Only Consenting Adults Ch. 08

"Strip the sheets and put fresh ones on," Henry said, and left the room.

He found Anya in the kitchen, standing by the sink, naked, with a glass of water in her hand. She looked up as he arrived.

"Millie go down okay?" she asked.

"Like a charm, first time."

Anya made a face, "I wish she'd do that for me."

"Guess I have the knack."

"Yeah, sure. It's 'cos she knows you can't feed her."

Henry shrugged, then his expression became more serious. "Speaking of which...?"

Anya took another mouthful of water, stalling. Eventually, she drained the glass and put it down on the side, before turning to look Henry in the eyes.

"The suckling? We've been doing it a while," she confessed, "It just sort of happened. You don't mind, do you?"

"I guess not. It's just, uh, new."

"I was worried about what it meant, but Jen told me I'm overthinking it. She says it doesn't mean anything."

"Is that what you think?"

Anya considered the question for a moment, then shook her head slowly.

"Nah, I dunno. It's hard to describe. My child suckling is completely different to my wife doing it, but there are parts that are the same. The feeling of coming closer together. That little warm glow of love. But I guess I had that before, anyway."

She sighed. "I dunno. Does that mean I'm fucked up for letting it happen?"

Henry laid an arm across his partner's shoulders. "After everything we've all done together, that's a really strange question."

Anya shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. Letting my wife taste my breast milk has to be only number three or four on the top ten weird things list."

Henry smiled at her. "What's number one?"

"Fucking you."

He gaped in mock horror. "What? How could you say that?"

"Ever fucked a guy, Henry? Ever wanted to? Huh? Yeah. You get it?"

She scrunched her nose up, but her tone was playful.

"The things we do for babies," she said with a wry smile.

---

Later that morning, after showers and coffee, Jen wandered into the living room. Anya was playing with Millie on the rug, making little cooing noises and pulling funny faces as the little girl looked up in mute wonder at the face looming above her.

"I'm thinking of going to see my parents this afternoon," she announced.

Anya looked up. "What? Really?"

"Big news. When was the last time?" Henry asked, "Before we moved in here, right? Way before."

"Yeah, but you talked to them since," Anya said.

"Not much," Jen replied.

Anya sat up, frowning. "Babe, you told them about the baby, didn't you?"

"Millie, yeah, they know."

"No, I mean your baby. You told them you're pregnant?"

Jen looked down at her tummy. She didn't answer.

"Shit, Jen. You're having a baby and you haven't told your parents?"

"Anya, leave it. Please."

"But...."

"Leave it. You know it's not the same for me. Your parents are awesome."

"So, you gonna go today and tell them?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided."

Anya snorted. "Fact check, look at you. They'll notice."

"I'm gonna wear a baggy top. My mother will think I just put on weight."

Anya looked across the room at Henry, appealing for back-up.

"Jen," Henry said, "How about we all go?"

"No, it's fine."

Anya shook her head. "It's the moment you tell them you're going to be a mother."

"There's a lot more to deal with than that."

"I know. Even more reason to have back-up."

Jen looked from one face to the other. "Okay," she conceded, "Okay. Whatever."

---

Jen opted for a loose-fitting top in a fluffy cotton material that hid her tell-tale curves perfectly. She led them up to the door of her childhood home, marching through the gate from the car, up the gravel path, through the neatly-manicured lawns and up to the big, solid front door like she was on a mission. She rang the bell and they waited.

Presently, the door opened to reveal a tall, stocky man in his late fifties or early sixties, with a thick neck and short-cropped hair that graduated from red on the top of his head to silver at his temples.

"Hi Dad," Jen said.

Her father glanced at his daughter, then took in the sight of Henry, Anya and the baby. He nodded.

"Hi Mr. Staunton," Henry said.

"Hello, nice to see you. Gerard, please."

His eyes flicked over them again. Henry couldn't read anything from his expression.

"Come in," he said.

He turned, calling back into the house, "Christine, they've all come."

Gerard held the door open, allowing first Jen, then Anya carrying Millie, and then finally Henry to troop past. Henry nodded to Jen's father and Gerard smiled back. It wasn't a warm welcoming smile, but neither was it frosty. He closed the door behind them and led them down the hall into the back of the house.

Henry found himself looking into the rooms as they passed, discovering an ornate dining room with a richly polished table in a dark wood, with high-backed chairs to seat ten people. There was a reception room to the other side, and then a wide, wooden staircase that wound back on itself up to the next floor. Through a pair of high double doors, they emerged into a spacious living area with views out of the tall windows over the expansive back garden and across the valley. One side of the room was dominated by a piano, the other side opening via a wide arch into the kitchen area. Henry glimpsed Jen's mother busying herself with teacups.

Gerard led them through a pair of French doors and out into the conservatory, where a low table stood, surrounded on two sides by sofas and flanked by an armchair.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Gerard rumbled, "I'll just help Christine with the trays. We only thought Jennifer would be coming."

He turned his back, and Henry frowned at Jen, who shrugged. He shook his head slowly. It didn't bode well if Jen hadn't had the courage to give her parents a forewarning.

"I guess they weren't expecting all of us, hey Jen," Anya hissed, quietly.

She placed Millie on the ground and fished around in the tote bag slung over her shoulder for a couple of toys to occupy her daughter. She didn't wait for Jen's response, ignoring her wife and focusing instead on her child.

Henry could tell that Anya was upset. Henry felt the same. He had seen her parents exactly once, and that had been before Jen and Anya's wedding. They'd done lunch at an upscale place in the city, and Henry had felt that it had all been very civil. There were a few awkward moments at the end, but he'd been quite pleased with how it had gone.

That was until the journey home, when Jen broke down in tears. Only then did she let her partners know just how badly her parents had taken the news. The thing about it was that Henry couldn't tell. He found her parents impossible to read, which, he conceded, was probably why Gerard made such a talented politician.

They sat in silence, Jen in the middle of the sofa and her partners either side, with Millie quietly mashing a brightly coloured snake with little bells against the table leg. Gerard reappeared, carrying a tray of biscuits and buns, Christine following on behind after, her tray holding an ornate porcelain teapot with accompanying cups and saucers. As when they'd first met, Henry was struck by the similarity between mother and daughter: they had the same hazel-brown eyes, both blonde, with the soft, delicate face and full lips. Christine was shorter than her daughter, with the solidness that came with middle age, dressed in a white blouse and a long skirt that draped down to her ankles.

The difference though, was in her the way she looked around the room. Henry remembered the fearless, sassy look that Jen had given him the first time he'd ever seen her, as he gasped for breath at the top of the hill at the end of the lunchtime work exercise run. Christine was reserved, shy almost. That fire in Jen, the unruly, larger-than-life spirit belonged to her father.

Gerard sat the biscuits down on the table. Christine set her tray down too, and began to pour for them all. Henry smiled gratefully as he took the offered cup, as did Anya. Henry shot her a look: Anya was exclusively a coffee drinker. She stared back at him for a moment, then resumed her watch over their daughter.

Once they were all settled, and Gerard had taken a sip of his tea, he looked around the gathering.

"Well, what a surprise," he began, "And baby too."

His gaze alighted on his daughter, ignoring the others in the room.

"Log time no see," Jen replied.

"Indeed."

Henry got a sense that they were feeling each other out. The opening moves had been played.

"And how are you going? How's the new house?"

"It's going well," Jen responded, "We've been moved in for a while now. It's starting to feel like home."

"Yes, good. I think there's nothing quite like owning your own home."

The conversation stalled. Jen's attention switched across to her mother.

"And you?" Jen asked, "What's news?"

Her mother didn't reply. Gerard spoke instead.

"Busy, busy. Your mother took that position at the charity, so that's quite a nice little step up."

"You're busy as well, I see."

"Oh, yes. The wheels of government. Yes, that's keeping my hands full."

As they made small talk, Henry watched Anya fidgeting in her seat, her eyes locked on Millie. The baby hadn't been acknowledged by either of Jen's parents, nor had Anya. Gradually, Henry became aware of the silence in the room, and he looked up at Jen.

"So," her mother began, "It's nice to see you again. How is everything else going?"

Henry scrutinised Jen's reaction very carefully. This wasn't like the last time they'd met her parents, he wasn't flying blind anymore. He had an exquisite understanding of Jen now, after the games and the challenges and the heartaches, and looking at her now he could tell it wasn't going well. No, it was going very poorly: Jen was about to unleash.

"The job's going good, I took a step up at work," Jen replied.

There was something wrong in the way she said it, a brittle edge to her voice. Henry's heart sank.

"Henry got a promotion too. We're covering the mortgage."

"It looks like a nice house, and it's a good neighbourhood," her mother said.

"You should maybe come and see it," Jen replied.

"We should."

"But you haven't."

Christine sat up a little straighter, but Gerard intervened.

"We were waiting for an invitation," he rumbled.

Jen tossed her dirty blonde hair, and raised her chin. She fixed her attention on her father. Henry knew the look, but before he could head her off, Jen launched.

"You had an invitation to the wedding," she said, her words clipped and precise, "But you didn't show then, either."

Gerard let out a breath.

"Are we going to go into this, here?" he asked his daughter.

"Here, or somewhere else," Jen shrugged, "Sooner or later."

Her mother's face sagged, and she gave her husband a sidewards glance.

"It was okay though. We had the most perfect time," Jen continued.

She reached out and took Anya's hand, giving it a little squeeze.

"And Henry was there to walk me down the aisle, too, since you were a no-show."

"Jennifer...," Gerard began, but his daughter cut him off, building up now.

"I would have rather had him there than you, anyway. I wanted him to be a part of the ceremony, since it's as close as we could get to him actually getting married."

Gerard leaned back in his chair. He regarded his daughter for a few moments and then replied.

"And so, we're back to it, are we Jen? Why don't you get it all out?"

"Get what out, Dad? That I wanted my parents to be part of my life and they just didn't show up for one of the most important days of it?"

Jen's hand slipped from Anya's and came to rest on her belly. Henry watched her thumb stroking over the fabric of her baggy top. Jen's mouth parted and he found that he was holding his breath, waiting for Jen to reveal her news to them.

Then, she closed her mouth, looking down at her belly, nodding to herself.

"What is it?" Christine asked.

"Nah, nothing," Jen muttered, "Nothing at all."

"I understand, Jen. We've all made choices."

At that, her eyes snapped up to her mother.

"And I guess the choice I made was the wrong one, yeah? But guess what? I like my life."

She took in both her parents with a withering look.

"No, I love my life. I love what we have and if it's just the three of us, and that's all, then that's enough for me. I don't need any more, I got all I need right here."

Jen grasped Henry's hand and Anya's too.

"Jen, it's not about that," Christine told her daughter, "We just have to agree to disagree on that."

"I get that some parents don't agree with the choices their children make," Jen snapped, "It's just that very few parents actively set out to criminalise them."

"That's nonsense," Christine replied.

"Really? You sure?" Jen said, staring at her mother, "Ask Dad. Have you read what he's proposing?"

Before her mother could respond, Jen reached across and took Anya's hand, holding it up for her parents to see, flashing Anya's wedding ring. Jen held up her own hand, showing her ring. Then, she grabbed Henry's hand, showing her parents the silver band around his finger.

"Technically, isn't this bigamy, Dad? You're the legislator, you'd be able to give me a ruling on that, wouldn't you?"

Gerard regarded his daughter for a moment, then spoke in unhurried, patient tones, as if he was explaining the obvious to a child.

"You married a woman, which is technically legal. You then had a confirmation ceremony with a man, which is technically irrelevant under the law. How many marriage certificates do you have, Jennifer?"

He waited. Jen closed her mouth, fuming.

"You only have one, don't you?" Gerard continued, "So you're not a bigamist, you haven't broken any law, either existing or in any future legislation."

"This is where we disagree, Jen. It's not about you," her mother added, "Not everything is always about you. This is about everybody."

Jen's face turned crimson. She opened her mouth, but didn't speak. Her eyes narrowed into slits. Anya leaned forward, gripping her wife's hand.

"Jen," she cautioned.

Jen pulled her hand away, shaking her head slowly. She sat back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, the muscles in her jaw bunching. She fixed her father in a withering gaze and finally opened her mouth.

It was Henry who got in first, forestalling Jen's inexorable build up towards certain, savage vitriol. He could feel his partner quivering next to him, on the very brink of unforgiveable things, words that would be impossible to take back.

"Actually, a few technical points you didn't consider," Henry interjected, addressing Gerard in an even, affable tone.

Leaning forward, he squeezed Jen's hand, but his attention was fixed on the man opposite.

"Jen, would you like to have a marriage certificate with my name on it?"

"Very much," she hissed.

"And you can't because the law prevents you, right?"

"Yeah."

"That's my issue, Gerard. I'm technically not covered by the automatic rights and privileges in law that a husband would be afforded should something happen to his wife. We've had to be very careful in drafting the deeds for our house, for example."

Henry shrugged, as if it was just a small, but inconvenient thing.

"We've had to be very precise in the wording of our wills and our life insurance documentation, to make sure that if something happened to one of us, the other two would both be covered. You say your legislation focuses on keeping families together, when it in fact makes it much more difficult for me to keep my family together."

Henry paused, watching for a tell-tale from the man opposite, any flicker. He found none. Gerard Staunton looked back at him over the table, impassive, immovable. Henry looked into his eyes and saw nothing. Jen squeezed his hand tight and he could feel her trembling. Fuck you, he thought, how dare you do this to your daughter?

"Our daughter," Henry continued, "Is part of a loving family, but there are certain protections that are not available to her. For example, Jen's claim to parental guardianship isn't recognised, since she is not a biological parent. If there was an accident, she wouldn't even be considered next of kin. None of these things have been addressed in your legislation, Gerard. You've left your own family out in the cold."

Henry fought back a sudden, bitter emotion, staring across at the man who couldn't even make it to his daughter's wedding.

"I've always wanted to ask the question, and now seems like the only chance I'll ever get. Tell me, if I had been the one putting the ring on Jen's finger that day, not Anya, would you have been there to see it?"

Gerard snorted. "That's neither here or there," he rumbled.

"Really? What about another question, then. What if it was Jen rather than Anya who was Millie's mother, how would you feel then?"

"I don't understand your question," Gerard responded, "How I feel is irrelevant. The legislation is there to safeguard all families. Why are we even talking about this?"

The older man actually picked up his teacup, watching Henry over the rim as he took a drink.

"What about other parts?" Henry continued, "Governing how people treat each other, consensually in the privacy of their own homes?"

Jen gripped Henry's hand fiercely now.

"It's more to do with how they treat each other non-consensually in the privacy of their own homes," Gerard responded, "There needs to be a safety blanket. If it means that certain, uh, aberrant behaviours are no longer possible, it's a small price to pay," Gerard announced, offhandedly.

"Ah, but that's easy to say, isn't it, if you're not the one paying that price? There's no incentive to make the wording more careful."

"How is that relevant?" Gerard scoffed, "Really?"

Henry smiled, but there was little warmth in it. Gerard didn't react, but sitting next to him, his wife's eyes widened at the implication.

"What re you saying?" she asked.

"That's the bottom line, then?" Henry said, "The laws you're proposing, the wording you drafted, it's a wide-ranging catch-all. It will help to punish the guilty, but it will also make innocent people guilty too, for the things they consent to because they love each other. A small price to pay for family values. You're turning people into criminals for doing something that they love."

"People should exercise a little more restraint," Gerard countered.

"What if that meant turning your own daughter into a criminal?"

Gerard stiffened. So, Henry thought, the implications of that got through. The older man took a moment to choose his words carefully, maintaining his composure.

"These laws are not retrospective."

"So, what does that mean? It's not an offence if it happened in the past? But what about the future?"

"I suggest not doing it in the future."

Throughout the confrontation, Henry had kept a mild, conversational tone, even as Jen ground the bones of his hand together painfully.

"I guess you don't see how it matters. Can I maybe show you how it matters to you personally?"

Gerard gritted his teeth. "By all means," he grated, "Please, elucidate."

Henry turned to Jen. "Jen, can you pull up your top, please? Just a little?"

Jen stared back at him, silent, eyes blazing. She didn't move.

"Show them," Henry repeated, "Good girl."

He hated doing it, saying those words, making it an order from her owner, rather than a request from her partner. He could see the war in her expression, torn between obeying the man she loved and revealing the secret hiding beneath her baggy top to her parents.

"Not like this," she gasped.

Henry just nodded. "Good girl," he repeated.

Jen didn't take her eyes off him, pleading silently. She began to raise her top, exposing the curve of her belly beneath. Henry disengaged his hand from Jen's and spread it out across her tummy. His attention was fixed on the ripening body beneath his hand.