Finally, after three long weeks of impatiently waiting, the day of departure arrived. Alfred was up by four in the morning—something he had sworn bitterly against since high school—and was on his third cup of coffee by 4:30. He would have woken up the rest of his family, but they had made him promise not to wake them up before five on threat of torture.
Alfred lived in a small seaside house in Plymouth, Massachusetts with his brother Matthew and their adoptive fathers, Arthur and Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy. Though he was often asked why he chose to live with his family instead of his own apartment, the truth was that Alfred had really missed his family when he went to California for college—that, and bills are a bitch.
Alfred and Matthew were pretty much identical in looks—the only real differences were that Matthew's hair went down to his shoulders and his eyes were tinted slightly purple—but the two were very different in personality. Matthew was much more calm, quiet and level-headed than his twin. While Alfred had gone to study marine biology, his brother majored in psychology, and was training to become a therapist. But despite their differences, the two were as close as siblings could be.
Arthur and Francis were another thing altogether. Arthur often gave off the impression of being a stereotypical grumpy, tea-loving Briton who couldn't cook an edible meal to save his life. However, those who were close to him knew Arthur as a smart man and a caring father, with a caustic sense of humor that was sure to make anyone laugh. Francis, on the other hand, was a cheerful Frenchman who was openly passionate about theatre, painting and culinary arts. He was usually the one to drag Arthur out of the house to go shopping or take a romantic walk by the seashore. The two agreed on a lot of things, but disagreed on even more. They were almost always arguing about this and that; why they had decided to get married was a mystery to most.
Alfred stared at the clock, watching the shorter hand slowly drag itself across the clock face until it reached the five. A few quick coffee-powered leaps up the stairs later he burst into his brother's room, yelling, "Wake up, Mattie! We have to go to Nauset!"
Matthew let out a low grunt, but didn't move.
"Not today, mister!" Alfred said with a grin as he yanked off his brother's blankets. "Come on! You promised you'd see me off the dock!"
Matthew gave a heavy sigh and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.
"You gotta go faster than that," said Alfred. "Get up! We need to leave in an hour!"
"Alright, alright, you don't need to shout," he replied with a yawn, dragging himself off the bed and stumbling over to his dresser.
"Okay, making progress. Awesome," said Alfred. "I'm gonna go wake up Dad and Papa."
"Good luck," Matthew muttered, but he was already gone.
He raced down to the end of the hallway to their fathers' bedroom, throwing the door open and opening his mouth to give another wakeup call—only to find both men sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing their eyes.
"You're up already?" he asked, surprised.
"Of course we're up," grumbled Arthur. "We heard you yelling in Matthew's room like a bloody rooster." He squinted at the clock on his bedside table. "And why do we need to get up so early?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be there at seven, right?"
"Sorry about that," said Alfred. "But you guys take so long to get ready in the morning that I figured I should wake you up extra early."
Arthur sighed, but got out of bed without further complaint. Francis followed suit, saying, "I'm going to take a shower first."
"Oh no you're not," said Arthur. "Your showers alone are going to make us late. You can take one later. I'm taking a shower now."
Oh boy, here we go again, Alfred thought.
"But mon cher, you could easily take half an hour with the way you insist on meticulously scrubbing every single inch of your body," Francis replied as he started walking toward the small master bathroom.
"That's called personal hygiene," Arthur retorted. "And get out of there! I said I was going to shower now!"
"I said it first," said Francis, who had already started to strip. "Of course, we could take a shower together, if you want—"
"You're wasting time by arguing!" Alfred broke in. "Take a shower or don't, I don't care, but I can't be late for this!"
"You heard him, frog," said Arthur. "Get out of the bathroom!"
"Non, I will not!"
Alfred threw up his hands in defeat and marched out of the room, leaving the pair to sort it out themselves. He went back downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Matthew standing at the stove.
"Pancakes?" he asked hopefully.
"What else?" Matthew replied. "I'm making your favorite: chocolate chip with maple syrup and strawberries."
"Fuck yeah!" Alfred cheered. He quickly grabbed plates, silverware and the syrup bottle and brought them to the dining room. After setting the table, he sat down and began describing the trip to Matthew for the umpteenth time.
"It's gonna be so cool!" he started. "An eight-week-long round-trip from Nauset to Kilronan Harbor in Ireland, and then we're gonna go the rest of the way around Ireland and come back. I can't wait!"
Matthew listened to his brother describe the trip as he had done many times before, until he interrupted him by asking, "Al, is it true that Captain McAllister is… you know… not all there?"
"Oh yeah," said Alfred. "That guy is one crazy motherfucker. He thinks he's gonna catch some magical seal-person and sell it to whoever's willing to pay the most for it!" He laughed. "I just hope he doesn't make me put on a seal tail and try to sell me to a zoo or something."
"But you don't think he'd actually do that, right?" said Matthew hesitantly.
"Nah, I don't think he's that far gone—but then again, I've only met the guy twice, so who knows?"
Matthew didn't say anything. Alfred could tell that he was thinking about all the things that could go wrong over the span of eight weeks.
"I'll be fine, Mattie," he said. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll just be on a boat with some super wealthy nutjob for two months, go to Ireland, and then come home and pay off my student loans."
"I know, I know," his brother said quietly. "But there's something about him that I don't like. The way you described him… I don't know, I just have a bad feeling about this."
Alfred looked at him, then shook his head in mock disbelief. "Man, thanks for the vote of confidence," he laughed. "I feel so much better now that you're sure I'm gonna die."
"I didn't say that!" Matthew began. "I just—"
"Are the pancakes done yet?"
Matthew sighed at the aversion. "Almost."
About ten minutes later Arthur and Francis came downstairs, both having managed to shower without beheading each other. All four of them sat down at the table, Matthew carrying a heavy platter of pancakes in one hand and a bowl of cut strawberries in the other, and the family began to eat.
"Alfred, have you checked your bags?" Arthur asked. "Is there anything you need, anything you might have forgotten?"
"Nope," Alfred replied around a mouthful of pancakes. "I've double- triple- and quadruple-checked. I've got everything."
"Are you sure there's nothing else you need?" Francis asked.
"Absolutely. I packed it all up last night."
Arthur muttered something about always waiting until the last minute, sparking a short argument that, thankfully, gave way to more casual conversation that lasted for the rest of the meal. Breakfast was finished just before six, and after stuffing Alfred's luggage into the trunk of their car, the four piled in and headed off into the sunrise.