I unwrap Tchaikovsky’sRomeo and Juliet. It wasn’t long ago that I was masked. Telling Bram that the only love stories anyone’s interested in are the ones that end tragically. He told me he’s hadenough tragedy for one lifetime. I have too. I choose hope now. I choose life. Perhaps that’s why I choose this record. Because being this happy allows me to enjoy tragedy as entertainment. As something that won’t catch up with me again.
Lily carefully positions the record on the turntable. The modern sounds that have filled our home give way to the haunting fantasy overture written by a man who I know with all my heart was never allowed to love as he wanted to.
“Mine now,” Bram says, handing me his gift again.
I unwrap it carefully. There’s a leather journal inside. Lined paper, empty but for an inscription on the first page.Let’s never hide from each other again. If there’s ever anything too difficult to say to each other, let us write it in this journal instead. I love you. I will forever.
I look into Bram’s eyes. It feels like we’re finally picking up where we left off sixty years ago. I give him a kiss. I find a pen on an end table and jot seven words on the next page.No more hiding. I love you too.
Bram. London. August. 1980.
The crash of the front door wakes us up. Then Lily yelling. “Children, downstairs now. Come meet your sister.”
I nuzzle my head into Oliver’s chest. Take a whiff of his pure scent in the morning. “What time is it?”
Maud barges in. Opens our blinds. She wears gingham pajamas sewn for her by Lily. Unfazed by the sight of us in bed. Bare chests pressed against the other. My now-long and straightened hair on his pillow. Our bare feet popping out from under the covers. Our bedroom. One queen bed. Two queens. “Sister? She’s brought another one of us in already. She’ll soon be the queer Mother Teresa.”
Oliver and I both laugh as we kick off the sheets. Reveal our naked bodies. It’s nothing Maud hasn’t seen before. The three of us share a bathroom after all. She still takes the opportunity to tease us. That’s what siblings are for. “Why must teenage boys smell so foul?”
I tickle Maud playfully. “Why must teenage lesbians sleep in gingham?”
She laughs. “Hey, I chose this fabric.”
“Oh. I know.” I turn to Oliver. He grabs his ripped pair of jeans off the floor. “Oliver, back me up here.”
Oliver looks at her as he pulls his jeans up. God, I love watching him get dressed. And undressed. The shapes his body makes as he bends and pulls. The sun perfectly illuminates his angelic face in the morning. Before any anxieties or memories have crept into his eyes. Peaceful. “It is a hideous fabric, Maud. But you pull it off because you’re so beautiful. Besides, who cares what you wear to bed when you sleep alone?”
“Ouch. That began as quite the compliment. Ended as quite the insult.” Maud wrestles Oliver back onto the bed and pins him down.
“Beware who you tackle. Oliver was a wrestler, once upon a time.” I find my pants strewn on the floor too.
“Sweet gentle Oliver, awrestler?” Maud eyes him with surprise. “What other secrets are you hiding?”
That question—asked at the wrong time—could fluster either of us. Send us into a panic. But not here and now. This is our right time. Oliver smiles. “Only that despite teasing my sister, I think she’s absolutely wonderful.”
Maud musses up his hair. “You little shit. You know I do better with being teased than being complimented.”
“Then let us help you practice accepting praise.” Oliver pulls her close. “Someday you’ll meet a woman as beautiful and smart as you, and she won’t be able to hide her adoration.”
Maud cackles. “Please! I’m odd-looking and educationally subnormal.”
Now I throw myself in bed too. Maud in the middle. Three siblings staring up at the cracks in the ceiling that keeps them safe and dry. “You’re striking, and you’re brilliant. You spend your days in that bookshop reading every book in there.”
Maud shrugs. “Well, I try at least. Because after all,genius lastslonger than beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to overeducate ourselves.”
Oliver and I both look at each other. Eyes wide. He asks the question for us. “I thought you’d never read Wilde.”
Maud’s eyes gleam. “I made an exception and read the words of a white man. How could I not read that book after your story about how it brought the two of you together? I read every pithy little word imagining the two of you reading it out loud to each other in some American library.”
“CHILDREN. RISE AND SHINE. NOW!”
We all bolt up. Oliver and I each grab a shirt that was thrown on the floor last night. Evidence of our lust after another night at the Blitz. Dancing to Rusty’s eclectic choices. Oliver behind the percussion machine for part of the night. Me holding him from behind. Oliver adding synth sounds to the songs. Watching from the DJ booth as the crowd swayed blissfully.
“YOUR SISTER IS WAITING TO MEET YOU.”
“You reckon she’s a lesbian?” A sigh of hope in Maud’s voice.
“Maybe she’ll end up shacking up in your bedroom.” I’m in Oliver’s shirt from last night. He’s in mine. We swap clothes like this. We share everything. Most importantly: a life. “Wouldn’t that be something? Me and Oliver in one room, you and the new girl in your room.”
