“Jay-zuhs, Josie, no!” I’m so flustered I forget to correct her about my presumed middle name. “I’m just saying it’s pretty obvious Mal isn’t marrying a virgin – and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Coming from me, any judgement on my sister’s sex life would also be fucking rich, but I don’t add that.

“How far along are you?” I ask carefully.

“Doc says nine weeks.”

I try to mentally calculate. “Wedding’s in three weeks, you won’t even be showing much? You can still do it.”

“Yeah, Wendell. Puking my guts out in the morning while trying to get hair and make-up done, with my boobs hurting like hell and my hormones all over the place… that’s exactly how I pictured my wedding day!”

“Then postpone. It’s no big deal. You haven’t booked a fancy venue or anything. No cancellation fees to worry about. I’m sure Mal understands. He just wants you to be happy.”

Josie nuzzles into my chest again but doesn’t reply. Just hums quietly, like Soso does when she’s contemplating something.

“What is it, Josie?” I feel a little uneasy suddenly. Doesn’t Mal understand? I know he was excited about getting married to my sister, but surely a few months, give or take, shouldn’t be a dealbreaker. Should they?

“Josie…?” I ask again when the silence stretches too long.

When Josie answers, her voice is muffled by the fabric of my shirt. “I wanted to get married while you’re still here.”

This is making less and less sense. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere…?”

Josie lifts her head, slowly this time, her eyes swimming with tears. “Oh, so you’re not going to move to London to be with Rashid?”

“What?” I’m genuinely confused now. “No! I’m not! Who says I am?”

Josie cocks her head at me. “Then Rashid is going to give up his fancy bank job to live with you in your tiny studio apartment?”

That does sound ridiculous, even if Rashid doesn’t work for a bank and the Talamasca has an office in New Orleans. But it’s much too soon for such life-altering decisions. I’d never ask Rashid to upend his entire life just to be with me. I tell Josie as much, and she just huffs and rolls her eyes.

“For how long have you been dating that man now? A year?”

“Almost, yeah.” She knows exactly how long. I told her about Rashid the day I met him. Well, I talked to him for the first time. Properly met him. She doesn’t know about the earlier encounters.

She snorts. “And Mal basically moved in here the day of our first date.”

I pretend to brush some non-existing crumbs off my legs. “That was different. He lived in Mid-City, not on a different continent.”

Josie huffs again and mumbles something that suspiciously sounds like “same difference”. I sling my arms around her and hug her tightly.

“Josie, no matter when or where you get married, I’ll be there. I promise.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re the only family I have. I’ll never abandon you.”

She pushes back a little to look me in the eyes. “Oh, Wendell, but that’s not true anymore, and you know it. You have Rashid now. I know I was hesitant at first, but even a blind person can see how much you love that man. And Wendell, he worships the ground you walk on.”

I squirm at her words and try to avoid her gaze, but she grabs my chin and forces me to look at her.

“I love you, baby bro, and I will always be there for you, but that man is your happiness.” She brushes a thumb along my cheekbone.

“I can see the way you are when you’re with him. And how miserable and sad you become when he’s not here. I’m sure there are people who are fine with long-distance relationships, but I can see how it is slowly killing you.”

I huff out a breath at Josie being over-dramatic.

“Stop denying yourself your happiness. You deserve to be loved and cherished the way Rashid clearly does. Be with him. Don’t stay just for our sake. We’ll be fine here.”

I let go of her and stand up to look out of the window, not really seeing our backyard. I know my mood swings have been on a rollercoaster lately. High, low, high, low. It was better last summer, but I can feel it getting worse with every goodbye, no matter how temporary it is. But how can I leave Josie and the kids? I can’t give up my apartment and my job. They’re my security. They protect me from having to go back to a life on the streets. The thought alone of spending another night sleeping rough — always alert to your surroundings, always scared someone might try to steal what little you have or hurt you — the thought alone makes me want to puke. I made it out of there once out of sheer dumb luck. That won’t happen a second time.

“Why don’t you fix your relationship first before trying to fix others?” My voice sounds a little harsher than I intended to. I can feel Josie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look at her. Then her hand lands softly on my back, and she kisses my cheek. I didn’t hear her stand up and walk up behind me.

“Think about it, Wendell. Promise me you will. And be selfish for once in your life. Think about what’s best for you first.”

I hesitate for a moment, and then I nod. Rashid has never asked me to move in with him, so it’s a moot point anyway.

In the end, Mal returns in the evening. He left the twins at his parents’, and I offer to take Soso with me for a sleepover. My princess bounces with excitement about spending some alone time with her favourite uncle, and Josie gives me a hug, squeezing so hard I think I can hear my ribs crack. Mal pats me on the back with his big paws and asks if we need a ride. I refuse. He and my sister need to have a talk, probably followed by a session of undisturbed make-up sex (I try my best not to think about that part too hard because… eww… Josie is my sister!).

On the bus back to the Warehouse District, I type a quick text to Rashid to let him know Soso will stay over at my place and I’ll call him the next day. I don’t hear back from him until the next morning when I wake up to his reply that he’s in Yorkshire and he’ll phone me as soon as he can. It must have been a spontaneous decision; he didn’t mention it before.

~ 12 May ~

I find out why Rashid spent the last 10 days with his best friends in Yorkshire. I feel like the dumbest of dumbasses and the worst boyfriend in the history of bad boyfriends. We’ve been dating for almost a year, and it never occurred to me to ask him about his birthday. Which, logic dictates, should have happened any time between the day we met and our first anniversary. Turns out, yes, it did. Ten days ago. On 2 May. The day I found out Josie was pregnant again. Gawd, I’m such an idiot! Why did I never think to ask?

Rashid assures me it doesn’t matter. It’s just a day like any other, only a year closer to being ‘old’. It’s the first time I realise that my boyfriend is a little sensitive about his age. Not the age gap between us; just the idea of getting older makes him antsy. Maybe it’s because he lost his parents when they were both relatively young, and it gave him the idea that he doesn’t have the gene for longevity? If such a thing even exists…

The knowledge of his birthday also brings me the dilemma of what to get the man as a gift. What do you buy a man who probably earns ten times more than you? Not that I know what it actually says on Rashid’s pay cheque, but it’s definitely more than mine.

For Christmas I (belatedly) got one of our photos printed out and put it into a nice frame. We took it at the Deutsches Haus Christkindlmarkt just the week after Thanksgiving, and I have to admit, we look sickeningly in love in it, grinning at the camera, wrapped in each other, my head slightly leaning into my man. We found a small vendor who offered dairy-free hot cocoa, and it had a sign up saying ‘Buy One, Put One Forward’, promising they’d donate a hot beverage to an organisation called ‘Brandon’s Bridge’. When Rashid asked the old lady pouring our hot cocoas, she told us ‘Brandon’s Bridge’ is a project supporting homeless youth in New Orleans. Rashid paid for our drinks, and I could see him slipping the vendor lady a Benjamin, telling her to keep the ‘change’ as a donation. She thanked him profoundly for his generosity, and I didn’t waste any time pulling Rashid into a quiet corner and kissing him senseless, my eyes stupidly stinging with tears.

When we came out of our hiding place, Lucinda, the vendor lady, waved us over and insisted on taking our picture in front of some Christmas lights. That’s the one that ended up as my belated Christmas present to Rashid. In another feat of absolute idiocy, I hadn’t thought about getting it done before the holidays. He seemed to love it nevertheless when I gave it to him in January, and I saw it sitting on his bedside table in his flat. I hope it’s there all the time and not only when I’m visiting. I noticed it’s the only picture of a personal kind that he has on display. I was hoping to see pictures of his parents or grandparents, the famous nanu, Rashid as a child or teenager… anything. But there was nothing.

Not that his flat is bare. It’s modern, clean-lined, tall windows, muted greys – but unmistakably Rashid. A dark mossy-green rug, a quilt in indigo, kumkum and saffron. It’s a gorgeous glimpse into him: a Yorkshire boy at heart with his South Asian roots.

There are some traces of his nanu. A small square of fabric in a frame hangs in the hallway, slightly off-centre next to the coat rack. Words stitched in Urdu, the writing so much more beautiful, far more elegant than our boring letters. I asked Rashid what it meant, and he brushed his finger over it tenderly.

“It says: Jahan wiraani hai, wahan khazana hai. ‘Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.’ She always said this to me when life went sideways.” He explained with the same sad, serene smile that always appears on his face when he remembers his grandmother. Then he leaned in to kiss me.

~ 27 May ~

Today’s the big wedding day. Or rather it would have been if Josie (and Mal reluctantly) hadn’t decided to postpone their nuptials to a time when my sister is not pregnant. The baby is due in December. There’s only one this time, and it’s another boy. Mal hopes he’ll come a little early and share his birthday on the 4th; his parents hope for a Christmas miracle on the 25th. If the kid has any Dupree genes at all, he’ll come somewhere in between, on the most inconvenient day.

Rashid was supposed to be here, but he called last week to let me know he couldn’t make it. He sounded sufficiently regretful, but he also couldn’t hide his excitement about a new case he was assigned to. Of course, he couldn’t share any details. It’s super secret and highly classified. Apparently he heard about this case years ago through the grapevine, by accident, and now he was given a spot on the team. If it was anyone but my restrained and poised boyfriend, I’d say he was giddy like a teenager.

This new case is a huge job opportunity for him, a chance to prove his worth and work on something truly fascinating. I can’t blame him for being thrilled. He’ll spend a lot of time on this case in the next few months. While my extra hours with Daniel Molloy are meant to give us more time together, Rashid’s new task seems to be doing the opposite. He also says something else ‘has come up’ that he’ll ‘need time’ for but won’t explain. Bottom line: he won’t be able to come to New Orleans anytime soon.

I try not to read too much into it. Yet the doubts arrive unbidden. Does he even want to see me again? Is he slowly backing off? He’s so vague. I know he can’t share much about his work. Whatever this other thing is? He keeps it close to the chest – I assume that’s second nature after years at a top-secret organisation like the Talamasca. But – not gonna lie – it fucking hurts to feel like I’m on the ‘not trustworthy’ side. I do my best to keep my irritation to myself. After all, he’s been so supportive of my career change; the least I can do is do the same for him. Still, it gets harder with every day that passes.

~ 15 June ~

I lie in bed, fighting back tears, but it’s a losing battle. I glare at my phone where it landed on my sofa after I hung up on Rashid and flung it across the room in frustration. I don’t know if it’s broken, and right now I don’t care. How many lives does a phone have before it cracks? It’s not like I’m going to need it any time soon. I press my knuckles into my leaking eyeballs in another vain attempt to stop the flow.

It’s only midday, and I’m technically on my lunch break and should get back to work soon. I just can’t make myself get up. Tomorrow is my birthday, my 24th, and our first anniversary. Although after this phone call, I don’t know if there’s anything left to celebrate. Rashid told me a week ago he couldn’t make it, and he was really sorry about it. I told myself it’s not a big deal. Just a day like any other, and we didn’t actually get together on the 16th. We just spoke for the first time. Flirted for the first time. Well, I did. I tried to, at least. Clumsily. My one-time chance to impress the man of my dreams and make him go out with me. Lawd knows how, but I succeeded. Is it so wrong that I want to spend the anniversary of that day with him?

I’ve been trying to come to terms with it; I really have. But just now he called me and, among the usual small talk, dropped the bombshell that he won’t make it in July either. August is not looking good either. Maybe September, but more likely October. To his credit, his voice sounded pained when he said it, but I still snapped.

“Goddammit, Rashid! If you don’t want to be with me, just say so. Stop being so fucking evasive. If you want to break up, just do it, but please just stop fucking around!”

My voice broke on these last words, and I hated myself for it. I didn’t want to cry, and I didn’t want to sound like a needy, whiny brat. The other side of the line stayed quiet for a while. Then I could hear a deep, heavy sigh.

“I want to be with you, Wendell, I do.” Rashid’s voice was almost inaudible. “I love you.”

This was the moment my phone gained some frequent flyer miles across my room and landed on my sofa, while I crashed on my bed. Maybe 364 days ago, I shouldn’t have tried quite so hard.