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One evening, right after dinner, while the sun is still bright enough for me to read outside, I lounge in the hammock on the deck of the beach cabin. I quickly get lost in a recent and fairly massive oral history of David Lynch’s Dune, often chuckling to myself at the strange and myriad pitfalls and shortcomings of the doomed but storied production. I often pause and recall my own childhood encounter with the 1984 film, and my love-hate relationship with it for over half my life.
Usually, everyone knows not to disturb me if I’m enraptured by a book out in the hammock, but as soon as I notice my eighth lovely and enervated husband slowly walking along the beach toward me—clearly at the end of a long constitutional that must’ve begun up at the Manse—I preemptively decide that I will forgive his intrusion.
As he steps up onto the deck, barefoot, hands shoved in his pockets, his fatigued but earnest smile is utterly disarming. “Salut, mon amour.”
“Salut, mon cher,” I say, mirroring his smile back at him. “Quoi de neuf?”
Denis walks closer, pauses, takes in a long, deep breath as his eyes search their sockets. “Hmmm, c’est beau, I’m OK, I’m just… trés occupée.”
I laugh softly. “What’s new?”
He shrugs, steps closer. “I know I’ve been spending more time in a tiny room with Joe than I have with you or Ryan or the kids.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want we should trap ourselves inside a closet for a while?”
Denis grins, shakes his head, then takes out one of his hands and points at the hammock. “May I join you? Unless I am bothering you, là—”
I set aside my book and pat the fabric beside me. “S’il te plaît, it’s OK.”
He smiles more sweetly, carefully turns and awkwardly settles himself into the hammock alongside me, our legs hanging over the edge as we rock gently back and forth. He timidly holds his hands in his lap for a minute, but then wordlessly wriggles and leans over so his head rests on my chest. I drape my arm over him, stroke his hair, close my eyes as we absorb the relative silence together for a little while. I’ve always appreciated that Denis never felt the need to fill every minute of our alone time with chatting. I sense that he actually has a lot to talk about, what with all the promotional touring he’s been up to in between the post-production workload, but I leave it to him to bring it up if he wants to. Oftentimes, he just needs some true downtime, essential naps, the warm, comfortable lull in conversation between dear partners.
I count his steady breathing, in sync with the gentle waves on the beach, the wind in the trees. I almost convince myself that he’s nodded off until his voice whispers in my mind.
“—I have a name for her—"
He doesn’t move a muscle, even while his head lifts with my chest as I take in a deep breath at this revelation. I’m a touch envious that he always knows before I do.
“—You’re sure… I was just beginning to suspect—”
“—I am sure now, my love—"
I smile, and he lifts his head to meet my watery gaze.
He winks, studies my face. “—You still want it to be a secret?—"
I shake my head once, continue to stroke his hair. “—Tell me when it’s time—”
Denis kisses the top part of my sternum, his slightly overgrown beard giving me goosebumps. Then he leans closer, kisses my lips. His eyes are open wide, no longer exhausted, but remain richly dark. “—I think you will approve—”
I kiss him back. “I believe you.”
**************
Later than evening, in the soft light of the loft in the beach cabin, I’m lying back in bed with Ryan, who similarly rests his head on my chest as we absorb some silence together. His aggressively fluffy hairstyle is eminently pettable, and I luxuriate in combing my fingers through his thick blondish strands. Only he could pull off a mullet-adjacent cut and make it sexy. I smile and close my eyes, reach my free hand to interlock with his on my belly.
“He’s told you something, hasn’t he?”
I open one eye. “Hmm?”
Ryan, who is lying prone, lifts his head and turns it toward me. “Denis, I mean.”
“Told me what?”
My ninth husband gives me a rare eye roll—more gently teasing than long-suffering.
I sigh and place my palm on his cheek. I whisper “It’s a girl.”
His smile practically rips across his face. “Really?”
“Shhh!” I barely scold. “He confirmed it.”
Ryan steals a kiss, grins, and presses his ear to my heart again. He closes his eyes and hums, keeps his voice down. “It’s like living with angels,” he whispers, then looks at me as he cups my cheek. “I bet he has a name already.”
I nod, kiss his palm. “Of course he does.”
“I know you don’t want to know but I do.”
“I told him not to say anything, not even to you.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says, pursing his lips.
I give his bare shoulder a gentle slap. “Don’t manipulate it out of him, please. He has enough stress right now.”
Ryan chuckles, rolls over and slides up to lie beside me, head propped up on his elbow as he stares at me lovingly. “I’m just joshing. You know how hard he is to seduce.”
“Yeah, and if it works, it’s only because he’s allowed it.”
“Just like you.”
I wink at him, lean closer, so our foreheads amost touch. “And what about you?”
He closes the gap, stares into my eyes. “I’m very susceptible… to only a few people.”
“Oh yeah?” I kiss him then, warmly, unhurried, with savor. We begin clutching at each other and start to hum into each other’s mouths when footsteps start coming up the stairs.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” Denis’s voice floats up to us. “May I come to bed?”
Ryan giggles lightly, strokes my hair, his gaze never breaking from mine. “Come to bed, Denis.”
When Denis makes it to the top, he pauses sheepishly. “I thought I heard some seduction going on up here, là.”
I wave an arm, beckoning. “Come closer and you might find out.”
He smiles, begins to undress. “Normally, my loves, I wouldn’t resist you both, mais…” He looks up at us apologetically. “Je suis vraiment fatigué.”
I exchange a frown with Ryan, then sit up and pat the bed beside me. “Viens au lit. Just a good cuddle tonight.”
Down to his undershirt and boxers, he eagerly slips under the sheet alongside me, leans over to kiss Ryan, then wraps me up in his arms as he lies down with a heavy sigh. Ryan hugs me from behind, reaching over to grasp Denis’s hand on my hip. I indulge in a long, contented sigh and close my eyes.
“I’m excited about our girl,” Ryan says softly. “Madam says I shouldn’t beg to know her name, though.”
Denis’s chuckle vibrates against my ribs. “I made a promise not to tell.”
“It’s alright… a daughter by any other name and all that.”
I giggle and turn to kiss Ryan’s forehead. “You’re such good boys,” I whisper. “I’m so lucky to have you both like this.”