Not Quite A Bride (11 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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18
Logan's Surprise
I
walk into the kitchen to refill my coffee, and Tiffany's kibble dish, then return to the living room to settle on the couch and listen to Joy Behar complain about a misshapen underwire bra.
Just as Barbara is introducing Harrison Ford, my phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Good Golly Miss Molly,” and then snickering comes through the phone line.
It's Logan.
“Logan. You're a brat.”
“I know, but I'm a brat you love.”
“Unfortunately true,” I admit. “What's going on?”
“Can you have lunch today? I'll come to the city.”
“Definitely!” I say, excited to get some one-on-one time with my brother.
“Good, I want to tell you more about my trip.”
“Okay,” I say, slightly let down. The dinner to celebrate Logan's homecoming was fun, and hearing about all the art museums and ancient architecture that Logan visited was interesting enough ... once. Doing it again didn't sound super fun.
“I'll come to the apartment when I get in. I'm going to take an 11:30 express train, so I should be to your apartment around one.”
“I'll be here waiting for you.”
We hang up and I decide that in light of Logan's surprise visit, there is no reason to get my butt in gear right this second as I don't have time to do the stuff I need to do at school and be home in time to meet him. I'll just go there this afternoon.
I settle back and listen to Harrison while wondering why on earth the man is wearing an earring.
“Doesn't he have a mirror in his house?” I ask Tiffany, who looks at me and meows in agreement.
After my soap opera, where a woman is set to get married until she finds out that her betrothed's beloved first wife is not dead as believed and shows up at the wedding with amnesia, I head for the shower.
I take my time, because I know that when school starts I won't have time for luxuriously long showers. When I finally finish my routine, it's time for Logan to show up ... but he doesn't.
I wait and I wait and I get bored and paint little flowers on my toenails to match the ones on my skirt. Then I wait some more and finally, around 2:30, I hear the buzzer.
I intercom him to come up while I grab my purse and give Tiffany a little more water; when he gets to my door he doesn't look too good.
“What's wrong?” I ask, concerned by the tense look on his face.
“The train wasn't an express. I'm so sorry I'm late.”
“Don't worry at all. But I'm starving, so let's go.”
My hunger is so overwhelming that as soon as I know he is okay, I push him out the front door without so much as offering a glass of water and lead the way out of my building to a diner down the street that I know has big portions and fast service.
Once we are sitting down with a basket of fries between us, my blood sugar returns to a normal level and I am able to act human again.
“So,” I say, bracing myself for more boring museum stories, “tell me more about your trip.”
Logan's face flashes a quick look of panic and then he buries it in his menu.
“Let's order first.”
“Okay,” I agree, torn between the problem of postponing the inevitable and the hope that we'll never get back onto the topic of Italian architecture.
We order two turkey burgers with side salads and onion rings, then make small talk about the train ride, the weather, and Jamie's pregnancy until our food arrives. We both cover our burgers with ketchup and mustard, pull out the onions and dig in. We're halfway through the meal when Logan abruptly puts his burger down and looks straight at me.
“What?” I ask, wiping my face off with my napkin.
He takes a deep breath, “So, my trip,” he says.
Ugh ... I guess I didn't escape. “Yeah, tell me!” I say, forcing myself to be upbeat.
“Okay,” he begins slowly as I shovel an entire onion ring into my mouth, “Remember why I went to Italy?” he asks.
“Yes,” I nod, speaking with my mouth full, “to find yourself.” Whatever that means, I add to myself.
He takes a big bite of his burger. “Well, I did,” he says, with his mouth full. Our mother would be mortified at our table manners.
“That's great,” I tell him, not really sure where he's going.
He looks at me expectantly, as though I'm missing something obvious.
“What did you find?” I question.
I dip a fry in ketchup and watch him finish the last of his burger, dipping it in ranch dressing. Logan slowly chews and swallows the entire bite, takes a big sip of his Coke and looks up and me. For some reason, I'm frozen. I hold my ketchup-dripping fry halfway between the plate and my mouth and I look at him expectantly.
“I'm gay.”
I think my chin drops a tad and I study Logan's face. I'm surprised, but not shocked ... but I don't know what to do or say. Time is kind of frozen and I don't stop staring at him until I feel the ketchup fall off the fry and go plop on my lap. This breaks my stare and I look down at the red spot on my lap, which thankfully is covered with a napkin. I look back up at my brother, who is still looking straight at me.
“What am I supposed to say?” I ask him gently ... I truly am not sure what the correct response is. Is he happy about this, should I say “Congratulations?” Is he upset, should I say, “I'm sorry?” Is it “great” or a “bummer?” I have no idea. Finally I say, “I'm happy if you are happy.”
He smiles, “That's the perfect thing to say,” and it seems like he means it.
“
Are
you happy?” I ask.
“Yes and no,” he admits. “I'm happy that I am finally able to realize why I have always felt like I was ‘different,' but it's a hard conclusion to come to and I'm nervous about telling everyone. You're the first one I've told.”
Flattery will get him everywhere. I am so touched that he chose to confide in his big sister first.
For the record, I never thought of Logan as being “different.” I did, however, notice certain little things, like his decision to go to Yale (where they say one in four, maybe more) and the complete absence of any girls in all his college stories, that prevented me from being shocked by this news. I am completely sure, though, that my parents never considered it for a second, and while they will be supportive, as they always are, I know they will be disappointed, especially my dad, and I know that will make this hard for Logan.
“When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” I ask.
“I thought maybe I would tell everyone at the Labor Day barbeque.”
My heart skips a beat and the most selfish part of me twinges because that was the day that Justin was going to be asking Dad for permission to marry me so that my fake engagement could take place the next weekend. I swallow the self-centeredness and nod at Logan.
“Will it be easier for you to tell the whole family together or in little chunks?”
“I've been thinking a lot about it. My original plan, actually, was to tell everyone at my welcome-home dinner, but I just wasn't ready for it. It felt so good and comfortable and the same to be home, and I know once I tell Mom and Dad that nothing will ever be the same again.”
A pang of sadness hits my heart like a bullet. I love Logan so much and it kills me that he has fears like that ... and it kills me even more that he could be right.
“They love you, Logan—I have no doubt that will remain the same.”
“Thanks, Moll. I hope.”
“I'm sure.”
“Molly, when I tell everyone, can you pretend like you've never heard it? The last thing I need is a competition about who heard it first, on top of everything else.”
“Of course, absolutely,” I agree with him. Obviously he is talking about the Jan Brady of the Harrigan family, but my mother would also have issues about not being the first to know.
“Have you thought about when and how you are going to do it?” I ask him.
“I was thinking I'd wait for dessert to be over. High blood sugar and digestion fatigue seem like they will be on my side.”
“I think that's probably a good call,” I tell him. (Mental—and extremely selfish—Side Note: Justin needs to talk to Dad as soon as we get there.)
“I dunno, I don't want to think about it any more today. Do you want pie?”
“Duh, do I ever not want pie?”
We laugh, order a slice of apple and a slice of peach to share, and for me anyway, things really don't feel all that “different.”
Logan and I take our time at the diner, getting three coffee refills, and then stroll around my neighborhood until the last possible second before he needs to head back to the train station.
On the street, outside my building, he hails a cab and I give him a big hug and kiss.
“I love you, Logan. Don't ever doubt it or forget it.”
“Me, too,” he says as he climbs in the cab and instructs the driver to take him to Grand Central.
I walk upstairs, kiss my cat hello, and pour myself a glass of wine—I need it.
19
Telling Justin
J
ustin enters the apartment around eight, still in his waiter uniform carrying a bag of food from the restaurant—yippee! He despises the white shirt and black pants he has to wear to work. I'm convinced that most straight men think it's a perfectly acceptable, even fashionable, outfit, but to Justin, it's like punishment.
“I have news,” I tell him.
“I have leftover salmon in a citrus reduction with spinach ponzu.”
My mouth waters a little as I grab the bag from him and pull the take-out containers from within. I survey what's there and run to the kitchen to get the appropriate utensils.
“So, what's your news?” he asks as I stuff salmon in my mouth.
I take a deep breath. There is something weird about telling this to Justin, but I have to tell somebody and he's the only one I can.
“My brother came out to me today,” I tell him and watch for the surprise ... which never comes.
“Good for him. I wondered if he was out yet,” Justin says calmly.
“You knew?!?”
“Of course I knew. Gaydar. Ever heard of it?”
“It really exists?” I ask, wide-eyed like a child hearing about life on other planets.
“Of course.”
“Well, if you knew my brother was gay, why didn't you tell me?”
“First of all, it wasn't anywhere near my place to do so. Second, I thought he was pretty obvious. If you couldn't connect the dots it wasn't my problem.”
I'm still shocked that Justin is so calm and matter-of-fact about this.
“He told me first. It's still a secret, so don't say anything. He's going to tell the rest of the family at the Labor Day barbeque.”
I watch Justin's reaction carefully, not wanting to show my selfishness if he isn't thinking the same thing.
“Uh-oh ... that's my day to ask good old Dad for your hand in marriage.”
Good, he is. Now it's my turn to be calm.
“No, don't worry. I already asked him what his plan is and he said he's going to do it after dessert. So, as long as you ask Dad as soon as we get there, we're good.”
“How do you think your parents are going to take it?” he asks.
“Honestly, I'm not sure. My dad always wanted a son and he was always trying to share the ‘guy things' he loves with Logan. I think this will shake him.”
Justin gets a slightly hurt look and I am immediately aware of the weirdness of the conversation.
“How did you take it?” he asks.
“I just love my brother—his happiness is all that matters to me.”
Justin's face softens a bit.
“He's lucky to have you. He obviously knows that—that's why he told you first.”
“I guess,” I say, beaming on the inside that Logan feels as close to me as I do to him.
“Poor kid,” Justin says. “He's got a rough road ahead of him.”
“He does?” I ask. “What else besides telling the family?”
“Telling the world,” Justin answers with a small snort. “It's not an easy life, Molly. Manhattan is easier than a lot of places, but not everyone is as forward-thinking as you and I.”
I take another shot of pity for my baby brother.
“Maybe he could talk to you? Maybe you could share your experiences with him?”
“Molly. Think about it. How can I talk to Logan about being gay when I'm supposed to be in love and getting engaged to you ... and presumably heterosexual.”
I think for a second. The lie seems so incredibly pathetic and ridiculous in light of this real situation going on.
“I'll tell him the truth. He'll keep our secret.”
Justin looks at me, but he doesn't look totally convinced.
“It'll be helpful to have a third person in on it,” I add, “and to be honest, it doesn't matter. If being able to help Logan means screwing up our story, it doesn't matter. It's not a time to be selfish.”
Justin's face completely softens and he moves from his usual spot on the chair to sit beside me and hug me. I cuddle into his hard chest and we stay snuggled like that for the rest of the evening while we watch TV and eventually doze off.

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