Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 19. GMA XIX

“What are we listening to?” Tyler Scott ran his eyes and a finger down the wine bottle’s label. “Trader Joe’s Charles Shaw Blend 2017 Pinot Grigio. And why are we drinking Two Buck Chuck?”

“Here, Ty.” Owen handed the man a different, nearly empty bottle and a glass. “Don’t you know Chef CJ doesn’t like to be distracted while cooking?”

“Asshole!” CJ was happy. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving meant he and Owen had their cousins and their spouses at their apartment. The rest of the family was at Abuela’s, but the three younger Abellós declined the invitation to join them. “That’s Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring.”

“Mate, your cousin always plays an artist’s music to death after we go to a concert. Saturday night we were at the Kennedy Center for a performance by the National Symphony Orchestra, and he’s been playing classical music all week.” Owen opened a fresh bottle after Randy slid the now empty one aside. “And don’t knock Two Buck Chuck. Considering it’s three dollars a bottle, the stuff’s okay. We use it a lot for cooking. Not so much for drinking. The flavor notes are kinda mundane.”

Taisha had been looking at the wall where the guys hung favorite pictures, nursing her own glass of wine. “I guess the one with the sharks’ the most recent one?”

Owen refilled her empty wine glass. “For now. We have one from a GU party and the one we took with Bezos at the HRC National Dinner. We need to hang them.”

“So, what are you making, cuz?” Randy stared at CJ while resting his chin atop his own husband’s head. “What’s the wine for?”

“Veal scaloppini. The recipe calls for chicken broth, but I’m replacing most of that with vino.”

“Damn! You’re such a doodie.”

“Are you calling me a shit?” CJ’s smirk and raised eyebrow drew chuckles.

“Nah… A doodie’s a dude who’s a foodie. Silas called Ty that one time when he was cooking, and I appropriated the word.”

“Speaking of Silas, how come he didn’t want to come over tonight? Isn’t he going to work on our house? I thought he’d want to be here for our discussion.”

“The kid loves Cuban food, and we don’t get to eat it that often in Chicago. His part in all this won’t really kick in until we settle on structural changes anyway. Ty and I will give him a summary of whatever we decide. We’re all having breakfast together, right? He’ll be there to help describe the plans for the basement.”

“That’s a perfect lead-in.” Rod opened the notebook he had placed on the counter. “I’m ready to take notes. Since the Germans decided to vacate the house early when you wouldn’t extend their lease, we can start some serious planning. I have a few questions to get us started.”

“Ask away, mate. CJ and I have been talking about this on and off for almost two years.”

“Let’s start with what we know. Ozzie wants a Tesla solar-tile roof. That means—”

“How much is that gonna cost us?” CJ wielded the knife in his hand as a pointer.

“Ahhh, we haven’t really priced it yet.”

“What? Come on, cuz. You’re slacking. How are we supposed to approve things if we don’t know the price? You think Ozzie and I are made of money?”

“Yes!” The reply was simultaneous by the cousins and their spouses.

An amused CJ shook his head. “Assholes!” Even when the discussion revolved around a serious matter, levity remained within reach.

“Mate, we want to do this right, and we’re willing to spend money. That doesn’t mean we don’t want a budget. Remember I work for a non-profit. I get paid shit.”

“Cry me a river. You’ll get one, Ozzie. In time. But we talked about the roof and the new HVAC a long time ago. Considering we’re dealing with fairly new technology, it didn’t make sense to cost it out until we were close to starting. Uncle Brett won’t let us overspend anyway.”

Although Brett would not be involved in the day-to-day details, CJ knew he and Owen were in good hands with Third Line Development serving as the project’s coordinator. “True dat. Carry on, cuz.”

“Crap, you guys are gonna be tough clients, aren’t you? Anyway, Silas, Ty, and Randy have preliminary drawings for the basement. Since we plan to review those tomorrow, we’ll skip that part of the house tonight. I know you said you wanted Ozzie to make all the decisions about the wine cellar, and they’ve all talked about it.” Rod paused to sip his wine. “We know we have lead paint, so our first project will be abatement. Taisha handles a lot of the permitting for us, and she’ll get started this coming week.” The man sought confirmation from his wife; she satisfied him with a nod. “That’s all going to be a pain. With your place on the National Register of Historic Places, we’ll have more hoops to jump through than usual.”

“What else do you want to know?” A smile lit up Owen’s face when CJ had him taste the sauce. “That’s brilliant!”

“Top priorities after what we already have. From both of you.”

“We can discuss those while we eat.” CJ poured the skillet’s contents over a platter of cooked veal cutlets. He carried the pot to the sink, drained the angel hair pasta, poured it into a bowl, and sprinkled fresh, chopped parsley over it. “Okay, boys and girl. Help yourselves. There’s salad and grated Parmesan on the coffee table already. You know the drill. Fill your plates and plop your ass down on a floor cushion or the couch.”

Owen stepped over to the beverage refrigerator by the wall unit. “I’ll open another bottle.”

Silence reigned while everyone took an initial bite, then the compliments poured forth, starting with Taisha’s. “Ozzie, you’re gonna get fat if he cooks like this all the time. This rocks.”

“Nah. We generally eat light and healthy at home. Tonight’s special because you guys are here.”

“That’s it, Oz. Butter them up so we can get what we want.” CJ’s joke was mostly ignored; a couple of smirks popped up while everyone savored the meal. “So, Rod, next top priority for me is automation. I want a smart house.”

“How smart? Elementary school or college?”

CJ wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Cute, cuz. Alexa, lower living room window blinds.” Everyone seemed disappointed when nothing happened. “Doctorate degree smart. I wanna be able to do that kind of stuff everywhere in the house. It didn’t work here ’cause all we have is regular old blinds. And I want to be able to do as much as possible from my phone or tablet.”

Rod exchanged the fork in his hand for a pen and scribbled in his notebook. “We’ll have to bring in a subcontractor for that. They may need to do some hard wiring, but I think most of that can be accomplished through Bluetooth these days. What do you want to be able to control?”

“Lights and sound, heating and cooling, blinds and drapes, door locks and security cameras. I also want it to—”

“You also want it to wipe your butt when you go to the bathroom?”

“Shut it, Randy.” CJ could not contain the chuckle. “I swear. I don’t know why you’re involved in this. What do you bring to the table?”

“Ohhh, bring to the table… Is that how you diplomat types talk? I bring my good looks and my architectural savvy. You need me, cuz.”

“I get it, CJ.” Rod ignored his brother, made another notation, and returned his attention to the meal. “I’ll do a little reading, and once I pick a specialist, we’ll all meet. It sounds like you’ll have a big exposure to hacking and need lots of computer power. Are you guys considering a private server to tighten security?”

“NO!”

CJ’s quick and emphatic response made Owen laugh. “Are you nuts? You think he didn’t learn anything from all the time he spent with the Clintons?”

“How could I forget politics?” The eye rolling was not limited to Rod. “What about you, Ozzie? What else do you want aside from the solar roof and wine cellar?”

“A green house.”

“To grow veggies in?”

“No, you wanker. A green house, as in an environment-friendly place.”

“How green?”

“As green as possible. Highest possible LEED certification.” Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design, a third-party construction certification developed by the U.S. Green Building Council was the most widely used building rating system in the world.

Rod paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, we’ll have to figure out how we get there. But I want the house to be as eco-friendly as possible. Recycled materials, sustainable products, energy efficient appliances…”

“I have a question for all of you.” Taisha had been uncharacteristically quiet. “You spent over two million on the house, and it sounds like you’re going to spend a lot more. Isn’t owning the most expensive house on the block considered a no-no?”

“Somebody has to.” CJ’s flippant retort earned him a hard glare from the woman.

Tyler intervened in time to save his cousin from a tongue-lashing. “I think that’s because most people are already thinking of selling when they buy, T. I don’t believe that’s the case with these two. Sounds to me as if they have a completely different frame of mind.”

“Got it in one, Ty. Ozzie and I want a family. We want to raise our kids in that house. And one day we would like to have grandchildren running around.” CJ shrugged his shoulders. “Look, I know all that’s way, way off in the future. Hell, it may never happen. But both of us value family and hope the place’s always full of relatives and friends. Just like my dads’ townhouse.”

“My turn to ask a question.” Randy reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass. “Do you guys have at least an idea of how much you’re willing to spend?”

During the subsequent momentary silence, CJ and Owen exchanged glances. The Australian waved a hand at his husband, giving him the go-ahead to reply. CJ’s reply was tentative. “About a million?”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Damn skippy.”

“There goes the piggy bank.”

“There goes your birthday present next year.”

“Y’all done?” The reactions amused CJ. “That’s just a number we pulled out of thin air. We discussed it with the dads. You people know they financed the house for us. Since we bought it, our access to my trust fund increased. Money wouldn’t be an issue, but the dads said they would finance the renovations anyway. Once we have it nailed down, they’ll modify the loan.”

Rod seamlessly steered the conversation back to the environmental certification. “Back to the green house. My exposure to LEED’s been limited to new construction, Ozzie. One issue I can foresee is the windows. If we want maximum energy conservation, we’ll need triple glazed ones. Those are expensive to begin with. Since we can’t change the exterior because of the historical designation, we’ll need to order custom ones. That means more money and time. Not like we can go to Home Depot and buy standard sizes.”

“Do we have measurements?” Owen tried to refill his wine glass, but the bottle was empty. “We need more. Anyone want anything while I’m up?” Headshakes all around was the response.

“Gray might have them,” Tyler said. “He’s the one who gave us the basement’s measurements for us to work out the wine cellar’s design.”

Rod scribbled in his notebook again. “I’ll check with him when we’re back in the office on Monday.”

Gray Young began working for Third Line Development’s primary contractor on the company’s first project. Since then, he had earned his license. He now ran his own crew, supervised projects, and had been tapped to lead the house-remodeling project.

“I have a question about the wine cellar.” Taisha focused her attention on Randy and Tyler.

“Shoot,” Randy said.

“There’s obviously going to be a lot of storage. Is all that off-the-rack or custom?”

“Most likely a combination. If we can find the right supplier, using standard systems will save us time and money. But there’s stuff we’ll need to build to the project. Why do you ask?”

“I read an article a while back about a Baltimore company that you may find interesting. There’ve been reports on TV and the newspaper about the city planning to demolish thousands of abandoned, dilapidated row houses. Part of their effort to diminish crime.” The opening comment captured the men’s attention. “Knowing what CJ’s involved in with the vets, I think this might be right up his alley.

“The Forest Service launched a matchmaking effort to connect non-profits employing former prisoners who deconstruct abandoned buildings in big cities with private companies looking for reclaimed lumber. I forget the number, but tons of old wood end up in landfills every year. There’s a high-end furniture company that buys most of the old floors and walls coming out of Baltimore.

“If you guys end up having a carpenter build some of the cabinetry, I could make a few phone calls. Maybe we can get our hands on some of that wood. I think it’d be cool to say the new stuff’s as old as the original house.”

“I love it!” CJ’s excitement was palpable. “The effort to rehabilitate prisoners might be up my alley, but I’m sure Ozzie loves the idea of less going to landfills. Hey! I have an idea. We’re gonna end up moving some walls, and that would mean having to patch or replace floors. Right?” Since he was the historical restoration expert, CJ aimed the question at Tyler, who nodded. “So, what if we get in touch with whatever non-profit coordinates the program and hire them? They can send their workers in to remove whatever we plan to replace.” He paused to assess the reaction and was encouraged by the apparent agreement.

As usual, Randy could not resist an opening. “So, you want a bunch of sweaty ex-cons running around your house working with wood? Sounds like great porn in the making.”

“Asshole! We may need to find a cabinetmaker willing to work with the reclaimed stuff…”

 

The following morning, CJ was surprised when he stopped the Tesla in front of his fathers’ home. He and Owen had texted Silas, asking him to wait outside for them. Randy and Tyler were staying at Rod and Taisha’s place while their son took over one of the basement bedrooms at the townhouse. Ricardo Abelló stood next to his grandson with an arm draped over the teen’s shoulders and climbed inside the car after the youngster did.

“Hey, Uncle Rico, what you doing?”

“What does it look like?” The man studied the interior of the car and smiled. “I’ve never ridden in one of these before, and I decided I wanted to have breakfast with the boys. Either my mother or my wife would find something for me to do if I stayed behind.”

Owen sounded confused. “What do you mean? There’s nothing to do. The entire meal’s catered.”

“You obviously don’t know the Abelló women that well, Ozzie. They would find something. Anyway, Randy, Ty, and Silas have kept the details of what they’ve been working on for you away from me. I want to see what my kids designed.”

“Umm, it’s only the wine cellar.” CJ made the turn on Wisconsin Avenue and headed north toward the Takoma neighborhood.

“More the reason for me to check out the plans. We’ve never done more than a tiny closet for wine storage. From what I heard, this is on a whole different scale.” Ricardo Martín Abelló was over ten years older than his brother, César. Rico met his wife while in college, and after their wedding settled in her hometown of Chicago. With financial assistance from his father, he founded Second Line Restoration; the company flourished and was well regarded for their meticulous work on historical structures.

“Mate, if you really want to see a top-notch one, you and Lynne should visit Australia. My parents would welcome you. The Liston Winery cellar would knock your socks off.”

“Maybe next year. Your parents did invite us to visit when we met them at the wedding.”

Taisha refused to join the men for breakfast. She claimed she had enough of the Abelló boys’ banter the previous evening. There was a lively discussion at the breakfast table while the men scrutinized the design. In the end, they tweaked a few details; the primary ones being there would be an effort to use wood reclaimed during demolition and biometric access to prevent pilfering by guests or teenagers.

It was around lunchtime when they all returned to Georgetown and crowded the basement to munch on snacks and watch football.

 

“Hey, Legless.” The smack to the back of his head made CJ stumble. Who knew his aunt had such strength? “Ouch!”

Lynne was not finished with him. “How dare you poke fun at a war hero? Shame on you, CJ. I thought I knew you better than that.”

Brad Kennedy leaned on his cane to prevent his own stumble. The hearty laughter confused the Chicago woman. “You should see your face, Mrs. Abelló. Your surprised expression matches CJ’s.”

The elevator’s noise had alerted everyone in the basement someone was joining them; CJ had been certain it was Brad. He had his own key, so he could come and go at will. “Dude! You’re wearing your legs. That’s awesome!”

Brad had been fitted with artificial limbs recently and was still getting accustomed to them. His gait was awkward, and he tired quickly but claimed it was getting easier. “Yeah… I thought it might be a little crowded over here to maneuver the wheels around. About him calling me Legless, Mrs. Abelló—”

“Please, Brad. It’s Lynne. How long have we known each other for?”

“Thank you. Lynne it is. Anyway, Legless has become my new nickname, and I’m fine with it. It’s descriptive since I lost them. And since it was CJ who first called me that, I have to put up with it. He’s my brother. I’ve called him worse.”

Fudge packer was what he often used in private. “Come on, Red. Come sit on the couch. You want wine, beer, or something harder?”

“What’s the wine? Liston?” Brad had succumbed to the spell Owen wove amongst their friends—most all Squad members had become wine enthusiasts.

“None open, but we can crack one if that’s what you want. Most of us are drinking something from Australia, though.” Owen raised his flute, twirling the liquid inside, allowing the light to reflect off the pink wine. “Ninth Island Sparkling Rosé from Tasmania. Wanna taste?”

“Nah, not in the mood for bubbly. I’ll take one of César’s Dos Equis Amber.”

In the late afternoon, everyone moved upstairs for dinner. The sun set early and by the time they were ready for dessert the sky was dark, streetlights were on, and the stray pedestrian outside the floor-to-ceiling front windows could be seen scurrying around bundled up against the cold.

“If we could have everyone’s attention…” All eyes turned toward Owen and CJ standing behind the kitchen peninsula. “CJ and I have something we’d like to share with you lot.”

“Let’s make sure everyone has some bubbly. Ozzie and I would like to propose a few toasts.” Both men held full flutes. “This is your chance, Ritchie. I’m lifting all limits.”

“HEY!”

“Relax, Captain. We know what we’re doing.”

“I sure as shit hope so.”

“Shut up, Jarhead.” César grasped his husband’s arm when Brett made to rise. “Let it play out.”

“Thanks, Dad.” CJ unfolded a piece of paper he retrieved from his back pocket. “The first one is to all of you. Our family and friends who’ve loved us and supported us. Who’ve stood by us in good and not-so-good times. We’ll never be able to repay you. Salud!”

As they lowered their glasses, CJ winked at Owen. “You’re on, Oz.”

“Our second toast is to the armed forces, to the veterans amongst us, and particularly to our brother, Brad. We love you, mate. And even though you’re battered, what matters is you’re still with us. You’re alive and kicking.” The line elicited chuckles from the injured Army Ranger and a few others. “Thank you for your service to our country.” Owen barely wet his lips before adding, “Yes I said our country. One of these days I’ll be an American citizen, and I can’t wait.”

“Okay, our final one requires a little explanation.” CJ nervously fidgeted with the piece of paper in his hands. “Dads, what do you think about becoming grandparents?”

“You getting a fur baby to keep Wingnut company?” Brett’s mention of his name made Ritchie’s golden retriever raise his head, but it was not enough for him to abandon his rawhide bone or the spot in front of the fireplace.

“Shut up, Jarhead.”

“Fur baby, Papa? You anthropomorphizing puppies now?”

“Quarter word!”

“Shut up, Ritchie.”

CJ thought César sounded like a broken record. However, his dad had a glint in his eyes.

“In vitro or adoption?” César’s question lit a fire of comprehension amongst the group; comments and questions flew around the room so fast it was impossible to understand what anyone said.

Eventually, when neither CJ nor Owen uttered a word, everyone quieted down. “Okay, you all know Owen’s sister Liz died a little over two years ago. We had a long conversation with her the day before she left us, and we’ve never shared what was said at the time.” CJ took the napkin his husband offered and wiped a couple of stray tears the same way Owen had.

CJ passed the sheet he held over to his husband; Owen glanced at it, raised his eyes, and a sad smile formed on his face. “I guess I get to read this. My sister was weak and in pain the last time we visited with her. Although we spent some serious time together, the conversation wasn’t really that long. But she knew what she wanted and gave us a letter with all the details. She ended it with a poem I’d like to share with you.”

Silence permeated the room. Not a word was spoken; the only sound the crackling of the burning logs in the fireplace. Owen cleared his throat and read the four lines they had printed earlier in the day:

“And when I die
and when I'm dead, dead and gone,
There'll be one child born and
a world to carry on, to carry on.”

“That’s not a poem. It’s a song. ‘And When I Die’ by Blood, Sweat and Tears.”

“Shut the fucking fuck up, Jarhead.” César’s outburst broke the spell, and everyone spoke at the same time once again.

When the muttering died down, CJ raised his glass. “So, we’d like to propose a toast to Liz. We want to thank her for leaving us the eggs she had frozen during her first bout with cancer. It’s taken some time, and we had a couple of setbacks, but we’re pregnant.”

Pandemonium ensued. CJ and Owen once again remained quiet but endured the hugs and kisses rained on them with smiles. Glasses were drained, more bottles were uncorked, and the toasting lingered after everyone reclaimed their seats.

“I think I can answer most of the questions you’ve shouted out real quick.” Owen smiled at the grandmothers as both wiped rivulets of tears and at Brett as he blew his nose. “My Mum was in on it. It’s Friday morning in Australia, and she was supposed to tell everyone about it over breakfast. CJ and I have kept our phones off, and I suspect there’ll be a large number of calls and messages waiting for us. Our friend Gina Nichols is our surrogate, and she’s due sometime in late April.”

CJ picked up the narrative. “On this side of the world, our brother, Ethan, and our friends, Chatri and Helen, are aware of what’s going on. They helped us navigate through a multitude of legal and medical issues. Ritchie knew we were trying but not how far along we were.”

“My dear brother-in-law found out over the summer when he was part of a conversation we had in Miami after battling sharks.” The seamless transitions between the couple almost sounded rehearsed. “The conversation was with Aba. She’s agreed to move to Washington next spring and serve as nanny to her first great-grandchild.”

 

“I swear the two of you won’t quit until you convince me I’m old. A grandfather? At thirty-seven?” Brett wagged a finger at CJ and Owen.

Rapidly declining temperatures forecast to dip below freezing overnight did not deter the family from gathering, covered in coats, quilts, and blankets, around the fire pit in the side yard.

“Dude, quit bitching. I’m like sooo in my happy place right now. Don’t mess with it.” CJ exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke and rolled the Cuban cigar between his fingers.

Surprised expressions and shrugged shoulders greeted the sound of a car navigating the driveway on the house’s other side. CJ voiced everyone’s thought. “Are we expecting anyone?”

“Not us.” César waved his cigar to indicate him and Brett.

“We’re not either.” Tom glanced at JP for confirmation.

Tank’s voice cleared the mystery. “Where are my daddies?” Their friend was followed by another one of Owen’s Scandals Rugby Football Club teammates. A few of the team members had organized a potluck meal for those with no nearby family. “And why have you been ignoring texts and phone calls?”

“Hey, Tank!” CJ stood to greet the man. “Sorry, our phones were turned off when we sat to eat. How the hell did you already hear the news?”

“Harley. Brace yourselves for tons of messages when you turn them back on. The Squad’s been going nuts. So is it true? Are you guys gonna have a kid?”

“Harley?” CJ and Owen asked at the same time while staring at a guilty-looking Ritchie.

“Sorry… I texted Lucy, and she said she was going to tell him.” Lucy Wilkinson was Ritchie’s girlfriend and Harley’s sister.

“Join us, guys. We’re celebrating. Either one of you want a little brandy?” César’s offer was accepted with nods; Ritchie was sent inside to fetch two additional snifters. “So yeah, Brett and I are going to be grandfathers.”

“That’s awesome! Congratulations. So, am I gonna be an uncle or an aunt?”

“Damn, son. You’re going to be the most muscular aunt ever.” CJ could not stop chuckling. “Actually, we’re not telling yet. We found out when they did tests to screen for a few things, but we don’t want to jinx anything.”

Tank’s gaze swept the gathering until it rested on Sebastián. “Thank you for the kind words last night at the restaurant, sir.”

“Bah, nothing to it. It seems my grandsons”—the man waved his cigar in CJ and Owen’s direction—“managed to solve the little difficulty you had with Al.” Alvaro Diaz was the chef and majority owner of Abuela’s, the restaurant Sebastián held an ownership interest in with CJ. “He was so scared of losing his business; he came clean with his father. I had to speak to him about his son being bisexual, but he was more worried about the sexual harassment. I think he talked some sense into the kid.”

“Like I mentioned to CJ and Ozzie before and to you last night, it’s been great. Al’s gone out of his way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. New employees get verbal and written rules about what’s acceptable and what’s not.”

CJ leaned over and pecked his husband’s cheek. “You done good, Oz.”

“The two of you make a good team.” César’s pride in his son and son-in-law was unmistakable. “I have a question about the baby. How come you decided to do it now instead of waiting until you were established at work?”

“You.” CJ’s one word surprised his father. “You do realize when the kid’s born I’ll be older than you were when I was, right?”

“Yeah… I guess. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Look, Dad. The fact you and I are so close in age has made it easier for you to deal with me. That’s something most of my friends don’t have. Ozzie and I want to be good parents like you and Papa. And like you, we want to be our kids’ friends too. That’s harder when the age difference’s larger. And to be honest, we like the idea you and Papa will be young grandparents. That will be a great experience for your grandchildren.”