* * *
Cal worries that he’ll overstay his welcome in the big gray house at first, but Zac seems thrilled to have him there. He’s constantly on Cal’s heels, running his mouth about a dozen stupid things, about some movie he saw that he hated, or about a guitar lick that he doesn’t like, or about how he’s worried that PJ’s going to take his first steps while Anya’s not home, because she’ll never forgive herself, even if Zac keeps reminding her that they decided it was important for PJ to see both of his parents prioritizing her career so that he’ll grow up to be the kind of man who’ll value the work of women.
For her part, Anya seems every bit as happy to have him stay. She lifts her face for kisses and pushes Cal’s head between her thighs and sighs his name and tells him how pretty his mouth is and that he should go get PJ when he cries. She strokes his hair when he’s on the couch beside her and puts her feet in his lap to demand foot rubs and never once says a word to make him think she’s ready for some space.
Which isn’t to suggest that it’s all easy. It’s hard to fit a third adult into a preexisting family life, whether that third adult’s presence is temporary or not, and everyone already has their own routines and preferences. In the places where they don’t dovetail, they negotiate. The process is made easier by Anya’s forthrightness—she’s good at making sure everyone’s being honest about what they want or need. Zac’s familiarity with Cal’s preferences helps too, because half the time he can guess what Cal needs before Cal’s forced to voice it. Between the two of them, they smooth over most of the bumps in the road for him, and he can’t help liking it. He likes it a lot.
But there are a few land mines that neither Zac nor Anya anticipate.
One night while they’re out at a restaurant, Anya points to a good-looking guy and elbows Zac as if to say check him out, and Cal almost chokes on his tongue. He doesn’t say anything, wouldn’t know how even if he had the right, but he can’t control his face. Zac’s oblivious at first, but Anya catches on. She studies him and he tries not to fidget and Zac glances between the two of them as the tension builds, lost as to the reason, until Anya says softly, “I suppose that feels like cheating to you.”
Cal licks his lips. He knows what he should say. He can only imagine how much more quickly this will get stale for them if they aren’t allowed to—assuming they would even agree—but she’s not wrong. It makes his stomach sick, the very idea of them looking elsewhere. He’s not Zac. He can’t share her with a stranger. He can’t share Zac with a stranger either.
He focuses on where his hands have turned into fists in his lap beneath the table. The haze of background conversation from the other diners seems to fade. Even PJ’s babble feels far away. Cal doesn’t want to be this insecure, jealous asshole, but he can’t help it. He can’t help how it feels to know he’s not enough. Will never be enough.
Zac and Anya are having one of those conversations made up entirely from facial expressions. They’re so married, so capable of silent communication, and it’s hard not to feel excluded. Not only excluded from what they’re saying, but from the way they say it. He has something like it with Zac in a friendship sense, but not to this degree.
“We’re serious,” Zac says finally, tentatively. “Sorry, man. It’s just...”
“Habit,” Anya chips in. “I apologize, Cal.”
“It’s fine,” he manages to bite out.
“It’s not.” She puts her hand on the table, making grabby fingers until he relents and takes it in his own, lets her soothe him with a gentle thumb stroking over his knuckles. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I can’t ask you to be different people,” he says, miserable down to his boot soles. “I know you’ll notice other men. It’s not fair to ask you to pretend you don’t.”
“You’re not asking us to pretend,” she says. “You’re asking us to remember what will hurt you and to respect it. Well, actually you’re not asking, you’re burying it and deflecting, but still. I can do that. Zac?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“It’s not—” Cal starts, but Anya squeezes his fingers hard enough to make him wince.
“Did you know I used to smoke? Since I was seventeen. I liked smoking. A lot, actually. But it drove Zac nuts. So I quit. Because it was a reasonable request and I wanted to be with him more than I wanted to smoke. This will be easier to quit than nicotine, Cal. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh my God, it was so gross,” Zac says. “You were like a fucking chimney back then.”
She sneers in his direction. “Look, smart-ass, it’s an appetite suppressant and I was a model. Don’t begrudge the amount of work it takes to manage your diet to that degree all the damn time. I was lucky to get away without an eating disorder.”
“Your face is a disorder,” he says, and the subject of Anya and Zac politely agreeing not to look at other men in Cal’s presence gets sidelined in favor of bickering.
Cal slowly exhales. He hates that he’s putting them through this, hates that he’s bringing upheaval and compromise to their lives simply because he needs help staying away from the bottle. Still, the pleasure of being here, of being able to borrow this...this family...helps make up for any amount of guilt or discomfort.
But for the most part, the little temporary adjustments aren’t that fraught.
They figure out what everyone likes to eat and how everyone likes to sleep. They debate food tastes and Anya stops putting green peppers in things. They spend an awkward afternoon getting tested for STDs so Cal can ditch the condoms. He’s never had sex without a condom before, and he develops a real appreciation for IUDs. Whatever they are. Anya only makes it about ten seconds into an explanation before she breaks off to laugh at whatever face he’s making.
It’s all surprisingly normal. And nice.
So then he just...doesn’t leave.
* * *
“We should set the whole album on fire,” Cal tells Zac one day, past all patience with the damn thing. “Start over. Or do something else entirely. We could quit being musicians and go do something else. Explore the world. Climb a mountain. Feed ourselves through the strength of our bodies alone.”
“I’m not going to be a Sherpa to save you from revision.” Zac throws a pen at Cal’s head. “Stop whining and get back to work.”
With a sigh and a half-hidden smile, Cal stops whining and gets back to work.
* * *
The one drawback is that Zac and Cal aren’t—they’re not—they’re not.