Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) (16 page)

The flowers were like a deadweight on his lap. The smell was sweet and fresh, and he didn’t think it was appropriate. They should be scentless, plastic. They shouldn’t make him think of new life when he was going to put them on a grave.

Cassandra had been behind the wheel in the Z, the flowers in the seat next to her, when he’d come out from his meeting. Rodrigo arguing with her about something through the open window and grinning at her flip answers.

He’d held the passenger door open for Brady, grabbing the flowers and passing them in when Brady was settled. Rodrigo hadn’t said anything, just tapped the top of the car when the door was shut and jumped back when Cassandra revved the engine.

She hadn’t said a word on the drive over, hadn’t tried to distract him at all. Hadn’t asked about his father, and Brady thought just maybe she did know when to leave things alone. Maybe she could tell that his relationship with his father was more complicated than the rest.

Or maybe she just thought that visiting the graves of his family was enough drama for right now.

She pulled into a slot at the cemetery, and when the sound of the engine died, she said, “Don’t ever tell this to Rodrigo but my car’s better.”

Brady just looked out the window. Looked at the gravestones, some tall, some set into the grass, and wondered which ones he was searching for, not even knowing where they were buried.

He hadn’t gone to their funeral. He’d been a suicide risk; no bail.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to even start.”

Cassandra opened her door, pulling a paper from her back pocket. “Start with the map. Start with this large area blocked off for Roberts.”

He got out with her, coming around to look down at it, and suddenly remembering when his grandfather had died and he’d been buried in the family plot.

“I should have known.”

“Sometimes we just don’t want to.”

They walked slowly across the grass, careful to walk between the gravestones. He had to keep looking at the map, reading inscriptions as he passed. So much death. So inevitable.

But the cemetery was unexpectedly peaceful. The grass was green, and the farther they walked, the quieter it got. The sounds of cars and busyness fading.

Brady had thought it would be painful to be here, but it wasn’t.

And when they found what they were looking for, Brady was glad for the flowers. Glad they smelled beautiful and looked fresh. Samantha would like them.

The black marble shone in the sunlight, clean and well-cared for, and Brady put the flowers in their place.

A large “R” was scrolled intricately above his last name. His wife and son’s names and dates carved into the stone. The left side smooth, waiting.

Cassandra said, “That’s. . .kind of. . .horrifying.”

He laughed because it wasn’t. It wasn’t horrifying at all. That’s exactly where he wanted to be buried.

Had his father known that?

“I’ll go wait in the car,” she said and Brady shook his head.

“She’s not here, Cassandra.”

Cassandra listened to the peace and quiet, and she must have felt what he felt because she said, “I know. She’s off in heaven with the other angels. But she’ll still get your message.”

He looked down at the black marble, and then he looked up at the blue, blue sky. No clouds today. The smog pushed inland.

He took a deep breath and smelled grass. He smelled flowers.

He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t been dead these last few years; he’d hurt too bad to be dead.

He thought, standing here, that death wouldn’t hurt. Death would be a release. Death would be peaceful.

Brady said, “She’s not going to care about the house.”

He looked at Cassandra’s short, choppy hair so carefully spiked, at her hands stuffed into her pockets. Pushing at him until she didn’t need to.

“She won’t care about you.”

Cassandra laughed. “Nice.”

“You know what I mean. She’s happy. She wants me to be happy.”

She whispered, “Yeah.”

“That’s what love is. And she loves me.”

Cassandra smiled at him. Happy for him.

He said, “Do you want me to be happy?”

Cassandra froze. “Uh. . .”

He looked down again at that smooth marble waiting for his name. “I don’t want your heart.”

“That’s good, because I’ve already given it away. I won’t ask for it back.”

Brady couldn’t ask for his back, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t.

“Do you think there’s a word for two people who’ve given their hearts to other people?”

“Yeah, I think there’s a word for it.”

He laughed at her tone, at the expression on her face. “Do you think there’s a
good
word for it?”

She shrugged. “There might be.”

“Friends?”

“Okay.”

“Lovers?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t quite right, wasn’t quite what they were. They were something more, he just didn’t know what to call it.

Cassandra said, “Maybe. . .family.”

“A strange sort of family.”

“That’s the only kind I do.”

“Like you and Shane and Christian.”

“Please don’t say his name, here in this place. When I feel so calm.”

“He’s your family, too.”

Cassandra turned away, growling at him under her breath and trudging back to the car, and Brady thought family might just be the word.

Who else would poke and pick and push? Who else could still expect to be forgiven? No matter what.

He said to the blue sky and the green grass, “I know you’re taking care of Charlie, doing a great job like you always did.”

No one answered; she wasn’t there.

He whispered, “I know you’ve forgiven me, when you shouldn’t have.”

The bright flowers reflected off the black marble. And they looked like spring. Like a new beginning. They looked like love and hope and life.

He looked at his son’s name, etched into that stone– if not forever, then for a very long time. And he didn’t know how to say that he was lucky to have had what little time they’d had together. That being a father had been the best part of his life and God knew he wished he’d been a better one.

So he said, “You keep running off that diving board, buddy. Keep trying to give your mom a heart attack.”

That’s the memory Brady would remember. Not the screams of pain but the shouts of joy.

He wouldn’t forget again.

And then he turned, following Cassandra back to the car and leaving his wife and son to their peace.

Christian arrived late for brunch, and then laughed when he realized he was still there before Shane. And Kenny.

Tom sat in his gray, double-breasted suit, nodding at him companionably and sipping his coffee. He said, “They got distracted. Shopping.”

Christian sighed. “I expect I’ll get a new shirt out of it.”

“I’d expect more than one.”

He looked down at his new aquamarine shirt, worn just for Shane, and hoped the new ones wouldn’t be too bad.

He ordered the strawberry-covered waffles, because they were good and he liked what was familiar, and sat there. He tried not to twiddle his thumbs nervously, but he just had nothing to talk about.

And then Tom asked him about the game he was working on. And about growing up in Utah. And Christian relaxed, interested despite his discomfort at being alone with someone he hardly knew.

Tom ate a bite of omelet, wiping his mouth and saying softly, “They’re not like us. Kenny and Shane. They don’t understand what it means to stand out from the crowd. Because they always have and they like it.”

Yes, that described Shane exactly.

Christian looked at Tom’s gray suit and said, “Kenny doesn’t try and buy you more flamboyant clothes?”

Tom smiled slightly. “I’m a lawyer. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer. And I’ve always used that as my excuse for dressing like this. But really, it’s because I’m comfortable with the image this suit presents.

“But for the last forty years, every tie I’ve worn has had something crazy on the end. Kenny gets them specially made. And I think I could wear a different one every day until I die and I wouldn’t have to repeat.”

He unbuttoned his vest, pulling out his tie and showing Christian the bare-assed, chap-wearing cowboy winking over one shoulder.

Christian’s cheeks flamed and Tom tucked it back in, laughing.

“When we’re at home, I’ll wear whatever he buys for me. And when I’m out, I wear this. And we’re happy. It’s important to find what will make both of you happy, if you want to last forty years.”

Christian stared down at his waffles. “I think I’d like to last forty years; I’m just not sure I can stand out in the crowd for that long. I don’t think I have the stamina.”

“Can I tell you what I’ve seen change in the last forty years?” And then Tom waited. Waited for Christian’s nod.

“There have always been those who care a lot. Those who care about what goes on between two people, whether those people are gay or unmarried or different races. And there have always been those who don’t care. By definition, those who care will be louder than those who don’t. That is how it will always be.”

Christian nodded again.

Tom said, “But the number of people who don’t care is getting bigger. And one day, they will drown out those who care just by their sheer numbers. Because every time a beloved actor or a revered sports star comes out, it causes someone to think about the issue. To question whether a different kind of love really is different. And every movie, every TV show, that shows an unapologetic character being who they are will change that fear of something different into acceptance.”

“It won’t happen quickly.”

“Change never does. But I’m legally married to the love of my life, and I didn’t think that would happen in my lifetime.”

“You’re married in this state. And very few states otherwise.”

Tom nodded. “Those who care are fighting with laws, now. But they are fighting a losing battle. Because public opinion is changing, even in Utah. It has been changing for the last forty years and it will keep changing until no amount of money can sway a vote. Until no amount of fear-mongering will stop equality and freedom. Until no one has to be ashamed of who they are.”

Tom dug into his briefcase, pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to Christian. He flipped through, seeing picture after picture of happy, tearful couples finally able to unite. Gay and lesbian, all in Utah’s state capitol.

“You weren’t alone in Utah. You’re not alone here.”

Tears sprang into Christian’s eyes and he said through a tight throat, “It didn’t last.”

“That’s how it goes. One step forward, one step back. All we can do is take that next step forward. Be part of the next wave.” Tom patted his lips again and cleared his throat. “It’s all we can do.”

“Being part of the next wave is standing out in the crowd.”

Tom nodded. “It is. And for some of us, it is quite the gesture.”

“Did Kenny know what it meant for you to be willing to do that?”

Tom laughed. “No. He knew that I loved him; why wouldn’t I want to get married? But I knew. And I think you know, too.”

Christian knew. Knew what that kind of sacrifice meant.

It meant that you loved that person more than you loved yourself.

It meant that you’d last the next forty years.

It meant that your love was true.

It sat in Christian’s gut for a week. A knot tied tight, and he wasn’t able to loosen it. Couldn’t shake it; couldn’t forget about it.

He couldn’t talk about it with anyone.

Not with Tom, because he loved Shane. And Tom had already made his gesture, and he very clearly had a bias.

Not anyone in Christian’s family. He laughed at the idea, and it was brittle and lonely sounding.

And then he did the last thing he thought he’d ever do.

He drove out to Brentwood and he sat in the bar, and he waited for Cassandra to come down and sneer at him.

Because she loved Shane, and she hated Christian, and somewhere between those two extremes was the right answer.

She slid onto the stool next to him and looked at his drink. “Is that just orange juice?”

“Yes.”

“Are you trying to make it look like you’re drinking a screwdriver?”