Saturday, January 17th 2015

Jack was counting down the days until he could go back to Dublin.

The Christmas holidays had dragged—long, slow, suffocating. He had spent the last two weeks stuck in this house, listening to his mother, surrounded by the same old faces in the same old town. Every morning, he woke up with the creeping dread of what new way his mother would rope him into helping her. And today, his mother wasn't just making him tag along while she canvassed. She was making him do a house alone.

Jack's stomach churned as he followed her down the street, the drizzle clinging to his jacket. It was bitterly cold, and though he had his hands shoved in his pockets, his fingers felt numb.

Ahead of him, his mother and a group of her friends from the parish walked with purpose, bundled up in scarves and gloves, leaflets tucked under their arms. They had been at it for hours, knocking door to door, handing out flyers with big bold letters screaming 'Protect Our Families. Stop the Gay Agenda'. Jack had kept his head down, handing out leaflets when necessary, parroting whatever bullshit line his mother had told him to say.

And now she was sending him off on his own.

'Jack, will you go do a house on your own? You can't shadow me all day.'

He hesitated for a moment, scanning the houses. His mother was watching him, waiting for him to obey. He swallowed hard, nodded, and stepped away.

Jack felt his nerves spike as he approached the house.

It was small and weathered, the kind of place that had seen better days. The cobbled driveway was overgrown with weeds, the red paint on the front door faded and flaking. To the side, a wooden bench sat moss-covered and rotted, looking like it would collapse under even the lightest weight.

Jack clutched the leaflet in his pocket, rubbing the edge between his fingers.

'Civil partnerships. Marriage is between a man and a woman. Children deserve a mother and father.'

He had heard all the arguments. Repeated them. Read them.

They should have felt natural coming out of his mouth by now.

But they didn't.

Jack knocked on the door, inhaling slowly.

A moment later, it creaked open.

An elderly woman stood before him, small and fragile-looking, wrapped in a thick cardigan. She had deep wrinkles, soft blue eyes, and a welcoming aura around her.

'Hi, how are you?' Jack forced himself to speak, though his voice felt stiff in his throat. 'Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday, but I'm out canvassing for the marriage referendum. Do you have a moment to chat about it?'

The woman studied him for a second, then smiled kindly.

'Of course, dear,' she said, opening the door wider. 'You'll catch a cold out there. Come in. Come in!'

Jack hesitated. That wasn't the response he had expected. But before he could think of an excuse to refuse, she was already shuffling inside, gesturing for him to follow.

The kitchen was small, cosy, and cluttered with life. Knick-knacks lined the shelves, old photographs filled the walls, and the fridge was covered in magnets from all over the world. Paris. Sydney. New York. San Francisco. Jack took it all in as he sat at the worn wooden table.

The kettle was already boiling, and without asking, the woman poured him a cup of tea, setting down milk and sugar before sitting opposite him.

'So, what's your name?' she asked.

'Jack,' he said. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Mary,' she replied. 'Likewise.' She took a sip of tea, her eyes twinkling with something unreadable. Then, she smiled. 'I'll admit, Jack, I only invited you in because you looked cold. But I should tell you now, I already plan on voting Yes. So you won't need to convince me.'

Jack almost choked on his tea.

That was not what he had expected.

'You—Oh?'

'Oh, what?' she teased. 'An old fart like me can't be progressive?'

Jack shifted in his seat, suddenly unsure of what to say. 'I just... didn't expect that.'

She glanced down at the leaflets in his hand, clearly reading the situation, and while her brows furrowed for an instant, she kept smiling.

'You're here to ask me to vote No.' Jack stayed silent, 'well, go on then,' she said, folding her arms.

Jack blinked. 'What?'

Convince me to vote No.'

Her smile was gentle, but her words carried weight. She was challenging him. Jack hesitated, then pulled the leaflet from his pocket, placing it in front of her. He cleared his throat.

'Well...' He skimmed the words.

Start with the easy points.

'Same-gender relationships already enjoy considerable rights under civil partnership,' he began reading. 'Redefining marriage will not make unequal things equal—'

'I'm gonna stop you there,' she said, cutting across him. Jack let out a quiet sigh of relief.

'I can read, you know?' she teased, and he gave her a small, awkward smile.

She picked up the flyer, scanning it briefly before setting it down again.

'Well, here's a rebuttal for you if you can handle it.'

Jack tensed slightly but nodded. She pointed at one of the arguments on the leaflet.

'This one says children deserve a mother and a father,' she said. 'I lost my father when I was four. A war widow raised me and my six siblings in this very house.' Jack's throat went dry. 'That argument suggests that single parents, widows, foster parents... aren't enough. That they can't raise a child.' She held his gaze. 'Do you believe that, Jack?'

He shook his head. 'No.'

She smiled faintly. 'Me neither.'

Jack stared down at the leaflet, the words blurring slightly.

'And civil partnership?' she continued. 'Well, that's a load of shite.'

Jack couldn't help but smile. She softened a little when she noticed. Then, after a pause, she said it. Bluntly.

'I'm a lesbian, by the way.'

Jack froze.

'I was with my partner for forty-nine years. Met her when I was thirty-two.'

Jack's eyes flickered to the photographs on the wall. The fridge magnets. The glimpses of a life well lived.

'Wow,' he murmured.

She chuckled. 'Thought I was straight until then. Normal.'

She said normal like a joke, making air quotes with her fragile fingers.

Jack's chest tightened.

He watched as she absentmindedly ran a finger over her necklace, revealing a small locket. She popped it open, showing him a black-and-white photo inside. Two women, young, radiant, smiling at the camera.

Jack swallowed.

'I never understood love until I met Rita,' Mary continued. 'That feeling that nothing anyone says can hurt you, because you have that person.' Jack nodded, his throat tight. 'She died two years ago though,' she said. 'Cancer.'

Jack lowered his gaze. 'I'm sorry.'

Mary exhaled, shaking her head. 'Do you know what's worse?' she murmured. 'I wasn't with her when she died. They wouldn't let me in the room.'

Jack looked up sharply.

'I was her next of kin, but that didn't matter,' she said. 'Because I wasn't her wife. Of course, cancer didn't discriminate against her for who she was. Queen or pawn, all chess pieces end up in the same box when the game's over.'

Jack felt something crack open in his chest. This was who he was campaigning against.

Not a concept. Not an agenda.

A woman who had loved and lost and been denied the most human of things—the right to say goodbye. Jack's vision blurred.

'I'm sorry.'

'Not a day goes by that I don't think about her. I'd trade the rest of my life to spend one more day with her.'

Jack felt his eyes well with tears. He didn't even think, he just stood up. And then he was hugging her.

Strangers tied together by a bond neither of them fully understood. And that set off something within him. Enough was enough. He couldn't be part of this anymore. He had to stand up to his mother.