Page 93 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“It’s not just a different venue,” Jason says. “It’s a whole different genre of music. I mean, James Cohen said he wanted me because of my experience arranging early sacred music, a lot of which is polyphonic, and there are sections in Silas’s musical that are meant to evoke the ancient Greek-style chorus in the original Oedipus Rex, but with more harmonic diversity.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I love how passionate he is about music.
“But it’s a Broadway musical and I don’t know anything about creating music that will be popular with that audience.”
“I think you’ll be surprised at what Broadway audiences are interested in,” Adrienne says.
“Didn’t you have to plan a second and third performance of that concert in Green-Wood Cemetery?”
Jason stares at me. “How did you know that?”
I shrug. “I couldn’t get a ticket to the first performance because it was sold out, and then the second performance sold out, and I finally set an alert on my phone for the very minute tickets for the third performance became available.”
Jason keeps staring at me, his mouth opening and closing like a confused goldfish, and Adrienne hides a smile behind her glass.
The door to the back deck opens and Barnaby noses his way through into the kitchen, followed by Kelsey. Her wine glass is empty and she’s got a scowl on her pretty face, but all she says is, “Ready to make dinner, Dad?”
The three of us exchange looks, then Jason stands. “Sure, sweetie.”
I go to rise, too, but Adrienne shakes her head slightly, and I sink back onto the sofa. We stay in the living room, sipping our cocktails, while Jason and Kelsey move around the kitchen, fetching things from the fridge and pantry, chopping, stirring, all the soothing sounds of family normalcy.
Which does seem to soothe Kelsey, because after a while, she says, “I’m not mad at you.” There’s a baby grand piano in what would otherwise be a dining room between the kitchen and living room, but it’s all one big open space, so Adrienne and I can mostly see and hear them. She tips her chin in our direction and says, a little louder, “Or you, Daddy.”
“Well,” Jason says, his head bent to the chicken he’s cutting up. “That’s good.”
“The grant funding my research might be canceled and the director and I have spent this week and last scrambling to find other options to fund my next field trip. It’s been a lot of surprises coming at me at once and I guess I just couldn’t take another one tonight.”
“We weren’t trying to surprise you, hon, or hide anything from you. We were literally going to tell you about us tonight.”
Kelsey sniffs and wipes her eyes on her shirtsleeve, a large chef’s knife in her hand. It’s hard to tell whether she’s crying because of her emotions or because of the onions she’s slicing. “So, tell me.”
I’m literally on the edge of my seat and I don’t know how much longer I can stay still.
“Well,” Jason starts. He stops, clears his throat, and goes to wash his hands at the sink. “Your father and I…” He trails off. He’s drying his hands on a towel now, and Kelsey’s moved on to chopping garlic. She’s not helping him out here.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Adrienne says under her breath.
I jump up from the sofa. When I reach the end of the kitchen island, I slap my hands on its surface and say, “Your dad and I are together. For real. For…good?”
I don’t mean that last bit to be a question, but this is still so new that I keep finding myself surprised by it.
“For good,” Jason says firmly. He rests his hand over one of mine and squeezes gently. “I’m resigning from my position at Saint Sebastian’s so there’s nothing standing in our way now.”
There’s a moment of tense silence while Kelsey finishes chopping the garlic. She navigates around Jason to the sink, where she washes her hands and rinses the garlic juice off the knife. After she returns to the other side of the island and starts picking cilantro leaves off their stems, she says, still without looking at either of us, “Okay, then.”
Jason and I exchange looks. That’s it? She’s okay with us now? Somehow it doesn’t feel like it.
“Kels,” I begin.
She drops the cilantro but doesn’t look up at us. “How long?”
“Until I resign?” Jason asks. “I’ve already given Father Gabriel my notice, and?—”
“Not that,” Kelsey interrupts. “How long before—have you…?”
I’m not a hundred percent sure whether she’s asking how long we’ve felt like this about each other or how long Jason, her presumed-until-a month-ago straight stepfather has felt anything for another man, but she’s definitely asking if there was something between us before Costa Rica.
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure what yet, but Jason beats me to it.
