by
Mark 'Ponyboy' Peters
Chapter Forty-Six
'Cásate conmigo’
The de Silva home was located on the south side of town, in a suburban subdivision that had been established sometime in the nineteen-seventies. There were some very old homes scattered around, including a massive, old, brick mansion set amongst Golden Pines, which had once been an orphanage, though most of the other older homes were remnants of what had once been a farming area. For the most part the remaining homes in the area now were built in the seventies and eighties, in all manner of shapes and styles.
There were well developed gardens around the majority of homes, so in many cases it was actually difficult to see what the homes were like. Not so the de Silva house though. It was a neat brick home in a quiet street, and most likely one of the later homes built. The longer-established homes were higher up on South Hill than Raffa’s place was, and I always enjoyed checking them out when we would go out walking, which was usually early most mornings.
Walking was one of those things that Raffa had been ordered to do almost five years ago while he was recovering from the accident. I began accompanying him then, as he first started hobbling up and down the street. But gradually he started improving and we started venturing further from our garage home, soon doing laps around their entire block, before then making it around two blocks, then three blocks, until eventually we were walking around five kilometres a day. And we are still following that routine today.
As a result we were both as fit as we had ever been, and were in good shape, which was particularly useful when working out together in bed . . . another part of our strict exercise regime, and of course, the most fun part.
It also helped that my job was quite a physical one, requiring quite a lot of lifting and stacking of boxes of stock, wooden pallets, shop fittings and anything else that needed to be moved or received through the loading dock at the store where we both worked. Raffa’s job didn’t entail quite as much physical work, as he had been given an administrative office job upon his return to work almost five years ago, which he was still carrying out now. He had moved up in the world since then, however, and was now the Office Manager, while I was the Stockroom Manager. I have been doing that role pretty much since Mike, my old boss, had left, but it had taken a while before I got the official title, and the salary to go with it.
We were doing okay, though. We both had great jobs, we lived in a great town, and we had the support of our family and friends and everyone we worked with. Life was good, but for me at least there was something I felt was missing, something that I’ve wanted to broach with Raffa for a little while now, especially given the upcoming anniversary of our getting together. And I couldn’t think of a better time to bring it up, or at least start the ball rolling.
So, early one Monday morning while we were out walking, before needing to ready ourselves for work, we were powering our way along Lynch’s Road, after having climbed the hill near the cemetery. I girded myself to ask a question that had been on my mind lately.
‘Hey, slow down a bit,’ I said to him.
‘What’s wrong? Old man can’t keep up any more?’
‘Fuck you! You’re older than me, asshole!’ I replied. He just laughed at me.
‘What’s up, then?’ he asked, having slowed down a little.
I took his hand and we kept walking, oblivious to any stares we might receive. We were well known in the neighbourhood now and even if we were seen holding hands, nobody seemed to care. Even the local paperboy was used to us now and always gave us a smile and a wave. Occasionally we might attract a stare, but nothing ever came of it, which is exactly how it should be for guys like us.
‘You know what’s coming up, don’t you?’ I innocently asked him.
‘Coming up? What do you mean? Like some event or something?’
‘You could call it that.’
Judging by the expression I received, he had no idea what I was talking about.
‘Right. Well, if I must spell it out then . . . how long have we been together?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. It’s . . . holy shit, it’s almost our fifth anniversary. Five years since all that shit happened to us! Five years since Mike and he-who-shall-not-be-named brought us together!’
‘Exactly. And there I was thinking you’d be totally clueless!’
‘Fuck you!’ he responded.
‘Maybe later?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ he teased. ‘But first, we should do something . . . you know, about the anniversary.’
‘Exactly what I was thinking. What do you suggest? I want to throw a party . . . or something.’
‘That could work. Where? Do you think your folks would let us have it there? I mean, their back yard would be so much better, don’t you think?’
‘So you’re keen then?’
‘Oh, abso-fucking-lutely! It’s going to be epic!’ he replied, as he stopped me and pulled me in for a hug.
It looked like my plan was going to come to fruition. Or at least the start of it was.
Digging my phone from my pocket I quickly dialled my mother’s number, while Raffa clung to my arm. She answered on the second ring, then I pressed the speaker button.
‘Hey, sweetheart. To what do I owe the pleasure at this hour of the morning?’
‘Good morning, ma. We have a favour to ask. Can we have a party at your house? And can you help us plan it? Pretty please?’
‘What sort of party?’ she asked, sounding guarded.
‘An anniversary party. It’s almost been five years since Raffa and I got together, so we thought . . .’
I didn’t get to finish the sentence, as the excited reply from my mother cut me off.
‘Of course you can have a party . . . When were you thinking of having it . . . How many coming . . .’ and on and on it went.
‘Geez, mum. Give us a break. We only just thought up the idea!’
‘Well, don’t waste any time . . . start thinking about it. I’ll let dad and the others know. Have you mentioned it to Raffa’s parents yet?’
‘Not yet, Mrs P,’ Raffa replied. ‘We haven’t had a chance.’
‘Okay, just leave it to me,’ my mother quickly decreed, before immediately disconnecting.
Raffa looked at the phone in my hand, then at me, before asking, ‘What the fuck just happened?’
‘Never get in the way of my mother and a party,’ I replied, with a laugh. ‘It’ll be sorted by dinner time tonight . . . or at least most of it will.’
‘And what does that mean?’ Raffa asked, as he eyed me suspiciously.
‘Nothing at all,’ I innocently answered. ‘Just a figure of speech.’
* * *
As the day wore on at work I took several calls from my mother, and had several chats with Raffa, with plans for the big night quickly starting to take shape. I also had a quiet chat with one of our workmates, George, a cute Greek guy whose side-hustle was operating as a DJ on weekends, and once we gave him the date on which we had settled he was able to confirm he was our man, and happy to provide the music for us.
‘Just not too loud,’ mum had asked us. ‘We don’t want to upset the neighbours.’
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that once the party started to get going there would be no holding back. I would make sure that the neighbours knew all about it though, and reassure them that it wouldn’t get out of hand, even if that was something I already knew couldn’t be promised.
The next most pressing item on the agenda, and that mum wanted to know about, was the guest list. I told her I would have it to her soon, although there were some invitations that I specifically did want to deliver personally, which included some of our workmates and others whom I thought needed to be there. I wanted this party to be special, as the fact that Raffa and I had made it this far really needed to be celebrated, as far as I was concerned. I wanted this night to be perfect.
At the end of the week, with everything falling into place, I decided it was finally time to let Raffa in on the plans that I had been holding back on. I wasn’t sure if he suspected anything, as he hadn’t been needling me with questions like he normally did, so he was totally unprepared when after work on the Friday we arrived home to the shared garage we called our home and I told him we needed to shower and get dressed, as I had made reservations.
‘You what?’
‘Dinner. At a restaurant. Like, a date. Can you handle that?’
‘What for?’
‘It’s close enough to our anniversary, so fuck it, we’ll have some us time before we have the party. Oh yeah, you might also want to bring your overnight bag, because we’re going to Treetops Resort.’
‘What the fuck are you up to, Grayson Porter?’ he demanded to know.
‘Can’t I show my man some lovin’ without all these questions? Now shake your booty and hit the shower . . . and there’s no hanky-panky until after dinner, you got that?’
‘Loud and clear,’ he replied, as he quickly started stripping.
* * *
Treetops was an eco-resort located in the mountains about an hour from town, with spectacular views over rugged mountains and gorges. They provided accommodation and conference facilities, had an award winning restaurant, and a lake filled with trout, which could be fished in the right season. There were also walking trails through the surrounding bush and campsites, so just about everyone was catered for.
I had been here once when I was in school and I was looking forward to revisiting the place, as I figured it was the most romantic getaway spot that was available close to home.
As we drove through the front gateway, just on dark, Raffa reached across and took hold of my hand, which was resting on the gear shift.
‘I don’t know why you’ve done this, but thank you. It’s beautiful.’
We were driving around the lake and could see the lights of the conference centre and restaurant being reflected in the dark waters.
‘Who needs a reason?’ I replied. ‘Can’t I just do something because I love and appreciate you?’
‘Babe, you can do stuff like this anytime you want.’
‘And I might just do that!’
There were already a number of cars in the car park when we pulled up near the reception area, so I pulled into the parking space closest to the sign that said Reception, and switched off the engine, before opening the car door. We were immediately assaulted by the cool of the evening and the fragrances of the native bush.
‘Come on. Let’s check in and then hit the restaurant. I’m starved,’ I said.
‘Right behind you, babe. Let’s do this.’
I smiled at him. If only he knew just what it was that I intended for us to do this weekend.
A pleasant young Asian woman greeted us when we entered reception and quickly had us signed in and in possession of a key to a bungalow. Then a few minutes later we were pulling up outside the front door of cabin number six.
Raffa raised his eyes at that.
‘Our own cabin?’
‘Didn’t want the neighbours to be disturbed by your screams of ecstasy if we’d have just been in one of the regular rooms.’
‘Good thinking!’
‘I think of everything,’ I replied. ‘Now, let’s get our gear inside.’
After opening the cabin door it didn’t take us long to get things squared away, then we were soon headed for the restaurant along a white gravel path, hand in hand.
‘You think they’ll worry about this?’ he asked as he swung our hands up in front of us.
‘Not if they want my money,’ I answered, just as we stopped at the main doorway to the restaurant, where we were soon greeted by a waiter, dressed all in black.
‘Do you have a reservation?’ we were asked.
‘Yes, in the name of Porter,’ I replied.
After briefly consulting the book in front of him he said, ‘Ahhh, yes. We have you on the Lakeside Deck. Please follow me.’
I glanced at Raffa, who was grinning. I had a pretty fair idea there would be some impure thoughts running through his head right now as we followed our waiter through the half-filled restaurant and out onto a wide deck which looked out over the lake. Once again we could see light being reflected from the various buildings and roadway lights opposite, and we were soon seated at a large timber table, on which several candles were burning. I could smell citronella.
For some reason we were the only people out on the deck area,
‘Can I get you any drinks to start with?’ we were asked.
‘Two of your finest craft beers please,’ I asked. We weren’t really wine drinkers, except for special occasions, and while this night may soon warrant that status, I didn’t want to jump the gun just yet.
Once the waiter had left us I reached across the table and took Raffa’s hand in mine.
‘I know you’re up to something,’ he said to me.
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Oh, let’s see. There’s this party thing. Then there’s this romantic weekend thing. So, what else are you hiding up your sleeve?’
I grinned at him. ‘Okay, you got me,’ I said.
‘I knew it! Now spill!’
‘Have you ever been here before?’ I asked him.
‘Quit stalling!’
‘It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘What I said last time!’
‘A great place for a romantic getaway. Last time I was here was on a school trip. Not much romance that time, let me tell you!’
‘You’re starting to piss me off, Grayson Richard Porter!’
I knew I was in trouble now. He used my whole name . . . just like mum would do!’
Just then I was saved by the bell, however, as our waiter returned with two schooners of beer and a serving tray of warm, sweet-smelling, fresh breads for us.
‘Thank you,’ I said to him, as Raffa’s eyes continued to bore into me.
Once the waiter had left us I glanced back at Raffa, finding him staring at me intently. I reached across and once more took hold of both his hands.
‘Okay, you got me,’ I said again.
‘Yeah, I think we’ve already established that.’
‘Right. So, first things first. You already know I love you unconditionally, right? I have never been happier than I am right now, here with you . . . even if you are throwing a little tanty! Not that I can blame you entirely for that.’
‘I think it’s thoroughly deserved, I would say.’
‘Totally agreed, old chap. So, I want you to answer something for me . . .’
‘Which is?’ he asked.
‘Are you happy? Do I make you happy?’
‘Don’t you already know the answer to that? It’s yes, by the way, unless you happen to be pulling pranks like this one.’
I grinned at him and he returned it in spades.
‘So, now that we’ve established that, I want you to know that I don’t ever want to leave you, or have you leave me,’ I said, as I let go of one of his hands and then reached into my pants pocket.
‘What? What are you doing?’
Holding out a small leather bag with a red draw-string in my palm I took hold of his hand and pulled it towards me, palm up, then tipping the small bag upside down I emptied the contents onto his palm, much to his astonishment.
A simple golden ring fell into his hand.
‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this really . . . but Rafael Philip de Silva, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my husband?’ I asked. ‘How do you say forever in Spanish?’
‘What?’ he yelled in surprise, loud enough for heads inside the restaurant, which we could see through massive glass windows, turn our way. I could also see our waiter scurrying for the doorway.
By the time the waiter reached us I was down on one knee, as I figured that’s what I needed to . . . you know, to do it right. This stopped the waiter in his tracks and I saw a huge smile come over his face as he started to back away, then return to the restaurant.
Raffa was on his feet now and dragging me up to join him, soon hugging me and kissing me and crying.
Once back inside I heard the waiter say something to the other diners, but wasn’t sure what it was, then moments later the room was filled with cheers and clapping, and the occasional wolf-whistle, much to our embarrassment. We turned our heads to look inside and could see all their smiling faces.
A couple of people held up their glass to toast us, but I needed to turn back to Raffa.
‘You haven’t given me an answer yet,’ I whispered.
‘What? You dumbass! Of course I’ll marry you. Who else would I want to marry?’
I hugged him to me and kissed him.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered.
‘We need to call our folks,’ he quickly exclaimed, while pulling his phone from his pocket.
‘No!’ I said firmly, as I snatched it from him.
‘What? What do you mean, no? We have to!’
‘Not yet! That’s the next part of my cunning plan, if you’ll just let me explain it to you?’
‘This better be fuckin’ good!’ he said, sounding slightly pissed.
‘Please just hear me out, okay?’
* * *
Over our meal, and fortified by a few more excellent, locally-brewed, craft beers, a couple of rounds of which were dispatched to us by some of the other diners to say their congratulations, I laid out everything that I’d had in mind.
I said that the whole idea for the party was something of a ruse. Initially I had hoped that after I had popped the question, and assuming that the response was a yes, then it might serve as an excellent opportunity for it to become an engagement party of sorts. But then I thought, why not go one better, and if all our family and friends are already in attendance, then why not get married, right then and there?
I’d heard of it being done before and kind of liked the idea, so that’s what I had wanted to put to Raffa.
‘We have to keep it quiet though,’ I insisted.
‘I want Leandro to be my best man,’ Raffa said.
‘And I want Olly to be mine.’
‘So we’ll have to get them onside,’ Raffa said.
‘So does that mean . . .’
‘I . . . I’m not sure yet.’
‘Okay. Fair enough. Do you think we can trust them?’
‘And who would do the honours . . . I mean, I don’t think our family priest is too keen on gay marriages . . . I’ve heard his sermons.’
‘I don’t have a family priest . . . but I did find a marriage celebrant in the Yellow Pages and I’ve already spoken with her . . .’
‘You what? Fuck, you were that sure of yourself?’
‘No babe, I was just trying to put a plan together and cover all the bases.’
‘And what other bases have you already got covered?’
‘So far, that’s about it. Mum and my sister, and maybe your mum too, will handle catering . . . for the party. George from work will do the music and drive mum and dad’s neighbours insane. We tee up our brothers, with strictest instructions, of course. Apart from all our rellies that we know and see often enough, we’ll need to add a few other people to the guest list, but I’ve already told mum there’s a few from work I wanted to invite . . .’
‘Like who?’
‘Definitely Mrs Mack and her husband. She’s been there for us from day one!’
‘Hell yeah.’
‘Bryan and Chase fall under the family list I think. Hoppy and Nate are already on the friends list. And I’d like to send Mike a message . . . just on the off chance he still has that same phone number. Even if he doesn’t come, I’d still like him to know.’
‘Okay, I wouldn’t argue with that.’
‘And we can tell everyone that the celebrant lady is also a friend from work. They’ll be bound to ask.’
‘Okay. Just so long as Mrs Mack doesn’t twig.’
‘So . . . what do you think? Are you in?’
‘Can you let me sleep on it?’
‘Honey, you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. That’s one thing I can promise you!’
To be continued . . .
Authors Note:
Hi there. It has been a while since I have posted anything new on Nifty. I guess life gets in the way sometimes.
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