“Dad, did you know Anthony when you were little?” Beau quizzed me as we walked down to the pier to jump on Anthony’s yacht last Saturday morning.
“No. I used to live with him though, when you were little. Do you remember? I lived with you first, then with him.” I was cautious.
Chick caught up and grabbed my right hand, ducking and weaving through shrubs and around street poles.
“Anthony likes to kiss you when he sees you, and to say goodbye,” Beau continued.
I laughed. “Yes, yes he sure does.” I squeezed Beau’s hand.
“Some of the girls at school kiss the boys, but boys don’t kiss them.” I wasn’t sure if Beau was stating a fact or asking a question.
“Well, boys can kiss them and, you know, boys can kiss other boys.” I grimaced at my lightweight entry into the gay talk. Beau smiled curiously and hummed his quiet agreement.
Anthony was at the pier gate, waving. He grabbed the boys and rubbed their faces as the three of them twirled into excitement for the adventure ahead. Nervous, but safe knowing him, the mini men climbed on board the yacht.
We waved at the Manly ferries, we waved at other yachts as they sailed past and then it was time for lunch in front of the zoo. I had channelled Charlotte for the day and christened the large picnic basket with enough food to sink, er, perhaps another ship.
The boat bobbed up and around, undulating in the emerald waters lined by the sunny sandstone on this crisp autumn afternoon. A few beers over lunch, large handmade rolls and a quick dip in the water with Beau was only enhanced by
Beau doing his little happy dance to the thrill of another boat who mimicked him gently, clapping his bravado.
On the journey home as the sky dimmed, the men gave kisses and cuddles to their captain and I gave him a kiss goodbye.
“See you next week?” he smiled.
“Sure, see you then Captain.”
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