“Why did you feel you had to live in denial?” I ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since John and I started this conversation.
“Society, friends, family, the firm. Life!” He throws up his hands, then immediately returns to running them up and down his thighs methodically. “I’ve read and heard it’s the hardest thing for a gay man to do—coming out of the closet.” He whistles. “They weren’t kidding. But it’s also the most relieving. I can finally be honest with others, and most importantly, with myself.”
“Your friends, your family,” I stutter. “You think they wouldn’t accept you or something? Me? John, you don’t honestly think I’d shun you, do you?!”
“Of course not.”
“Good!” I gasp, nettled.
“But it’s still something most people don’t understand—”
“John, I’m a PETA member!”
He looks at me with a dumbfounded expression.
I rage on anyhow. “I think the Catholic Church, in all its Creasterness that Mom and Dad insist upon, is seriously flawed when it comes to marriage and equality.” I blink rapidly and continue my rambling. “I voted against Prop 8! I even honked my horn at every sign I saw saying ‘Honk if you’re opposed to Prop 8’ back home—”
“Sophie.”
“I loved Will and Grace! And I’m so happy Sean Hayes finally came out. I mean, he so was gay, but I was so supportive when he finally came out—”
“Sophie.”
“I think Ellen’s just the funniest thing ever, and I’m a total supporter of legalizing marijuana and marriage equality and adoption equality and—”
“Sophie,” John says through laughter. “While all of these extremely liberal—”
“Damn straight I’m a liberal! Totally backed Hillary in the primaries, voted for Obama, twice. Donated to that solar panel field project thingy…in Northern Cali—”
“Sophie.”
“Yeah?”
“While you’re liberal and have a love for overrated television shows like Will and Grace and,” he nudges at the TV behind him, “90210. Seriously, you’re not for real with that one, are you?” He chuckles. “Luke Perry scores a ten on all counts, but—”
“It’s a friend’s,” I reply simply and with a wave of the hand.
“All of your lovable and charming liberal qualities aside, coming out is still a big and kind of frightening deal. And it doesn’t happen overnight. With the snap of the fingers,” he snaps them, “you don’t summon the courage to admit to everyone and yourself what you’ve been hiding or battling for years.”
“I guess.” I sigh, slumping my chin into my hands. “And Mom and Dad?”
“They know. Told them last week, when I was in town.”
“Shit. And?”
He juts out his bottom lip and nods his head, eyes trained on the floor. “Surprisingly, they took it well. Similar to you. Of course Mom said I shouldn’t bring this up to Father Doyle at next year’s Christmas mass.”
I roll my eyes. I love my mother. She’s a complex, often contradictory woman who, half the time doesn’t know what she wants when she says she does. She’s as loose a Catholic as I but insists Christmas and Easter mass be attended.
And as for John being gay? Evidently she told John that she’s sorry he felt he had to hide this truth for so long, and that while it shouldn’t be brought to old Doyle’s attention for whatever reason, she would proudly support and love him, just the same.
“So long as I marry well,” John adds with a laugh. “Always a footnote with Mom.”
“Mom said that?”
“Said that a self-respecting lawyer like myself should marry another self-respecting lawyer…or doctor. Something reputable.”
Another heavy roll of my eyes as I say, “And Dad?”
John leans back comfortably in the sofa and runs some fingers through his freshly washed hair. “He was mostly quiet. Just said that he figured it’d be a matter of time, what with me living in San Francisco and all.”
“He did not!”
“Eh, it’s fine. I imagine many fathers don’t have the best instant reactions when he learns his only son is gay.”
“And Oliver?” I say with a small smile. “You’ve got to be kidding me, John. Oliver?”
“What’s wrong with Oliver?” He pulls forward in his seat, concerned. “Something I should be warned about?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” I settle back into my own seat. “I just think…”
“Yeah?”
“Well…” I mutter through a small grin. “He’s a really great guy.”
“I know.”
“And I’m happy for you.” I wag my head brusquely. “Even if I am totally and absolutely flabbergasted. So caught off guard.”
John laughs. “Yeah, I know.”
“But, I’m happy for you. Proud of you. Really, I am.”
“Thanks, Sophie. That means a lot.” He opens his arms and leans forward to bring me into an embrace. “I’m glad I have your support and love.”
“Of course you do.” I hug him tightly and kiss the side of his face. I spot some glitter he missed washing from his hair and pluck it out. “Now I just need to find myself some glitter love.” I wave my decorated fingers at him, and he gives me a light shove.
“You will, Sophie, you will. But Re-Live probably isn’t the place for you to go searching for it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I brush back a few strands of his loose, wet hair, then clap my hands together. “Come on. I need to get back to work and help your boyfriend out before the rush of the day arrives. Wait.” I narrow my eyes. “Is that too soon to say? Boyfriend?”
“Barely a first date down, Sophie. Just because we’re homosexuals doesn’t mean everything is different from the straight world. Boyfriend material…well,” John wags his head about, wearing a goofy grin, “the potential is there.”
I half-laugh, half-sigh as I stand, readjusting the folds of my warm scarf. “Okay, well, whatever you and Oliver are, you drive me back to work and the car’s yours. Sound like a deal?”
“Deal. There’s some shopping downtown I’d love to do.”
“So we’re pulling out all the gay stereotypes now, are we?” I kid as I gather my things.
“Hey, I’ve always enjoyed a good shopping experience. Now I just need to go look for something nice and new. Maybe a suede dinner jacket or something for my date tonight.” He wiggles his eyebrows, instantly eliciting a chortle from me.
“All right, all right,” I say, making a shooing motion, gesturing him to hurry up and finish getting ready. “Get me to work and all of Seattle’s shopping delights are yours to be had!”
***
You’d think I’d had enough drama for one day what with John’s shocking news, and the chat of Chicago with Lara last night, however hypothetical it may (or may not) be. But when it rains it pours, as I’ve so often experienced in moments like these when I think I’ve just about had as much as I can handle.
Evelyn comes storming in to the café early in the afternoon, making a beeline for her apron. She chucks her purse onto the counter and asks directly and without inflection, “Hi. Where would you like me?”
“Errr,” I draw out. I point towards the front of the café. “You can help me out up front. I’m just going to finish these macarons with Oliver first.”
Oliver looks up from his workstation, eyes wide, as if telling me, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Here,” I rush out, holding up the freshly prepared batch of pistachio macarons. “Want one?” Perhaps a sweet will help round out Evelyn’s unexpected sour mood.
Instead, she grunts and tells me no thanks. “I just want to work today.”
“So,” I say in a small voice, after Evelyn and I have been working the front of the café in stifling silence for nearly an hour. After my conversation with John, I’ve had enough awkward moments of speechlessness to last the rest of the week. “Hung over from last night or ju
st a bad start to the day?” I get straight to the point.
I can see Evelyn clench her jaw as she aggressively depresses the keys on the cash register, ringing up an order for a dozen mixed pastries.
“School stuff?” I guess, although classes have barely begun. How stressful could it be? “You didn’t get the classes you wanted?”
She pulls the receipt free from the register with the same aggression. “No. It’s nothing school-related.”
“That’s good,” I say in a stalling kind of way, not sure what to make of the conversation I’ve initiated.
I absent-mindedly arrange the variety of cupcakes in the countertop display case, taking a second to admire the delicate lemon and lime zest sprinkled atop the vanilla buttercream icing of the Simply Citrus cupcakes—a combined effort from Oliver and myself when brainstorming what to do for the newest cupcake’s decoration. I can picture it being a big hit come summer time.
“It’s just relationship stuff,” Evelyn finally says.
I tidy up a bit, removing the fallen zest from the stand and situating the cupcakes so they’re evenly spaced. “Oh?” I sound.
“Chad and I had a fight last night.”
“Oliver mentioned you guys were arguing a little at the bar. Everything okay?”
“Psh. We’ve been doing that a lot lately—arguing,” she says heatedly. “It’s not like major blowouts or total drama or anything. We’re just not seeing eye-to-eye on some things.” She sighs loudly. “I’d really rather not talk about it anymore.”
I’m unsure of what to say at this point, seeing how I don’t know what the argument was about, and also seeing how it’s not really any of my business. Evelyn’s a nice girl, and while hitting House 206 last night was fun, she’s not exactly one of my best girlfriends. I don’t just call her up to shoot the breeze or discuss serious issues.
Deciding it’s best I let things be, I pat Evelyn’s shoulder and say, “If you need some time to cool off you can take a little longer break than usual.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I think I may take you up on that. Drove myself to work today, and I was so pissed, so…” She grunts. “Anyway!” Her voice is suddenly thick with mock enthusiasm. She holds up the receipt and says, “I’m going to go gather this order. Thanks a lot, Sophie.”
“No problem.” I look towards the café’s front door as the bells peal, and in comes a group of four women.
“And Evelyn?” I call out before she’s out of sight. “Take one of those fresh macarons in the back. That’ll lighten up your mood for sure.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Spring is finally rolling in, February and all its cold wind, pelting rains, and dreary skies have moved on out of Seattle, and March has swooped merrily on in.
The Cup and the Cake had a record-breaking Valentine’s Day, and I fully mean the café and not the owner. Oliver, Evelyn, and I made more cookies, cupcakes, petit fours, and macarons than we thought imaginable, all adorned with some heart, rose, or XO sentiment. And I was ever so grateful for the insane amount of work, because, as anticipated, V-Day for me was as dry and deserted as the Sahara on a blistering summer day.
I haven’t been on a single date since Dean, and I do not count that lame encounter I had at a bar with Jackie and Lara a few weeks back. Talking to the lone guy to the right of our table about how we love our economical cars doesn’t equal an instant love connection. Actually, the Prius connection was an okay start, but when he offered me his business card and asked if I’d be interested in attending one of his Amway talks, I decided the charm was infinitesimal at best.
It’s okay, though. I’m positive and receptive, I’m totally willing to date. You just kind of need to have someone interested in dating you in order to have that date, you know? But work’s so busy, even though Valentine’s is over, and that keeps me on my toes. Wedding season is almost upon me, and that’s always one of the craziest times of the year. So busted Valentine’s or not, I’ll survive just fine.
As the winter has passed, so too has the discussion of “will he, or won’t he” in regards to Brandon and the adoption papers. Finally!
Robin received a shocking email one day a few weeks back from Brandon, much to her delight, saying that the papers were filled out and all that was left was the legal courtroom jazz.
April eighth is marked on my calendar as the celebratory day when Rose will officially be Bobby Holman’s daughter. It’s also a reminder that Brandon will be in town then, flying in from New York to cut the final ties that bind us all together. I let go of him long ago, but him still being Rose’s father, as little as he has to do with anything paternal, has been that inextricable connection. It’s like I’ve been able to let go…but not quite. This time next month all that will change. At last.
Throughout the winter John and Oliver have kept in touch; the two are actually a couple now! Sometimes it’s still hard to believe my brother is gay. But when I see how happy Oliver is at work whenever I ask how he and John are doing, and whenever I call John to catch up and he tells me how great a match Oliver is for him, I’m relieved my brother has found what I’ve been searching for for years. He’s in love and has made a real connection; and as lonely as I may find myself from time to time, I never begrudge him his happiness. If anything it just reminds me that love’s at any turn, any corner. Patience is key, as Emily wrote in her email the other day, as all the girls reiterate till they’re blue in the face.
“Are you certain you can handle all this by yourself, Sophie?” Oliver asks, his face saying it all: There’s no way in hell you can handle all this by yourself!
I survey the front of the café. It’s at about a quarter capacity, and with only the evening ahead of me, I think I can honestly handle the rest of the day on my own. Evelyn’s already out of town, very much ready for spring break next week, and Oliver’s taking a much-deserved extended weekend. He’s flying down to San Francisco to see John, so I’ve packed him a box of their favorite cupcakes.
“I’ll be fine,” I say to Oliver, handing over the pink to-go box of treats. “Besides, do I have a choice? You’re on that plane whether I like it or not.”
“So true.” He takes the box, sneaking a peek inside.
“No eating those apple-pear-cinnamon ones,” I warn. “John’ll kill you. And I will, too.”
“Scout’s honor!” he says, holding up two fingers. “And don’t forget: Slowly stir in the rose essence when you make those macarons.”
I sigh, slightly dreading having to whip up by myself all of those promised rose- and strawberry-flavored macarons a client of Jackie’s ordered for her social luncheon. I’ve been getting better at making the delicate treats, and to get them to taste just as I want, but having Oliver around to lend a helpful and experienced hand is always a comfort.
I dramatically look at my watch, tapping its glass face. “You better get out of here and catch that flight before I keep you hostage and make you do all the macarons by yourself,” I tease.
“All right, dear. Au revoir.” Oliver tucks his chef hat into his tote bag. “I’ll be back on Monday, well-rested and ready to work. You leave those wedding cake samples to me.”
“Will do,” I say, exchanging goodbye kisses on the cheeks. “Au revoir. Tell John I love him and miss him.”
“Oh I do plan on telling him that,” Oliver says with a taunting look, then waves goodbye and dashes out the door.
***
I’m about to lock up for the night, the brighter evening skies that come with spring throwing me off a bit. I notice I’ve been closed for ten minutes already and have yet to lock the front door.
As I approach the door, I notice Chad’s truck in the lot, parked as poorly and carelessly as always.
What is he doing here? I wonder, considering Evelyn’s soaking up the Cancun sun.
I pull open the door and shout out, “Have you lost your mind?”
Chad struts over on a pair of old O’Neil flip-flops, dressed in whitewashed jeans torn terribly
at both knees and the bottom near his heels, the ends dragging on the pavement. Like many of his jeans, this pair is splattered in colorful splotches of paint, and his plain black t-shirt, too, is now a canvas.
“I lost that years ago,” he kids.
“Someone been finger painting?” I kid back, nodding my head his way.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Before I let him in I ask why he’s here and if he’s forgotten that his girlfriend’s got the rest of this week and next off. “She did tell you she’s on spring break, right?” I can’t help but joke.
“Yes,” he says through a sigh, hands jammed in his back pockets. He blows his messy hair out of his face and rocks back on his heels. “Don’t remind me.”
“All righty then…” I say, his words lost on me. “So…” I await his reason for swinging by if there’s no Evelyn to pick up.
“Out of the office early; not feeling inspired with the painting I’m working on.” He looks off to the side. “Thought maybe you could use some help?” He looks at me, both brows raised.
“Erm…well…” I murmur, slowly opening the door wider, but not wide enough to welcome him in.
“I was in the area,” he says.
“In the area?”
He doesn’t respond, only pressing his lips tightly together, eyebrows still raised.
“You live in Lake Union,” I say simply.
“I was painting…at the loft.”
“Also in Lake Union.” I shift my weight onto my other foot, leaning against the pried door.
“Look,” he says huskily, “are you going to give me a geography lesson or are you going to let me in? I assume you could use some help?” He peers behind me into the dimly lit café. “All alone I presume?”
I distribute my weight evenly and stand taller, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “Yes. I’m alone.”
“Could you use some help?”
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 28
