Cabin Affairs: Revisited

Step 3. The Neighborhood, part one

Step 3. The Neighborhood, part one

Playlist: “Big Yellow Taxi” by Joni Mitchell

As is my nervous habit, I continue to smooth down any possible wrinkles in my clothing, and pick out any threat of lint in the fabric. There are none, but I can’t help myself. My fingers need something to do or my anxiety will blow the roof off this new, beautiful house. That does not need to be our first insurance claim!

Today, we are hosting a family brunch. Aunt Cathy will be coming with her boyfriend, but she is the least of my concerns. She is the only extended family member that knows the truth about our living situation and relationship status. She knows that Eric is my lover and we have accepted him as a full member of our nuclear family. She knows that he and Matthew are my equal romantic and s****l partners. And she knows all this because, during a moment of weakness, when I thought that I had lost Eric from my life completely, I confided in her.

While she may have raised me after my parents died, she has always been more of an older sister figure in my life. She listened and accepted the situation with an open heart. I don’t know if I could have continued down this path without the shared confidence of at least one trusted woman. Therefore, it is not Aunt Cathy that I am concerned about today. It’s the rest of the family that has me on the verge of a panic attack.

Eric’s parents, Patricia and Henry Reiley, and Matthew’s parents, Maria and James Anderson, are also attending today’s family event. They know that Eric lived with us during the renovation of this new home, but today is the first day they will see the finished result. Not to mention, they will find out that we intend for Eric to continue living with us indefinitely while he works on our old house and purchases other high-end homes in the area for his new real estate business.

Eric’s parents are practically family to me, having grown up in the same neighborhood our whole childhood. It will not be a surprise to have them in attendance at a family event. In fact, they sat next to Aunt Cathy during my wedding ceremony to Matthew eleven years ago. To this day, they still buy our children birthday and Christmas presents every year, too.

Although, I know that Patricia has reservations about why her son would be living with us instead of forging ahead in finding his own relationship. Settling down is not something that Eric has ever done before, and she wants to see him give it a real try. I sense that Patricia is eager for more grandchildren, too. Eric is one of five boys, but the closest to his parents by far. I also know that her recent illness, where she suffered and underwent treatment for breast cancer, has brought about a need for completion. She wants to see Eric have a family of his own and know he is okay - just in case she isn’t here to see it in the future. Nevertheless, we all doubt that their steadfast Catholicism would accept the fact that Eric has already found a family in us.

On the other hand, we have Matthew’s parents. I have always gotten along well with my in-laws, and they have shown me love from the moment they met me. While not incredibly religious, they come from an upper echelon of society. One where wealth and social dignity go hand in hand. I doubt they will find their precious only son’s lifestyle to be acceptable. It’s not exactly the country club standard.

It would be hard to describe ourselves to the parents if we tried. I cannot marry Eric as polyandry and bigamy are illegal, but that hasn’t affected our relationship so far. We are still equals. An equilateral triangle, with same length sides, respected angles, and congruent to all parts. Some may call us swingers, but that feels so impermanent. We are not playing a party game or key swapping each night. Eric, Matthew, and I have quite literally been building a life together the past few months. Nor are the men sexually interested in one another beyond my presence, which defeats the litmus test for a triad.

Suffice it to say that the nomenclature is freaking confusing! So, while we don’t know what exactly to label it, we have acknowledged the fact that our relationship is best kept private.

Yes, for all these reasons, we have decided as a threesome - the term we use most often in our household - not to tell the folks the whole truth. Eric is a family friend, who we are thrilled to have living with us. That is where we will let it lie - no pun intended. Neither Matthew, Eric, nor I are happy about the omission to our extended families, but after many exhausting conversations, we decided that what they don’t know can’t hurt them. They will know we’re happy, and we hope that is enough for them.

Brandy and Kyle are a different story altogether. Matthew and my two children are nine and ten years old respectively. They are just beginning to truly understand relationships and the complicated nature of them. It is important to all of us that we don’t hide our reality from them. Teaching them that love is love under all healthy circumstances feels like a parental responsibility. One that we are all three happy to embrace.

Not to mention, that we want to feel comfortable in our own home. Having to sneak around would not produce the equality my men crave in order to make this a successful endeavor. It helps that the kids have called our newest adult Uncle Eric their entire lives. To them, his presence seemed like a fluid next step. That is what they tell friends from school, and so forth. And they know that discussing intimacy of any level outside the home is a level of disrespect that we will not tolerate. As Matthew likes to say, “all families look different, but it’s not our job to judge. Nor do we need to invite judgment. Life is hard enough as it is.”

I trust my kids will not say anything that basically outs our familial situation. They are old enough to know better, yet young enough that they accept what is presented to them by the adults they trust. Still, they are kids. Danger is never truly out of the realm of possibility.

So, I think it goes without saying that I am throw-up-in-the-bathroom, if-you-hear-a-noise-it’s-my-knees-rattling type of nervous, wishing that today goes smoothly. It’s the very reason I choose brunch. It’s the least formal meal. Our guests can graze, tour the house, chat with the kids, and leave.

And I’m hoping the kids interrupt any precarious turns in conversation, as kids are usually the best source for distraction. I already have several topics planned out in my mind because that is still the way my brain works. Such as, ‘Brandy, did you want to show the folks your new microphone and sing for them?’ or ‘Kyle, what was the name of your friend who's going with you to baseball camp next month?’

As a classic over-thinker, I choose my clothing to match the situation as well. A blue and white floral maxi dress with halter straps that wrap around my neck and back. My long, brown hair is left cascading down my back, too. I even have a light sweater nearby and the air conditioning turned down. In other words, I am showing as little skin as possible. Being conservative with essentially two sets of in-laws seemed like the primary objective. I have never felt more on display than I do this morning. Thinking back to some of our moments in the cabin and at the hospital last year, this is saying something!

“How’s about a kiss for good luck?” Matthew says, noticing my twitchy fingers and how impossible it is for me to stay still this morning.

“No way! I’m wearing lip gloss already.”

“So what? Give daddy some sugar,” he jokes.

Damn, Daddy looks good today, I think, feeling my stomach do a different sort of somersaults. Not only is he hitting my libido where it hurts, his crisp white polo shirt is making his emerald green eyes and colorful tattoos pop. My eyes betray me, and travel down to the flat front of his tight khaki pants. Matthew c***s an eyebrow at me, and wraps me up in his arms as I back my face away from his smooch-attack.

“Matthew, stop! It's a shimmer gloss,” I laugh.

“That’s OK. I don’t mind being all shiny today. We’ll match,” my husband replies.

He tries again to pull me in for a dramatic kiss and is met with success as I can’t bear to resist the sexy man against me. After all our years of marriage, his kiss still takes my breath away. I’m amazed I actually do feel more at ease by his antics.

We pull away smiling. I notice Eric to the side of us a few feet away wearing the same anxious expression I had only moments ago. One of the biggest challenges I have faced recently is ensuring both men feel they share my time and affection equally. I am becoming an expert juggler.

As such, I face Eric and ask playfully, “What about you, handsome? Need a kiss for good luck, too?”

I slowly rake my eyes all over my personal fireman, as is my right. I still haven’t gotten used to calling him mine, but I very much intend to practice. He’s wearing a pale blue button-down shirt, which compliments the brown in his beard and eyes, and similar khakis to Matthew's. Now that I’m paying attention to someone outside of myself, we all do match.

Oops… maybe it’s not that noticeable?

Eric gives me a sad smile and puppy dog eyes full of longing. “Better not, J. I can’t afford to have glitter gloss on me today.”

And just like that reality slaps us all in the face. We go about our days mostly happy in our own little bubble. Yet, every now and then the consequences of our subterfuge rear their ugly head and we are faced with the truth that our polyamorous lifestyle is still not socially acceptable. Today is another test. Just because we have found our peace doesn’t mean we could hold onto it if the world fought us.

Although, fight I would. There are no two stronger men on this planet I’d rather have in this war with me. Bring it on.

As if all the gods decided to play a practical joke on us at once, the doorbell rings.