These three were my family. So they had pushed boundaries a bit. Made up a story to protect themselves. Was that so terrible? Didn’t all young adults see what they could get away with? Wasn’t that what all relationships were about? The balance of power, ebbing and shifting?
It was in my interest to give them a second chance. I needed them as much as they needed me. The house was running so smoothly, the windows sparkled. I had light in my life. I no longer felt that heavy, solo weight on my shoulders. I didn’t want to go back to the way things were before I had met them, whatever my niggling inner voice was saying.
We all carried on with our jobs and hung out in the evenings (when Dan and Jen weren’t doing evening shifts), and acted like any regular family. Dog included. They showed me their passports, which I scanned for good measure and even sent to my lawyer for safekeeping (yes, even lawyers have lawyers), and I checked their photos with the real estate agent I’d been in touch with. I sent her the scans, and she confirmed they were the very same people she’d met when she first came to view the house and had agreed to put it on the market. For some reason, I didn’t completely trust Mrs. Reed’s confirmation about the triplets’ identity. That woman, with her sharp face and pointy chin, gave me the heebie-jeebies.
With the lies behind us, I pursued my new goal: getting them to retake their SATs and apply for university. It was crazy that these highly intelligent individuals were doing jobs that anyone could do. They needed an education, all three of them, and I was prepared to pay for their tuition fees. I had in mind bold plans. The triplets were clever enough to get into any top university. For the first time in my life, I felt like a real parent.
But I was still suffering from sweaty nights and bad dreams. Then I succumbed to temptation. Things took a turn for the worse.
It was Dan’s day off. And mine too. We went for a walk, hiked down to the beach, little Beanie in tow. On the way up, Dan—his hands stinging like crazy—realized he’d touched poison ivy at some point on the walk. The leaves should have turned golden and fallen by now, but with the bizarre way seasons had begun to mix themselves up—bees collecting pollen in December, buds being tricked it was springtime—Dan had mistakenly grappled with the wrong foliage.
“Let me have a look,” I said. He was wringing his hands together, jumping around like a banshee.
“Fuck, this hurts like hell,” he yelled out. He was about to shove his fingers into his mouth.
“Don’t touch your face or lips!” I bellowed. “Or it’ll be agony everywhere. Look, just run home and douse yourself with soap and water. Do not touch any part of your body. I can’t remember what you’re meant to do with poison ivy, but we can look it up online, or I can run you to the pharmacy if we don’t have the right stuff. Check in Kate’s bathroom, that’s where the medicine cabinet is. I’ll follow you, but you’re faster than me, so dash right home.”
He raced ahead, and with Beanie still choosing to stay by my side, I plodded back through the pines, weary for some reason. I’d had a little white wine binge the night before. It was Jen’s fault. She had pilfered a bottle of Blanc de Blanc they’d been raving about at her hotel. A new, local winery that was winning awards. It started off as an innocent wine tasting, Jen and Dan joining in, although they spat theirs out. Before I knew it I’d polished off the whole bottle, pretty much solo. But still, one bottle of wine? It didn’t make sense I was feeling this bad.
I trudged up the hill, my feet heavy, my head a block, Beanie a little way ahead. He was turning out to be my dog after all. Perhaps because I was the one who fed him daily—he knew where his bread and butter lay. I rubbed my aching eyes. I should have stuck to good old Mumm (no surprises), not unknown wine. My temples throbbed heavy behind my dull eyes. We had work to do, SAT tests to practice—I had no time for hangovers. I leaned on a redwood, still a