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“My sister is insisting that we come out to see her on Sunday,” Collins said, stepping into the kitchen. Farrier was lying on the floor in a patch of sunlight with the dog, his head resting on his arm.
“What’s the occasion?” Farrier asked, sitting up and leaning against the leg of the table.
“She just says she misses us all. She’s even got my mother involved,” Collins said.
“You have to go, then,” Farrier said. Collins’s forehead crinkled.
“Oh, when I said us I mean both of us. You and me,” Collins said, warmth rising up in his cheeks. For as much as he loved his mother and sister, the thought of bringing Farrier with him set his heart pounding in a panic, though the exact reason escaped him. It was far from his usual self-consciousness about his family - a self-consciousness he was ashamed of feeling but found unavoidable after having been told his family was disorderly due to his father’s absence - and it was not quite a fear of letting his family meet and likely speculate about Farrier, either.
“Both of us?”
“She says she likes your company more than mine,” Collins shrugged, and raising his voice in a caricature of his sister said “'and don’t forget to bring Farrier, I mean it, or I’ll send you away at the door.' So you have to come with me."
“Oh, I’d never put up a fight about that. Mary is better company than you are, after all,” Farrier said. Collins sighed and rolled his eyes. Farrier had met Mary twice before, briefly, and they had gotten along so well that Collins barely minded that they poked fun at him together.
“She said we don’t have to go to church with her,” Collins said, knowing it would likely be a relief to Farrier, who, when forced to go to church with Collins, hid his embarrassment but not his annoyance at himself for stumbling through unfamiliar prayers. Farrier nodded. Collins lowered himself to the floor and leaned against Farrier’s shoulder, closing his eyes against the sun. “Her housemate Laura will be home. I’ve met her a couple of times, she’s quiet but she’s alright."
“Oh, I’m sure she is. Collins?”
“Farrier.”
“Does Mary know?”
“Know what? Oh. I don’t know, I don’t think so,” Collins said, and opened his eyes as he felt Farrier shift to look at him.
“Really?”
“Yes,” Collins said, closing his eyes again. Farrier hummed. “What?”
“You should think about that.”
“Why?”
“Collins, really? She’s not stupid.”
“I never said she was. I just don't know why she would know."
“Alright, well,” Farrier said, but it was clear he had nothing else to say. Collins sighed. Farrier nudged him with his elbow. “Give me a hand.”
Collins stood slowly and held out his hand to help Farrier up, looking away as Farrier winced at the stiffness in his hip. The dog stretched lazily in the sun between them. Farrier reached up to put a hand on Collins’s check.
“I’m fine,” Farrier said. Collins nodded. “And don’t worry about Sunday, either.”
°
Farrier looked at Collins in the passenger seat, where he picked at his fingernails and kept craning his neck to see his reflection in the side mirror, and his leg was bouncing inconsolably. They had been on the road for no more than ten minutes, and Farrier doubted his patience for Collins’s nervousness for the rest of the way.
“Do you want to drive?” Farrier asked, knowing that anything to keep Collins’s hands busy would put him at ease. Farrier was already easing the car to the side of the road, bringing it to a stop. Collins looked at him in alarmed confusion.
“What?"
“Switch with me,” Farrier said. Collins furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing. “Come on.” Farrier leaned over to reach for Collins’s door, and Collins gently pushed his arm away.
“Why?”
“Just switch with me.”
“Are you alright?” Collins asked. Farrier leaned his head back and sighed.
“Yes. Are you alright to drive? I think my nerves are just getting to me, but it’s fine,” Farrier said softly, telling himself it was not entirely a lie, since Collins being nervous set his own nerves on edge as well. Collins eyed him warily and nodded. “Thank you.”
Farrier got out and moved to the other side while Collins slid to the driver’s seat. Collins watched him carefully for a moment before reaching for the ignition.
“Wait,” Farrier said. Collins halted. “Put on your glasses.” Collins deflated and slumped against his arm on the steering wheel. “For your mother’s sake, would you please?”
Collins bit his lips together and begrudgingly fished his glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt and put them on, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted. He insisted that he barely needed them, and Farrier did partly believe him, but knew that Collins’s opposition to his glasses was one of vanity above all else. Farrier told him they suited him whenever he wore them, but it did nothing in the way of encouraging Collins to wear them. Farrier once made the mistake of pointing out that with a glassy burn along the side of Collins’s face and the glazed muted blue of his scarred eye, glasses interfering with his looks should barely be a concern. Collins had been wildly upset but in the coming weeks wore his glasses unhappily but more frequently.
“I’m surprised you let me drive at all,” Collins said, gesturing to his damaged eye. Collins could still see from it, mostly just cloudy shapes but enough to have functional depth perception, or so he had told Farrier.
“Collins, please,” Farrier tipped back his head.
“Anything else?” Collins asked. Farrier sighed and shook his head, and Collins reached for the ignition once again.
With the road to occupy him, Collins's shoulders relaxed and Farrier rested his elbow on the windowsill and his head against his hand, half watching Collins and half watching the road as the car rolled along.
"I think everything will be alright," Collins said after several minutes, as if it was some great revelation.
"Oh?"
"Yes. I’m not sure if I even care if they suspect something,” Collins said, but there was still a nervousness in his voice. Farrier said nothing.
Not caring, Farrier knew well, was a privilege reserved for those with nothing to lose and for that even smaller, luckier population that could slip by their families without incident. Which of those Collins thought he fell into, Farrier could not know. Farrier’s own family knew too much, and he told himself he was beyond caring, but felt it like needles in his skin when he thought of it.
“Laura, Mary's friend, is English,” Collins said. He glanced over at Farrier. "The house is hers, her family is well-off, from what I understand. My mother loves her."
Farrier recognized with embarrassment that Collins was trying to offer some consolation about Farrier's reception by Collins's mother. Farrier had met Collins’s sister twice before and had quickly determined that he had no reason to worry with her, and if the Collins children and their stories about their mother were any indication, there was little concern with his mother either.
Farrier knew he should say something to acknowledge Collins, but instead offered an interested grunt. Collins nodded, seemingly satisfied, and settled into the driver’s seat.
°
Collins and Farrier arrived just as Mary and Laura were arriving back from church, stepping up onto the porch to unlock the front door. Collins took his time parking while his sister stood on the pavement with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised, her hair shining coppery in the sun. Collins slowly stepped out of the car and only looked up at his sister once Farrier was out of the car as well.
“Well, aren’t you happy to see me,” Mary chided. Collins leaned against the hood of the car and cocked his head.
“Don’t sound so sad about it, Mary, Farrier’s the one you wanted to see, anyway,” Collins said. Mary crossed her arms, and Farrier stood awkwardly behind Collins, waiting for the bickering to fizzle out. Laura stood on the porch, her round-featured face set with mild amusement as she watched them while expertly pinning her dark hair up loosely.
“Well, then,” Mary said, stepping toward Farrier and holding out her hand. Farrier looked at Collins briefly before taking Mary’s hand and leaning in for the kiss she planted on his cheek. “It’s good to see you, as always.”
“Thank you for having me,” Farrier said.
“Of course,” Mary said, and finally stepped off the curb to throw an arm around Collins and pat his cheek with her hand. “You should try being so grateful.”
“You’re right, Mary. Thank you for inviting Farrier so I don’t have to suffer alone.”
Mary shoved his shoulder and then planted a hand on his back to push him upright, leading him to the pavement and holding an arm out for Farrier, who allowed himself to be led up to the porch as well. Collins greeted Laura with a hug and introduced her to Farrier, who shook her hand with a smile. Mary unlocked the door and herded the three of them into the kitchen to sit down, and offered them tea, welcoming them to a plate of pastries on the table. The small kitchen was cramped, but sunlit and comfortable even while sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.
The conversation that bubbled around the table was pleasantly youthful to Collins, exchanging stories about friends and each other. Mary, leading conversations as always, gracefully managed around the bumps in conversation that arose when things came uncomfortably close to the darker parts of the war. Collins tried to flash her looks of gratitude on Farrier’s behalf, which she ignored, leaving Laura to catch his eye and offer a smile.
With the side of his knee pressed against Collins’s under the table, Farrier was surprisingly talkative, sharing his own stories and laughing at Mary’s sisterly jabs at her brother. Each time Farrier engaged with the conversation, Collins resisted the urge to duck his head and hide a smile against his chest at the novelty of it all. It was comfortable, familial, and better than whatever it was Collins had expected to meet him at the end of the war. At his sister's table, Collins found himself feeling less weary and Farrier looking less worn.
Mary collected the dishes and stood up to wash them, and Collins rose after her and leaned against the counter next to the sink to volunteer his help before Farrier could offer.
“I'm going to show Farrier the garden, if you don't need me," Laura said, standing up from the table. Farrier had taken sincere interest in Laura's gardening and her farmwork during the war, and Laura had looked overjoyed to have an audience.
"Alright," Mary said. "Wait, Laura. Your shoes."
Laura looked down at her shoes, kept pristine for church, and turned to Farrier.
"Let me change, I'll meet you outside."
Farrier nodded at her and looked to Collins with a smile before stepping out of the kitchen. Mary shoved a dishtowel into Collins’s hands and passed him a plate to be dried. Collins was relieved to have a moment alone with Mary, though he was entirely unrehearsed in what he wanted to explain to her, which was everything he could possibly articulate about Farrier.
Laura came back through the kitchen, having changed her shoes, and grinned at Collins. Her presence blended almost seamlessly into the world around her, as if she had always been meant to be precisely where she was at any moment, with her freckles and softly rounded cheeks.
Laura stopped to put a hand on the small of Mary's back and leaned up to kiss her briefly on the lips. Mary laughed, splashing water from the sink at her to shoo her away, and Laura rolled her eyes at Collins over Mary’s shoulder and nearly skipped out of the room.
Collins froze, pursing his lips.
“You…” Collins began once the front door closed behind Laura, and ran a hand through his hair, “really?”
“Oh, Christ, Ethan, it took you long enough,” Mary scoffed, holding a dripping plate out to him.
“Does Ma know?” Collins asked softly as he dried the plate and turned to put it up in the cupboard behind him. Mary laughed, pulling her hands out of the water in the sink and rubbing her nose with the back of her arm. Collins was startled for a moment at how much she looked like their mother in her charmed exasperation, with bright eyes under raised eyebrows and barely resisting a smile.
“Of course Ma knows,” she said through a laugh, and Collins narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean ‘of course Ma knows?'" Collins asked, refusing to take another dish being passed to him. Mary sighed and set the plate down on the counter. She looked up at him as if she was about to call him some childish name.
“Mothers always know,” she said simply, returning her hands to the sink and then pausing again. “Especially her. In fact, I didn’t even tell her. I wonder if she’s the same sometimes." Mary rinsed another plate and set it down on the one Collins was still neglecting. Collins scrubbed a hand over his mouth.
“The same?”
“Like us. Don’t act like it would surprise you.”
The us settled heavily in the air between them.
“Wait,” he said, licking his lips and running a hand through his hair, hot embarrassment and cold relief falling over him at once, “you know. You knew,” Collins sighed in resignation and Mary visibly stifled a laugh, resting her elbows on the edge of the sink and hanging her head. “Of course you knew.”
“Did you really think I didn’t?” Mary lifted her head a smiled. "I thought you knew that I knew! Lord, you are really..."
“I never thought about it,” he turned to dry the plates on the counter and put them in the cupboard, the plates chattering against each other as his shaking hands nested them together on the shelf.
“Of course you didn’t.”
Collins rolled his eyes and let the warm sunlit silence sit between them while his heart slowed to a normal pace in his chest. Mary craned her neck to look out the window the way a mother would to check on playing children, a light smile on her face at the sight of Farrier and Laura slowly pacing through the garden.
“Thank God,” Collins said aloud, suddenly and with a laugh. Mary raised her eyebrows at him in curious anticipation. “I never liked any of the boys you brought around. I thought you had the worst taste and was scared to death you’d marry one of them."
Mary laughed and took the towel from him, drying her own hands and throwing her damp arms around him in a lazy embrace.
“What?” Collins asked.
“I’m glad you made it,” Mary said, releasing him and returning to the dishes again.
“Well it’s not like it was out of the way.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, and as if she was self-conscious she huffed a laugh, shook her head, and said, “I'm lucky you made it, with how stupid you can be.”
“Thanks, Mary. I’ll just go on home, if you’re going to be that way. And I’ll take Farrier with me.”
Mary laughed and flicked water at him as she handed him another plate. Collins dried it and put away. He rested his forearm on Mary’s shoulder as he looked out the window over the sink. Farrier and Laura were still talking in the garden with small polite gestures, Farrier bowing his head to listen and nod while Laura spoke.
“Ma knows, too,” Mary said, almost absently, “about you, I mean."
“She does?”
“She’ll probably never say it, but she does. She didn’t say anything to me,” Mary shook his arm off her shoulder and went back to scrubbing a bowl. “I just knew that she knew. Stop looking so surprised! Don’t you notice she doesn’t ask you about girls?”
“I thought she’d just given up.”
“Give her some credit, for Christ’s sake. And give yourself less. You’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know,” Mary pulled the stopper in the sink and sighed, gazing out the window again. “I like Farrier.”
“So you’ve said.”
“He’s very good. Don’t give him too much hell, please.”
“Mary.”
“You know I don’t mean -“
“Thank you, Mary.”
She looked up at him stupidly and he felt heat rise into his cheeks. She glanced at him up and down and nodded, seemingly understanding.
“Of course."
°
Rosie Collins arrived just after Farrier and Laura had come back inside. Farrier had seen her in photographs, where she was younger and in greyscale, and she stood before him, now as worn as the photographs in Collins's bible but graceful in her age, her red hair streaked with white and the lines of her face suiting her kindly. Rosie only slightly resembled her children, but carried the same light in her eyes. She shook Farrier's hand warmly and pulled him into an embrace more familial than Farrier could have expected.
“It’s about time I met you," Rosie said as she released him, and Farrier nearly blushed, unsure of what to say, and instead launched polite and simple flattery. Collins stood behind her, biting his tongue between his lips and waiting almost jealously for his mother to turn to him. When she finally did turn to kiss his unmarred cheek and embrace him, Farrier raised his eyebrows at him in jest and Collins rolled his eyes.
While Mary tended to the food, the rest of the party floated in and out of the kitchen in various combinations. Collins gently tugged Farrier out of the room, saying pathetically that he wanted to show him something, and pulled him by the sleeve to back hallway, where Collins kissed him twice, and Farrier felt Collins smiling against his lips.
“What?” Farrier asked.
“Nothing,” Collins said, and tried to nudge him back toward the kitchen. Farrier resisted it and leaned up to kiss him once, and then turned to return to the kitchen. Farrier settled back into his seat just as Mary held a stack of plates out to Collins and told him to set the table.
Farrier understood why Rosie Collins had insisted that she truly and honestly had no desire to sit between her children, and had settled in the chair next to Farrier, with Collins on her other side and Mary next to Farrier, Laura taking the dangerous seat between siblings. Farrier was more than happy to sit aside and listen to Collins bicker with his sister over dinner, each playful argument ending with one of them being interrupted as they remembered their audience, pausing to bring them up to speed on some elaborate tale, until that too dissolved back into the same siblingly disagreement. Laura, seated across from Farrier at the round table, occasionally caught his eye and flashed him a smile, sharing the simple and overwhelming joy of being at a table with a family.
Collins and his sister looked almost entirely alike, even down to their mannerisms. Mary shared her reddish hair with her mother, but she shared a face with her brother. When Farrier had first met Mary he noted silently that Mary might have worn their shared features better, as they made her pointedly beautiful as opposed to beautifully cartoonish like her brother.
Farrier was painfully aware of how poor his table manners had become, and had resolved to eating terribly slowly when there was any sort of audience, an effort that preoccupied him and distracted him from a great deal of conversation. He felt silently grateful for the distraction that the lively table created, and prayed that Collins wouldn’t become distracted by him.
Collins with his family was a Collins that Farrier had not seen before, and it thrilled him warmly to be allowed to see it. Collins turned to him frequently throughout the meal, checking on him with a slight concern but mostly with some sort of appreciation that Farrier found nearly embarrassing.
The raucousness of the table was something Farrier had not expected, as family dinners in a home were meant, as far as Farrier knew, to be something more like a business meeting. Collins politely put his napkin in his lap, but rested his elbows on the table and held his fork incorrectly, often using it to point at his sister, who beyond raising her voice still held herself civilly.
“Please don’t think I didn’t try to raise them better than this,” Rosie said lightly, leaning over to speak softly to Farrier.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Farrier said. Rosie laughed and turned back to the table, glowing with a content gratefulness to be at a table with her children, bad manners and all.
°
“You alright?” Farrier’s voice came softly from behind Collins, and then Farrier’s shoulder was against his as Farrier stiffly sat down next to Collins in the grass. Collins had slipped outside when the conversation turned away from him, desperate for a moment alone, and threw himself down in the grass like a child tired of a party.
“Yes,” Collins said. He offered his cigarette to Farrier, who shook his head, his features tinged pink by the setting sun. “Are you?”
“Of course. It’s rude to abandon your guest, though.”
“Sorry.”
Farrier shrugged. "Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I just needed to think,” Collins said, reclining back onto the grass and resting a hand on his chest. Farrier looked down at him curiously. “I assume you know about Mary and Laura."
“You didn’t?” Farrier asked, and Collins reached over and shoved at him halfheartedly. Farrier smiled
"I never was good at knowing," Collins sighed. Farrier laughed and shook his head.
"Oh, I know. But I still thought you knew," Farrier said, visibly preparing himself for another shove that never came. “She’s your sister, after all."
"Oh, I'm flattered, then. You knew, though?” Collins asked, and laughed tiredly, remembering how at ease Farrier had been about it all on the drive there. Farrier had met Mary twice before, and in those two brief meetings had somehow seen something that Collins had not caught wind of in all his years.
"Oh, yes. Anyone could tell from a mile away."
"Except me, apparently."
"Ah, you're just too accustomed to it," Farrier said, and he laughed when Collins turned to him with a glare. Collins sighed and put out his cigarette, resting his hands on his chest and looking up at Farrier.
“Maybe. Are you alright, though?” Collins asked.
“I’m just fine, Collins. Your family is lovely, far nicer than mine,” Farrier said, and he said it so simply that Collins was especially saddened by it. Of course, only so much could be expected of a family, and Collins supposed he was lucky to be so known and still so welcomed by his mother and sister. By any standards, Farrier’s family was considerably normal, but Collins’s heart still grew heavy with the reminder of all that was so out of reach.
Farrier still, after so much time, had barely elaborated on the vague image of his family that he had painted for Collins. Collins only knew that Farrier’s parents knew about him and had elected to ignore it, for the most part, and that Farrier resented his family just as much as he longed - though he would never say it aloud - to impossibly live up to what they expected of him. Collins still wished to meet Farrier's mother if Farrier would allow it, as unpleasant as it might be, though Collins thought - likely too idealistically - that it wouldn't be quite as bad as Farrier seemed to feel it would be.
Collins became conscious of his silence, unsure of how to respond, and reached for Farrier’s hand on the grass and loosely gripped his fingers. When Collins looked up, Farrier's face and shoulders betrayed no mournfulness, and so Collins squeezed his fingers and softly offered a change of subject as he withdrew his hand.
"My mother knows. Did you know that?" Collins asked. His mother had something offhand to Collins about it when she had caught him alone in another room, and it had startled him so immensely that he had immediately forgotten what she had even said, but he had leaned down to kiss her cheek anyway.
Farrier was silent for a moment just long enough to begin to panic Collins.
"I assumed she'd suspected something," Farrier said. He sighed and straightened his legs out in front of him, knocking his foot against Collins's.
“I could use a drink,” Collins said. Farrier sighed.
“I know.”
The mechanical growl of an engine crept into the evening overhead, and they tilted their heads up in unison at the first sound of it. The setting sun glinted off the underside of the plane.
“Can you tell what it is?” Collins asked, squinting against the sun and covering his burned eye and its clouded vision with his hand, but he had left his glasses inside and everything was softened into a blur of rough shapes.
“No,” Farrier said, grimacing as he squinted, “the sun’s too much.”
“Ah, well.”
Farrier kept his eyes up until the plane and its engine were long gone. He exhaled softly and turned to Collins.
“I’m sure they’re waiting on us by now. Help me up,” Farrier said nodding toward the house, and Collins hauled himself up off the grass and held out a hand for Farrier.
°
Farrier quietly excused himself from a card game after it had turned into a Collins sibling competition in which even Laura had given up any investment, and instead made herself an interactive audience rather than a participant. Farrier made his way to the kitchen and leaned against the edge of the counter, staring blankly out the window above the sink, listening to the chatter in the next room.
He jumped at the sound of footsteps, turning to see Rosie tentatively standing just inside the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” Rosie said. Farrier shook his head and waved his hand dismissively in the air. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Farrier said, and when she held his eyes expectantly he added, “I just needed some quiet.”
Rosie laughed softly and nodded. Farrier smiled and cast his eyes away, back out the window.
"I'm glad you could make it," Rosie said. Farrier turned back to her.
"Thank you," Farrier said softly, more softly than he expected himself to sound, all his usual mechanical manners and his earlier confidence slipping away, "I am, too."
“It’s good that he's got you, you know," Rosie said. Farrier suddenly felt too exposed, and more than ever as if he was not where he belonged, as if he was stepping too far into Collins's life without permission. Rosie seemed to notice this, taking in the panic on his face with a knowing concern in her eyes. “He’s very fond of you."
Farrier ducked his head and bit his lips, feeling Rosie’s eyes still on him. He lifted his head to find the knowingness in her face defined by something compassionate and warm. He cursed himself for having lost his sensibilities, as any other time he handled similarly high-pressure interactions with comfortable improvised formality.
“I would certainly hope so,” Farrier said. Rosie breathed a laugh.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
“No, no, it’s alright," Farrier cleared his throat and blinked up at the ceiling, “I don’t know what to say.”
Rosie reached out and put a hand on his arm.
“It’s enough that you’re there for him,” she said. Farrier swallowed hard. “I truly didn’t mean to scare you with all this.”
Farrier began to stammer a response, but was interrupted as more footsteps came through the kitchen doorway. Farrier and Rosie turned to find Laura hanging into the kitchen, holding onto the doorframe with one hand, the lines on her freckled face especially pronounced from the smile that had been on her face all day.
“Are you coming back? You can’t leave me there alone with them,” Laura asked.
"Sure, sure," Farrier said, and excused himself from the kitchen, graced by an approving smile from Rosie. He let Laura take him by the elbow and lead him back to his seat on the sofa next to Collins. Collins looked to him brightly as he sat down, and Collins sat back to put a hand on Farrier's back and lean toward him.
"Everything alright?" Collins asked. Farrier looked away from him for a moment, to the card game in front of them and Mary and Laura talking quietly across the table, and then looked back up to Collins.
"Yes," Farrier said, with as much sincerity as he could sound in a single word. Collins looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and flashed a hint of a smile as he moved to squeeze Farrier's hand between them. Farrier squeezed Collins’s fingers in return, and Collins looked at him in surprise as Farrier sat back, finally unable to hold back a smile, and nodded Collins back toward his game.
°
Farrier drove them home late, having finally escaped drawn-out goodbyes and a slow walk to the door. At a stop in the dark, Collins had leaned over to kiss Farrier softly on the mouth and then settled against the door with his arms crossed, comfortably watching the road ahead. They rode in silence for a while, and when Farrier finally found the words for his gratitude he got only a mumbled but cheerful reply from Collins, who minutes later had closed his eyes and was softly snoring with his head propped against the window, leaving Farrier to smile to himself in the dark of the car.