ProetryPlace Blog 76 Minor Differences
Conclusion (Part 2 of 2)
Mik stirred the ice and liquor slowly, chilling the Absolute and Martini & Rossi Extra Dry until the flask developed a haze of condensation, the signal to decant.
“Sure you won’t have one with me?” he asked. “I need to talk with you about something. It may take a while.”
“No thanks, babe. I’m pretty mellow already.” Nettie opened the oven door, checking the chicken casserole she had prepared for their dinner. It was one of her specialties, and already it smelled delicious.
“Then just come sit with me.” Mik strained the cold, clear liquid into a wide-mouthed, long-stemmed martini glass, the kind he reserved for special occasions. “Maybe you’d better turn that oven down to low for a while.”
He proceeded between long sips to reveal Brad’s news, the wedding plans first and then, fumbling the words, the fact that it would be a homosexual union.
Nettie sat across from Mik, leaning in with her arms on the kitchen table. She seemed to absorb all the information as easily as if he had told her Brad had a dentist appointment or was planning a trip around the world.
“I’m not that surprised,” she said, “I’ve always wondered about Brad.”
“But he’s such a hunk, as you women say.”
Nettie patted the back of Mik’s hand. “What planet do you live on? They always are!” She rose to check the casserole. “Maybe you should fix me one of your silver bullets, after all.”
He made a double batch with fresh ice and a little extra vermouth, the way she liked it, and returned to the table with the two full glasses. “But that’s not all. Here’s the kicker . . . where it becomes a dilemma for you and me. He wants us to witness the ceremony at city hall. Then he wants us to have dinner with the two of them holding hands and making dove eyes, and see them off on the honeymoon!”
“That is so nice of him to want us there. What’s your dilemma? Brad has always had a lot of respect for you. It’s wonderful he has enough confidence to ask for your support now.”
“That’s it? You’re not even mildly disturbed, much less appalled or horrified? We are talking about being official guests at and party to a gay wedding . . . with Brad as the beautiful bride!”
“I’ve never heard you talk like this before. Since when are you Mr. Homophobe?”
“Well, this is someone we know!” Mik’s guts battled with his brain. “Those people can do what they want behind closed doors, no matter how repulsive that may be. At least we were not involved in it—until now. And, I do not like the public displays or acceptance of it . . . it’s not natural.”
“My God, would you listen to yourself? You’ve read enough to know it is inborn. It’s in his genes, in his blood. It’s not a matter of choice. It is natural. Maybe not for us, but for them it is.”
“I never bought that. Not 100 percent. Anyway, why do they have to get married? It shouldn’t even be allowed. Marriage has always meant a man and a woman.”
“Listen, dear,” she said, “I am happy and proud to live in one of the five or six places in this country where homosexual marriage is sanctioned and legal.” The glass shook in her hand, spilling out a few drops. “Where is your cherished notion of equality without that?”
“The constitution doesn’t say anything about gay marriage.” He sipped slowly, feeling the booze ease his taut nerves. He knew his statement was hollow and incoherent and felt relieved when Nettie chose not to challenge it.
“Brad is practically your best friend ever. How can you condemn him for this? You should be happy he is out of the closet and free to be himself.”
“I’m not condemning him. I just do not understand how he can choose that kind of relationship. God, I cannot stand to think about it.”
“I don’t really understand either, but sex is such a powerful, pervading drive. Is it any wonder that differences in preference or orientation exist? At any rate, it’s not for us to approve or not.”
Mik shook his head but offered no response. Nettie continued.
“Think of how many have lived in a hell of heterosexual relationships when their natural inclination was homosexual. Think of Brad and Julie. They were miserable together. Why should gays and lesbians have to choose that kind of life to satisfy us? Why should they have to live in clandestine affairs or in solitude?”
“Well, I’d rather they just shut up about it then.” Mik had read all the opinions on homosexual tendencies and the rights of all Americans, all humans, to enjoy the benefits of a marriage relationship. He had no formal religious beliefs on which to base his objections as many others did, citing obscure biblical passages. He just did not like the idea. “I don’t want them flaunting their lifestyle at me. I don’t need to see any more Gay Pride parades! God, I suppose Brad and his new husband could be the frigging king and queen in the next one.”
The oven beeped and Nettie rose to extract their dinner. “Set the table for me, honey, while I fix a salad and get this casserole ready to serve. And relax, for heaven’s sake. You’re all flushed.”
Their dinner conversation turned to the recent hurricanes in Florida and snippets of local news that Nettie had caught on television earlier in the day when she wasn’t working on her poetry collection. Then it was quiet, so quiet that Mik could hear Nettie’s breathing and the tic-toc of the pendulum clock in the hall, each of them reluctant to continue with the subject that remained fixed in both of their minds.
Nettie smiled and broke the silence. “What should we get them for a wedding gift?”
“Jeez. I have no clue what to give a couple of gays.”
“Don’t think of it in that context.”
“How can you not?”
Mik knew he could never see Brad with the same eyes again. Would they ever again be able to shake hands or bear hug as they were accustomed to do? He watched Nettie’s delicate hand holding her dinner fork, absently playing with the food on her plate. He loved her fine hands, her rounded arms, shoulders and neck. He loved the touch of her velvet skin He loved her delicate face, framed in short-cropped hair that accentuated her femininity and appeal. He loved her shining eyes and her soft lips. The soft curves and the round fullness in her knit cotton blouse urged him to reach out, to feel her close to him. How could Brad disdain such feminine charms for the arms of a man?
Shadows flickered briefly across Nettie’s serious, thoughtful face—shadows of candlelight from the four tapers she had lighted to enhance their dinner and shadows of doubt and concern. “What did you say to him?” she asked. Her voice was controlled and quiet. “Did you congratulate him, tell him you couldn’t wait to meet his fiancé?”
Mik grunted and thought, Are you kidding?
He said, “I told him we had travel plans for that week. We’d have to see if they could be changed.”
“So you lied, and you are actually thinking of abandoning him.”
“What else could I do? God, he knocked me over with this whole idea.”
“Isn’t he the same Brad you have loved dearly for the past three years?”
“The same Brad?” Mik exploded. “Hell no! He’s about to become someone’s blushing bride for God’s sake. A wrestler’s bride! Mrs., uh . . . Mrs. Norman Kramer.” His last words trailed off. “He will never be Brad Stoner again to me . . . .”
Nettie stared at her husband. “How sad,” she whispered and pushed back her chair. She rose and moved deliberately around the table to Mik’s side. “Get up,” she said, and he obeyed. She looked up into his confused face and ran her smooth fingers up his arms. She grasped him tightly like an unruly child.
“Tomorrow you will tell him that we will be honored and delighted to stand by him at his wedding. Tomorrow you will ask if he can bring Norman to our house for dinner next week so we can meet him and get to know him a little before the wedding. Tomorrow you will tell him that we will continue to stand by them while other friends and acquaintances abandon them and shun them, for surely that will happen. Brad knows that. Our state recognizes the legality and value of their relationship, but most of the people he knows won’t accept them any more. They will be talked about and treated like some kind of dirty joke.”
She released her grip. “And you’d better hope he still accepts you.”
She paused. “I wonder if they plan on having a family.”
Nettie’s touch and clear instructions had calmed him, but Mik’s longstanding and deeply rooted sentiments persisted. “They’re two men, Nettie. They can’t have kids. If they could, how would that child feel, having a couple of gays for parents?”
“I know two lesbian couples from the tennis club,” she said and stood back with folded arms. “One has kids.”
“Two more couples! Christ, it’s getting epidemic. You never mentioned them before.”
“It never came up. Anyway, they are both loving couples and seem quite normal—if there is such a thing—in every other way. One couple—Cindy and Mary—have adopted two kids. One boy and one girl. They are so proud of them. They talk about them all the time, just like other parents. They dress the kids well. They love them. They have the same concerns and worries and aspirations as any other parent . . . and then some.”
“But the kids can’t feel good about it,” he said over his shoulder as he carried the dishes to the dishwasher.
Nettie followed and turned him to face her. “You’re transferring your own feelings to them. I’ve met them. The kids are like any others I know except they know they have two moms. Makes them feel special. They accept it without question.”
“But they’ll be influenced to think a homosexual relationship is normal.”
“All I know is that those kids are some of the best adjusted and best behaved I’ve ever met, the most knowledgeable for their age, the most aware. The moms have told me that they do not want to predispose the children to homosexuality or heterosexuality. Quite the opposite. They know how precious a thing that freedom of choice is.”
Now she was flushed. “Damn it, don’t you know that after their own struggles with sexual preference, they don’t want the kids to face that trauma. Or the social stigma that homosexuality carries. That will be with us for years to come. Maybe forever. Don’t you see, they just want the kids to be very aware . . . to help them make their own choices . . . and to understand the consequences.”
Nettie held Mik’s face in her two hands. “This country needs to do something to remove that stigma and recognize the value of these people and their relationships like any others. They should not be second class citizens any longer.” Her voice rose as emotions flooded her words. Then, looking at Mik’s pinched lips, she laughed. Her grip on his face had tightened, making him look like the grill of an Edsel. “Didn’t mean to get on a rant,” she said and dropped her hands.
Mik looked at her with raised brows.
She kissed his bewildered face on the cheek and said, “Sorry.”
Mik pulled her close and folded her in his arms. Thus they stood for several moments in quiet, domestic embrace, holding on to themselves, holding on to each other.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
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