A Pandora Box Past

It stood before me like a piece of heaven wrapped in a nightmare. This house, hidden behind tall hedges and foreboding wrought iron gates holds so many good memories within its walls, but in my mind it's been so hard to associate this place with those happy times.

Gerard Way's old house (I really mean mansion) was my home for six months. It was the place where I learnt to hate, the place where I learnt to love, and sadly the place where I learnt to lose. It's been more than 20 years since I last set eyes on it, and if it were up to me the time would continue to bank.

I, Frank Iero, have been in a fantastic relationship with Gerard Way for almost fifteen years. Together we have raised our niece - yes, our niece - and now our daughters. We wanted a family of our own, and obviously our biology wasn't enough, but we found our ways through adoption and surrogacy to make it a reality. So now we have three girls - our niece Emma-Lea, our daughter (through adoption) Bandit, and our daughter (through surrogacy) Elena. They have completed our family. Every moment I look at them I feel so blessed, because through the generosity of others I got the chance to experience fatherhood. I also got to see Gerard as a father, and it is a view I enjoy every minute of everyday.

It is Emma-Lea, though, that brought us all to this old house.

Emma-Lea is scarily close to turning 20 years old - making both Gerard and I feel very uncomfortable about being 44 and 40 respectively. We've asked her for the past 6 months what she wants as a present this year and the response is always the same: "You don't need to worry about buying me something".

She's 20 - yes we do. This isn't some obscure birthday like 14.

Despite her objections to a present, the one thing she has been particularly vocal about is seeing the house where Gerard and I met. Apparently pointing to the railway where we actually had our first encounter wasn't good enough.

"You guys are like my dads, and I want to see where it all happened. A two minute meeting on a train didn't make you guys fall in love," she replied. "That house did."

"Oh, I don't know," I replied, "Gerard was pretty keen on me coming to his house after that."

Emma-Lea cringed. "Firstly - ew. It's bad enough I hear you guys have sex; I don't need the innuendo. And secondly, there is no way he fell in love with you then and there."

"Hey, I was pretty hot back in the day."

That same blank, irritated look that Gerard always got planted itself on her. "Once again, ew."

All our conversations about the old house went along those lines. Gerard and I never took them too seriously; Emma-Lea had always been a curious person, whether it was too do with personal lives or history. But as her birthday, at the time of that particular conversation, was only just over a week away and we still hadn't decided on a present, we thought we should seriously consider it.

"I don't want to go back there, honestly, Frank," Gerard told me when we were discussing the topic in bed one night.

"Me either," I replied. The way he had just let me walk away on that final day 20 years ago still pains me. "But think about Em here. A lot of her family history happened in that house."

"More of it happened in this house," Gerard replied sullenly. "You know my reasons for not wanting to go, but if this is something Em really needs to do, then I guess I have no choice in the matter."

His reasons were far more serious than mine. There were many contributing factors to why Gerard moved from there in the first place - me, Emma-Lea, the need to give up fame - but the one that truly pained him the most was all the memories of Mikey and Alicia held within those walls. He once told me that there wasn't a room in that house, other than his studio, that he could walk into without reliving a memory of them. They, the memories not the people, would haunt him at night and he would often wake in a cold sweat from his vivid dreams about them. In the end it all got too much for him, so he found somewhere he could go, and like pulling a switch in his brain he shut off all those thoughts.

For me, that house represented repression. Every feeling I had for Gerard, and every feeling he had for me were forced deep inside ourselves. Too much went on there and we were both too stubborn to allow ourselves to feel it. Sometimes the urge struck me to drive past there so I could catch a glimpse of him, but those thoughts were soon quashed by the memories of his rejection. Ever since, even after our resolution, I've never wanted to take a step back to that time.

The discussion continued for at least an hour over how and when we would open up that old part of ourselves for Emma-Lea. In the end we decided the weekend before her birthday would be most appropriate time. We had already organised a family lunch on the Sunday, catered by the almost decrepit but still lovely 78 year old Ellie, which only left the Saturday morning for the dreaded visit.

"You're really going to show me?" Emma-Lea asked on Friday when we told her.

Gerard sighed. "It was the one thing you've been asking for all year and we know that if we didn't show you that you'd just track it down on your own."

"And it's a really cheap birthday present," I chimed in.

She jumped up from the sofa and hugged us both tightly, whispering "You have no idea how much this means to me".

She was wrong of course. We knew it was important to her. If her general curiosity about everything wasn't enough to let us know how much she wanted it, her best subject throughout high school had always history, and now she is busy studying psychology at Columbia University. It all told us her nose was firmly lodged in the past.

“So this is the place?” Emma-Lea asked breathily; she was clearly mesmerised by the sheer grandeur of what stood before her.

“Yes,” Gerard confirmed brusquely.

“I love the architecture,” she replies, her eyes travelling from one feature to the next.

My eyes are drawn to the porch. The most vivid memory I have from all the times I’d walked up and down those stairs during my time here has always been the moment when Gerard and I had a huge fight after Mikey and Alicia’s second wedding. I was sarcastic, he was silent. I yelled, he was silent. I pushed things too far, he threw a rolled up newspaper at me. In the grand scheme of things, it was one of our shortest arguments; it was resolved quite quickly, too. But the thing that keeps it fresh in my mind is that it was, and still is, the only time we've ever fought where he never tried to hurt me with words; this fight had been purely physical.

“Can we go inside?” Emma-Lea asks.

I shake my head. “This is someone else's home now – we can't just go barging-”

“Yes we can,” Gerard interrupted. He punched in a code for the gate, which slid open smoothly a few seconds later.

Emma-Lea headed up the driveway as soon as the gate was open wide enough for her to get through, not waiting for us to follow. She was intrigued by the fountain in the middle of the circular drive.

“Care to explain your new skills in the art of break and enter?” I ask Gerard as we make our way onto the property.

“It's not break and enter – I was invited by the owners,” he replies.

“Did you keep in touch with them after you sold the house?” I ask.

“No.” Emma-Lea has moved on from the fountain to one of the statues, so Gerard takes a seat on the edge of the water feature and I join him. “The people I sold it to moved out years ago; so did the next owners. These people have only lived here for a year. Apparently they are huge art lovers and the whole reason why they purchased the house in the first place was because they had heard it was once mine. You can imagine how quickly they offered up the code for the gate when I spoke to them on the phone about wanting to stop by.”

“Are they here now?”

“No. I told them to give us some time to reminisce on our own before bombarding me with questions. They're very trusting people it seems, perhaps too trusting.”

We share a peaceful silence. It's one of the many great things about our relationship; the ability to be in each others company without the need to fill the air with empty conversation. I take the time to look about the garden; it's changed a bit over the years – new plants, taller trees, modern garden furniture – but it's predominately the garden I remember.

My eyes fall back to the house. Emma-Lea is heading for the porch and I know it'll only be a matter of seconds before she's calling out to us to hurry up.

“Should we go inside?” I ask Gerard, already getting to my feet.

“I suppose.” He doesn't look too enthusiastic about it, and I'm sure my expression mimics his.

“Come on, you two! I'll be as old and grey as Ellie if you don't hurry up!” Emma-Lea shouts at us.

I giggle at Emma-Lea's reference to Ellie. She's a lovely woman, beyond a shadow of a doubt the most lovely woman you could ever meet, but she is getting on in years. Her 78th birthday was just a few weeks ago and sadly her age is showing. She has wrinkles on her forehead, crows feet at the corners of her eyes and mouth, uneven complexion, and thinning grey hair, but despite it all her husband Bernard still finds her beautiful.

Emma-Lea opens the front door and slips inside as soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs. Gerard and I look at each other nervously. I can tell he really doesn't want to be here, but I also learnt a long time ago that he will always make sacrifices for Emma-Lea to make up for the huge sacrifice Alicia gave for her daughter to be here at all – her life. He walks on ahead of me, stopping a few feet in from the doorway. I come to a halt as well. The hallway used to look very sterile, with just plain white walls and marble flooring, but the new owners have added a splash of colour with red walls and a matching floor runner.

“This is different,” I murmur.

Gerard nods absentmindedly. His eyes are fixed on the door to our right, behind which once contained our offices. Emma-Lea, who had gone straight into the living room, walks into the hallway. She immediately notices Gerard's stare and makes her way over to the door.

“What did this room use to be?” She asks Gerard, but he remains silent. She turns toward me. “Uncle Frank?”

“Our offices.”

Her eyes light up and she practically tears the door down to get inside. I take Gerard's hand and pull him with me to the room. My jaw drops at what lies before me.

“Are you sure these were offices?” Emma-Lea asks.

We are both just as surprised as she is. What used to be two rooms have now been merged together to create one large room. At one end, where Gerard's office used to be, there is a bar area with several bar stools situated around it. At the other is a massive pool table.

“There was a wall, just behind where the pool table is,” Gerard explains to our niece.

“Did you and Uncle Frank spend much time in here?”

“I was basically chained to this desk,” I say jokingly.

Gerard looks pointedly at me. “If that were so, it must have been a very long chain. You weren't at your desk half as much as you should have been.”

“Well, you spent more time in the studio than in your office,” I retort.

“Frank, I was the artist and the boss – I was exactly where I should have been.”

I'm about to respond when Emma-Lea cuts me off.

“Where was everything?”

I give her the basic outline of what the office used to be like before she begins to ask me whether anything interesting happened in here.

“Well,” I begin, “I thought Gerard had a pregnant girlfriend and was cheating on her with a man. God, that guy was awful, though. If I ever hear the name Gee-baby again it will be too soon. But anyway, instead of confronting Gerard about it, I waited until the woman showed up before rushing in there and making a scene. It turned out the woman wasn't his girlfriend... it was his sister in law – your mother.”

Emma-Lea is unable to control her laughter as she all but collapses on top of the pool table. Her giggles are infectious and soon I'm doubled over as well. As I gain some semblance of composure I notice Gerard isn't laughing.

“Em, can you give us a minute here?” I ask her, nodding my head in Gerard's direction.

She sobers immediately and heads back into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I touch Gerard's face gently. When he looks at me his eyes are misty. My heart aches for him already, as it always does when I sense he is about to cry.

“Hey, babe, what's wrong? I thought you loved that story.”

Gerard shakes his head. “I do.” His voice is shaky. “Being in this room again made me think of Mikey... about finding out his cancer was terminal.”

The tears fall the second the words left his mouth. My eyes start to sting as his sadness infects me. I remember that moment very clearly. I had run down stairs to confront Gerard about what I'd discovered in his studio (which essentially was a shrine to me) and found him on the floor crying hysterically. His phone was lying abandoned beside him, lit up with Mikey's picture. Gerard was such a mess he couldn't even tell me what had happened; I had to ask Mikey, and the poor man had to confirm he was dying for a second time that night, perhaps even a third. That evening I sat with Gerard on the floor for two hours as he cried before eventually driving him to his brother's apartment.

“Don't let it get to you, Gerard,” I say gently. “You did everything you possibly could to keep him well.”

“I know,” he replies. “It's just being back here makes me remember all those hard times – I've never wanted be in this house since the day you left.”

“Why the day I left?” I ask.

“Because until that moment I still had someone good in my life who could be there 24/7 to distract me. When you left, I was alone with those thoughts... always.”

“But, Gerard... we never talked after Emma-Lea was born,” I reply carefully, not wanting to upset him further. “You were splitting your time between Emma-Lea and the studio. You barely even looked at me when we passed each other in the hallway.”

Gerard looks to his feet and says quietly, “But you were still there. I still found you attractive and I could still fantasise about you when I had a moment to myself.”

“Fantasize about me? What do you mean?”

“I'd hear you in the shower some days, and I could picture it in my mind. Then I'd see you bend over occasionally, and I'd imagine doing certain things with you that I really shouldn't have. It sounds twisted and perverted, but it provided me with momentary relief from everything else inside my head.” He meets my eyes. “But then you were gone and those moments of relief went with you because you not being around just added to the mountain of pain in my life.”

For the first time in a very, very long time I have the feelings of pressure in my relationship. Gerard and I are usually have a pretty synchronous relationship; we work as a team and almost always know what the other one is thinking. I never knew that he relied on me so much, though.

“Gerard... I...” I try helplessly.

He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes. “Don't worry about it, Frank. I know it puts a lot of pressure on you, but don't let it.” He sighs heavily. “I told you coming here was a bad idea.”

He walks out of the room, leaving me by myself. I can hear his shoes echoing along the marble floor; he still has a penchant for Italian leather shoes that always give away his location. I'm really beginning to regret coming along; we should have just sent Emma-Lea by herself. What hurts the most about Gerard leaving me here is not that we've technically had a fight, but that he is choosing to hurt alone.

“Uncle Frank,” Emma-Lea comes into the room, looking a little troubled. “Is everything okay?”

I put on a smile and remember why we're here. “Of course. What else do you want to know about the place?”

“Where was my room when I lived here?” she asks.

We venture back out into the hallway and I lead her up the stairs. It feels all too familiar being back in that long corridor of doors. Part of me feeling a longing for the room that used to be my own here; surprisingly I can't recall anything truly devastating happening in there other than packing my things to leave. I point out Emma-Lea's old room to her. She's quick to move inside, but I remain still as one other door catches my eye at the end of the hallway.

Gerard's studio.

Well, Gerard's former studio.

My feet move of their own accord to the door, but I pause before I let myself in. I forgot for a moment this wasn't his studio anymore, and I am in fact allowed in. I push the door open gently. As I was expecting, Gerard was standing in there. Strangely, the studio seems to be the only room that hasn't undergone a massive renovation. Although, I had only ever been inside that room once during my tenancy here, and back then I was too freaked out by what was on the walls to really take in the rest of the room.

“How are you holding up?” I ask quietly.

Gerard doesn't answer me right away. He doesn't turn around, or even seem to acknowledge my question. I begin to wonder if he even heard me until I hear him sigh. Sometimes that is how he chooses to answer, and if you don't immediately understand that that is what it is you'll never know.

“For some reason, and what it is I can merely take a guess at, I don't associate this room with the bad memories like I do the rest of the place,” he says. He takes a long pause. “I think... I think it has something to do with the particular works of art I used to hang on the walls in here.”

For decades I have kept it a secret that I knew about what was inside this room. Even when we moved in together, and he finally let me into his inner sanctum and showed me all the drawings, I still didn't tell him. When he told me he had began to draw them after we started dating I didn't call him out on the lie. I've always kept it to myself, because there was just something kind of cool about knowing Gerard's deepest, darkest secret. In our years together he has told me every embarrassing story, ever little deceit you could imagine, from getting caught on his own with a sex toy by his roommate at art school, to taking Mikey's wedding ring from Alicia's jewelry box before she died and never telling her. Never, though, in all that time, amongst all his wrongdoings, had he ever revealed to me the truth about the origin of those artworks.

“What did you have hanging in here?” I ask carefully.

His voice is hard. “Nothing you need to worry about, Frank.”

I can't recall a moment in our relationship that I've ever felt the temptation to tell him what I'd seen in here... until now. When I was an employee I wanted to confront him because it was all kept hidden from me and it was so inappropriate, but when we were together he was open and honest about having drawings of me, so it wasn't an issue. Being back here, though... I feel like he needs to know.

I close the distance between us, placing a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't flinch or turn around like most people would, but then Gerard has never been like most people.

“They were drawings of me, Gerard, and drawings of us... I know,” I tell him.

His head snaps around and his eyes narrow. “What makes you think that's what it was?”

There's a long pause where no one talks, no one blinks, no one breathes. Gerard finally raises his eyebrow; it's his way of telling me to speak and to do it now.

“I'd always been curious why you were so secretive about your studio... one day the temptation just got to me – I was angry with you about a few things, and I just gave in,” I say. His features go taut. “I saw it all – everything you'd drawn of me. It scared me...”

“Why did you never bring it up?”

“I was going to – straight away – but it just... wasn't the right time.”

His eyes bore into me and I can tell he's trying to remember when I would have had the opportunity to be in there. He blinks once, shakes his head, and sighs.

“When was it?” he asks. I don't know whether to tell him or not. “Just tell me.”

I gulp. “When you found out Mikey's cancer was terminal. That's why I never said anything... I couldn't.”

He drags his hands down his face, then looks at me with surprisingly kind eyes. “I'm glad you didn't.” He laughs suddenly. “Just last week you rushed home to tell me you'd found my birthday present already - how did you go 15 years without telling me you knew about the drawings?”

Sadly, his point is entirely valid. When I get an idea in my mind I just have to tell someone; when I get angry with Gerard, which isn't as often as it used to be, I'm in his face yelling at him before he knows what's hit him (sometimes literally). With the secret behind his studio, though... I honestly have no idea how I never told him.

“When did you start drawing me?” I find myself asking.

The studio is only partially furnished, with just a few square ottomans to sit on. There is an antique easel sitting in one corner that doesn't look like it's ever been used by the current owners, and on the walls lies a homage to Gerard Way – canvas after canvas after canvas of his art. Gerard does a quick lap of the room and then settles on one of the ottomans.

“How much do you want me to lie?” he asks sincerely.

“Not at all,” I reply.

He nods. “In that case,” he says softly, “the very day we met.”

I feel my eyes bulge out of my head as I look at Gerard. “You're kidding... you've got to be kidding...”

“No, Frank, I'm not,” Gerard replies. He doesn't look at me as he explains. “There was just something about you that piqued my interest – I never meant to become, for lack of a better word, obsessed.”

“It is a bit crazy,” I concede, “but hasn't your obsession paid off?”

His pale hand reaches out and rests on mine gently. “You know it has, in more ways than you, I, or anyone else could imagine, but it doesn't change the fact I couldn't get you out of my mind back then, and was so interested that all I could do was draw you, over and over and over again.”

“I'm glad you did,” I whisper.

“Me, too.”

A loud sigh escapes Gerard's lips and I remember just where we are and why we're here. He paces from one end of the room to the other and back again.

“I really want to leave,” he tells me firmly.

I nod in agreement. “I know, but we promised Emma-Lea that we'd show her this place.”

Gerard looks more frustrated than I have ever seen him. My mind is searching frantically for an alternative to this place. Suddenly it hits me... the perfect place that is integral to her parents past, a place that is filled with happy memories for everyone.

“The Oheka Castle...” I say.

“What?” Gerard asks.

“The Oheka Castle, where Alicia and Mikey had their second wedding; we could take Em there,” I explain. “There's nothing but happy memories there.”

“Don't you recall our fight?” he replies blandly, but there's a hint of a smile playing about his lips.

I smile. “I do, but I also remember walking down the aisle towards you, and the way you held me when we danced, and that black rose you left wrapped around my door handle.”

A cheeky grin quickly overcomes him. “Don't you remember, Frank? I would never give you flowers.”
I sigh. “20 years later and you're still pedaling that same nonsense. I know it was you.”

Gerard stands up and moves toward the door. “Come on, Frank. Find Em and we'll drive up to Huntington now. As we both know, Ellie won't mind looking after the girls for a another few hours.”

As we leave the studio Gerard heads for the stairs and I divert into one of the bedrooms. It doesn't surprise me when I find Emma-Lea slumped against the side of the bed. She looks sad. The only conclusion is the vibe of this house has upset her, too.

“It was a mistake to bring you here, wasn't it?”

Her steel blue eyes meet mine as I walk over to join her on the floor. She doesn't answer me, and it takes me all of three seconds to notice why when I'm sat beside her. There's an old photo in her hands, one which I recognise immediately. It, conveniently, was taken at the Oheka Castle just after the ceremony had concluded. A long time ago, when I was putting together a photo collage for Gerard's 35th birthday, I printed all the photos from the wedding and sorted them into an album. I presented it to him at his party; it made him so emotional that he left the room and later buried the album in the depths of his new studio. He takes it out maybe once every two or three years. What troubles me is that one of those pictures vanished several years ago – the exact same one that has found its way into Emma-Lea's hands.

“Where do you find that?” I ask.

“Will you get mad at me?” There a look of both sadness and shame in her eyes. I shake my head. “I took it from Uncle Gerard's album when I was 14... it's been hidden under my mattress since then.”

I touch a hand to her arm. “Why? You had plenty of photos of your parents that we gave you.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, but the thing about this particular photo is that it is the only one I've ever seen where all of us are in the same photo,” she says. Her fingers point from person to person.

“Uncle Gerard, Dad, Mum, Uncle Frank...” she points to Alicia's stomach, “and me.”

My heart breaks for her as she explains her attachment to the photo. The feeling grows worse when I see a tear streak down her cheek to land on her arm.

“Em, I didn't realise you were so cut up about this.”

She wipes at her eyes. “I know that I never met Dad, and I barely met my mum either, but sometimes that's what makes it so hard. So many other people take family photos for granted because it's so easy for them to see everyone together, but for me, this photo is the closest I'll ever come to seeing my parents – all four of them – together with me.”

“I get it,” I tell her honestly. “If you wanted that picture, though, all you had to do was ask for it.”

She smiles at me. “Do you think we could leave now? This place isn't all I thought it would be.”

“I'm glad you said that,” I reply, “because Gerard and I were just about to take you to the very place where that photo was taken.”



We make it back out to the car in record time. Gerard left behind a note for the owners, promising to stop by later in the week for a meet and greet when things weren't as busy. The Maserati that used to call this mansion home has since been sold. When we were approved for adoption of our first daughter, Bandit, Gerard traded in his Maserati for something more practical – a high-end Audi sedan in gun metal grey that cost close to $200,000. Well, the price wasn't practical, but Gerard had a lot of money left over from when he sold his house.

It takes us just under an hour to reach Huntington. The drive is far more relaxing than the last time Gerard and I took it together, but that may just be because he reins in his road rage and speed demon tendencies when any of the girls are in the car. The scenery is beautiful to look at, and only grows more beautiful when we arrive at the gates of the Oheka Castle.

“Ooh's” and “ah's” escape from Emma-Lea's mouth as we drive down the long driveway. It's beautiful hedges have been maintained over the years, and in its age the castle itself has only become more impressive.

“This is where mum and dad got married?” Emma-Lea's asks.

“You bet,” I tell her.

Gerard and I never told Emma-Lea about her parents being married before the official wedding here. It was the one they really believed to be their wedding right up until they both died. The photo from their Vegas wedding is still displayed proudly in our home, and we've always told the girls it was just a holiday they took together. It's never been questioned, and even if it was I doubt we would reveal the truth.

We slow down on our approach to the arch, underneath which we travel to reach the stunning courtyard.

“This is where the Cadillac that brought your mother here pulled up to let her out. She looked just stunning,” I inform Emma-Lea.

Gerard pulls the car up beside the large doors. He gets out first, waiting for myself and Emma-Lea to follow. We stand still in a group for a moment, no one moves or speaks, we just enjoy the picturesque scenery. I hear Gerard inhale deeply, breaking the silence.

“Give her all the details, Frank,” he says finally. “You know them better than me. I wouldn't mind hearing them all again either.”

I offer him a smile before I start telling Emma-Lea all the details about the moment Alicia arrived, and what had happened before. She listens to me intently as I explain every aspect of her outfit I remember, the trouble Ellie had working the camera, and how special it had all made Alicia feel.

“She said she felt like Cinderella,” I say.

“I've seen all the photos; that's exactly how she looked,” Emma-Lea says honestly.

We share a smile. It’s refreshing to hear a daughter call her mother beautiful. Although the same words probably wouldn't have been said if her mother was still alive, it’s nice to hear Emma-Lea talk about Alicia that way.

“How about we head out to where the ceremony took place?” I say.

Gerard heads into the castle immediately and takes us along the front corridor to the Billiard Room. I turn my head every now and then to check on Emma-Lea. She trails behind us, looking dazed by the whole situation. When we come to a halt in the traditionally furnished room, she appears to snap out of her daydream-like state.

“This is where we fixed the dress and added the finishing touches,” I tell her. I point to the large French doors. “She walked through there to meet your father at the altar, and just before she did she asked me to escort her down the aisle.”

Emma-Lea walks towards the doors, stopping barely a foot away from the threshold. She doesn't say anything as she stands there. Gerard steps forward and takes hold of my hand as he focuses on our girl. Something tells me he gets what’s happening, but I don’t ask him to tell me. Breaking the silence is up to Emma-Lea.

“My mother stood in this very spot... on the biggest day of her life...” she eventually says, more to herself than either of us.

Gerard steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “You were there, too, my little ladybug.”

She turns to face him and touches his cheek softly. “You haven’t called me that since I was a little girl.”

“You’re always going to be a little girl in my eyes, my little ladybug – I just know better than to call you that all the time,” he replies smoothly, but the tears forming in his eyes don’t escape my attention, or Emma-Lea’s. “You may not get to be anyone’s daughter anymore, but you’re always going to be someone’s little girl.” He looks in my direction. “In this case, two someone’s little girl.”

Emma-Lea nods and steps closer to Gerard, leaning into his broad chest for a hug. He wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. Our eyes meet; he silently beckons me to join him. Quickly their intimate embrace turns into a three way huddle, where all of us a crying tears we've been holding in for far too many years. We've continued to push the pain of Alicia and Mikey’s absence to the side and it has all finally caught up with us.

The huddle lasts for several minutes until Emma-Lea steps back. She wipes vigorously at her eyes.

“Gosh – we need some testosterone in this room,” she says jokingly. “No more tears – just facts and memories, okay?”

Gerard and I both nod as we laugh and wipe away our own tears. It is Emma-Lea who leads us out into the luxurious gardens. She asks me to tell her about how her mother got from the castle itself down to the altar. My eyes flick to Gerard's and hers follow. I tell her Gerard would know more as he saw it all head on.

“Tell me everything,” Emma-Lea enthuses.

He strolls casually through the gardens until he reaches the first set of steps that lead to the gazebo. He sits down and waits for us to catch up.

“It's been a long time since we were last here, but I remember that day clearly,” he begins. He gestures to the gazebo. “I stood just down there, next to my brother, waiting for Alicia to appear. The minutes seemed to drag on, but in real-time the wait wasn't all that long. The music – Today, by the Smashing Pumpkins – started to play and suddenly there was this vision of perfection walking toward us. I probably didn't let it show, but I felt like my jaw hit the ground... hard.” A hint of a smile plays across his lips. “Then I turned my head slightly and saw Alicia.”

Emma-Lea begins to laugh while I whack Gerard playfully as I realise he's been talking about me.

“You're meant to be telling her about how beautiful Alicia was that day,” I berate him.

“What can I say? My eyes were drawn to you first, like always,” he replies smoothly. A small laugh escapes his lips. “I remember being shocked to see you coming towards me, but when I released you were trying to be the father Alicia needed, I just found myself smiling and so thankful for you coming into our lives.”

“What happened when Dad saw her coming down the aisle?” Emma-Lea asks quietly.

There's a wistful smile on Gerard's face as he answers. “He was floored... absolutely floored by how beautiful she looked in that dress. He couldn't form any words until he was holding her hands... but when he could, he simply said...”

“You're perfect,” Gerard and I say in unison.

That moment has always been at the forefront of my mind when I think about the wedding. I'm glad that it stuck with my incredible man, too. I look over to Emma-Lea and see she is smiling, although her eyes are glistening with fresh tears. They don't fall, but it is obvious she is overcome by the emotions associated with this place.

“YOU THERE!” We all turn our heads as the words are cried out. “YES, YOU!”

A woman, looking to be in her early forties walks briskly towards us. She is dressed in a smart black suit, emblazoned with a golden Oheka Castle symbol. Her blunt strawberry-blonde bob swishes from side to side as she approaches.

“The grounds are off limits to people who just walk in off the street,” the woman says in a sharp tone. “In fact, the entire castle is off limits to anyone who hasn't booked a guided tour with us.”

Upon closer inspection of the woman, I see her name tag says “Genevieve Naylor”. Below her name is the word “manager”. It sparks the memory of a fight Gerard and I had upstairs in the corridor. An employee at the time witnessed the whole thing; her name was also Genevieve. I narrow my eyes, trying to picture if it is the same person. It's not a common name, and it's been so long that this could be her. If it is, she's put on a few pounds.

“You'll need to leave immediately,” she presses, pointing in the direction of the courtyard.
Emma-Lea gets to her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. “How do you know we aren't part of a tour.”

Unfortunately, Emma-Lea has inherited Gerard's temper. If you push her, especially when she is emotional, she will let you know about it and fight back.

“Because,” Genevieve says emphatically, “we run just two tours a day – once in the morning, and one in the afternoon. Both are led by Oheka Castle employees, both take an hour, and both are over for the day.”

Emma-Lea's eyes narrow. “Maybe an employee let us in.”

“No employee would do that,” she replies quickly. “Now, you need to leave – all three of you.”

I'm about to stand up for us all and make her understand why we're here, but Gerard stands up first.

“Come on, if we're being told to leave then we should go.”

He isn't even going to put up a fight? Where is the strong, take-no-shit Gerard I've spent the past two decades of my life with? Emma-Lea looks just as shocked as I am, and we simply fall into line behind him as we're escorted from the grounds by Genevieve. She takes us through to reception and grabs three brochures from behind the counter.

“If you wish to see the grounds, I suggest you browse these when you get home and find a time that is suitable for everyone involved,” she says. She lowers herself down into one of the chairs and begins typing on her keyboard. “I trust you can find the way to your car from here without getting distracted.”

I put my arm around Emma-Lea's shoulders and start to walk with her to the courtyard. We stop when we notice Gerard hasn't followed. I look over my shoulder and see he is still by the counter.

“That is a lovely painting you have there,” I hear him say.

Genevieve doesn't look up from her computer. “A one of a kind original made exclusively for the Oheka Castle by a very famous artist–”

“-Gerard Way, I know. He created two originals, free of charge, in return for booking his brother's wedding on short notice.”

Her head snaps up, eyes firmly focused on Gerard. She looks both surprised and intrigued. “How would you know that?”

“Because I'm the one that painted them,” he tells her.

Recognition falls over her face. “I remember you...” she says slowly. Her eyes flicker to me. “I remember both of you.” She rises out of her chair. “I'd only been working her for a few weeks – I was in my late teens back then – when that wedding happened. You two were the people having that fight in one of the rooms upstairs.”

“How much do you remember about the circumstances surrounding why you ended up with these paintings in the first place?” Gerard asks her.

She looks to the ceiling and appears to think really hard about it. Emma-Lea turns to me and mouths “what are they talking about?”, but I don't let her know. All will probably come out over the next few minutes.

“I'd only been working here for maybe three months before that wedding and I've been here in some capacity ever since, so I really can't recall too much from it,” she tells Gerard.

“My brother was dying from cancer, and he deserved a spectacular wedding; no one could accommodate us at such short notice, so my assistant at the time made a deal with the manager back then to make room for us in exchange for original artwork,” he informs her. “He passed away barely three weeks later.”

Her features soften and quickly turn to sadness. “Wasn't the bride at that wedding expecting?”

My heart breaks as I see Gerard nod, just once. He lowers his head and doesn't say anything further. In some ways, Alicia's death hurt more than Mikey's. No one knew anything would happen to Alicia – you couldn't have predicted it. At least with Mikey it was a case of knowing he would pass away, just not when exactly. Emma-Lea, who is still lodged beneath my arm, shrugs herself away from me and walks toward the exit. There is a distinct click of the door that echoes throughout the silent castle. Genevieve looks from Gerard, to the exit, to me, and back again, clearly unsure of what just transpired.

I take a few steps forward to put my arm around Gerard. As I do, I explain the situation.

“The bride passed away a few weeks later from a complication during child birth,” I say softly. “That girl who we're with is their daughter, and we brought her here to see the place where he parents were married as it is her 20th birthday this coming week. It was a spontaneous thing, which is why we didn't schedule a tour.”

Genevieve mouth opens slightly in shock from what I've said. It takes her a few moments to recover. When she does she bends down to retrieve something from one of the drawers beneath the counter. She walks over to us and hands me three visitor badges.

“Take these,” she says. “If I hand have known the circumstances I wouldn't have been so awful in forcing you to leave.” Her eyes glance over to the vintage grandfather clock stood against one of the walls. “We close in another hour, so put the badges on and go wherever you need to, okay? Just stop by reception on your way out and give them back.”

I thank her for her understanding and go outside to collect Emma-Lea. She was sitting on the hood of Gerard's car when I entered the courtyard, looking quite sad but somehow managing to restrain her tears. We head back inside together, arms linked as they always are when she is going through something tough. Gerard is talking with Genevieve when we arrive, and I only hear the tail-end of their conversation.

“I'll have it shipped to you within a week. Thanks again,” he says. He turns around when he hears the sound of Emma-Lea's shoes clicking on the marble floor. To her he says, “We'll go up and take a look at the room they stayed in over the course of the wedding weekend.”

Genevieve gives us all a warm smile as we head for the impressive staircase. I coyly give Emma-Lea directions to the room so I can pull Gerard back and have a word with him. When I reach out and take his wrist he sees it as a gesture of affection on my part and simply tucks my arm under his before entwining our hands.

“What were you talking to Genevieve about?” I ask him calmly.

He brushes the question off with his usual breezy response. “It wasn't anything important; I just wanted to know if we'd be able to gain access to the Olmsted suite. She said yes and gave me the key.”

You would think after all these years together he'd know I'm not so easy to fool. “And what about that last part, about shipping something off?”

“Sometimes, you're too smart for your own good Frank.” He sighs. “I wanted to give her something for being so flexible with us, so I promised to make her an original – for herself, not the castle. Apparently she's always been very fond of my work but has never been able to afford any of my art.”

I come to a complete stop, tugging Gerard back with me. “You refused to do requests back when you actually made art for money – why would you do it now when you've effectively retired?”

He shrugs and waits several seconds before he responds. “I suppose I've gone soft in my old age, Frankie, or it could have something to do with being in love with someone for so long, who is the most generous person I have ever met, and their good qualities have rubbed off on me.”

I smile. “That second answer sounds best. When you tell this story later, make sure you go with that version.”

As we get closer to the stairs we drop the subject entirely. Emma-Lea is waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase, waiting for us to show her the rest of the place. As we climb up the spiral stairs I tell her about racing Mikey up the stairs after the reception. Surprisingly, I've never mentioned that moment to anyone until now. I think, to some degree, it has been kind of like a secret that I've shared with Mikey for the past two decades. Gerard smiles as I share the details and comments that describes him “to a T”. When we reach the door of the largest – and most expensive – suite in the castle, Gerard unlocks the door and lets us in.

My room was impressive when I stayed here, but this, goes beyond anything I experienced. Where I had just one sofa in my room, this suite has several and is decked out like a traditional living room. There are beautiful views from every point, both inside and out. I feel like going back downstairs and booking the room for the night so Gerard and I can have a romantic getaway. The thought quickly dissipates as I recall how much this room cost 20 years ago; God knows what inflation would have done to the price since then.

Emma-Lea asks several questions about how long her parents stayed in the suite and whether they told us about anything that happened in here. If anything did, I have no idea, but Gerard starts laughing so I assume he would know.

“Trust me, Em, you don't want any of the details about what happened in here,” he tells her before chuckling under his breath.

Being the intelligent girl she was raised to be, Emma-Lea is quick to draw two and two together. She crinkles up her nose and keeps quiet until we leave the suite and head back downstairs to the grand ballroom. Gerard and I both tell her about our memories of the reception. Neither of us mention that we stormed away from each other long before the festivities were over.

“The architecture in here is just beautiful,” Emma-Lea comments as she looks about the room.

The room is still set up from the last wedding held in here (I can tell by the sign that was at the entrance to the door announcing the joining together of the happy couple). There are twelve round tables covered in silk tablecloths. They have been cleared of the dishes and silverware, but there are several spots of sauce and champagne stains on the material indicating they've yet to remove them for washing. Each table is surrounded by gold iron chairs with white padded seats that match the golden candelabras at the centre of each table. Golden chandeliers cast light over the room. At the end of the long, white room is a vacant area for dancing. It brings back memories.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Frankie?” Gerard asks me.

He smiles warmly at me and nods his head toward the dance floor. My mouth curves up into a smile and then turns into a broad grin. Gerard holds out his hand to me and I take it. Together we walk to the space and fall into each others arms. We sway from side to side, my arms around Gerard's neck while his hands rest gently on my hips. There is no music playing, but I hear the tune from the reception in my head as we move in a similar fashion as we did then.

“I might just take a look at the view from this patio out here,” Emma-Lea calls out to us from the opposite end of the room.

Too caught up on our romance, we both give a “mm-hmm” in acknowledgement. I hear the door shut, the sound startling me slightly, but I keep my eyes focused on the hazel eyes that are trained on me.

“I don't know if I've said it recently,” Gerard says softly, “but I really love you, Frankie. With all my concern about opening up my Pandora box of a past, I think I've been neglecting you lately.”
I squeeze him to me tighter. “I always know that you love me. You've been stressed and I get why, so don't feel bad.”

He kisses the top of my head, and I find myself moving my arms beneath his underarms and hugging him closer to me while I rest my head against his chest. Everything feels peaceful and perfect.

“I'm glad we came here, Frankie,” Gerard whispers.

Our movements stall and slowly Gerard pulls back from me. He swoops down to tenderly kiss my lips. The sensuous manner in which he does still manages to give me butterflies. When we pull back from the kiss I see his eyes scan my face slowly.

“I want to marry you, Frankie,” he says seriously.

My heart stops.

“What?” I ask breathlessly.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Marry me. It's not a request.”

I smile and kiss his lips hard. “I know, because Gerard Way doesn't do requests. So with no other option, I guess my answer would have to be yes.”

Our hands pull at each other, our lips crush together. This moment has been building up for 20 years, and I think being here once again was the last step we needed to take together to confirm in our hearts that all we needed to be happy was each other.

“Did I hear a proposal?!” Emma-Lea shouts, coming back into the grand ballroom at a lighting pace. The huge grins on our faces give it away. “Oh my God, I did!”

Her body slams into ours as she creates a rib-crushing group hug.

“Come on – we've got to go back and tell everyone!” she says excitedly, dragging us towards the door.

“Don't you want to see more of this place,” Gerard asks.

She stops and looks at us both, smiling softly.

“All I wanted was to feel the magic of my parents memory... to feel how much they loved each other,” she tells us. “Being here with you guys, and having you become engaged right here, I felt it more than I could possibly feel it. Just make me one promise...”

“Anything,” Gerard and I say in unison.

“That you'll get married here, just like my parents did, so I can feel it all over again.”

We smile. Words are no needed in this instance. This place would be the only one I would consider marrying the most important person in my life at, and I know it's the same for Gerard.