by Loren, Celia
“We came to talk to you, Daddy.”
“What is this cretin doing on my property?”
“Daddy, don’t!”
“Darling!” To his surprise, Mrs. Christiansen had put a sharp hand on her husband’s forearm. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the matriarch show that much agency. “Let’s listen to what they have to say.”
“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, thank you.”
“Who wants tea?”
“They can’t have tea! They’re not welcome here, Elyse!”
The back doors peeled open, revealing the rest of the clan. Celeste and Marie were wide-eyed as ever, though Ryder thought he could see that they’d grown up a little in even the few months he’d been away. Teenagers did that, he supposed. Little Martin jumped out of the bucket seat and grinned like an idiot, which made Ryder grin back. At least he had one ally behind enemy lines.
Last to extract himself was Johnny, who rode in the backseat. His old friend did not look good. His face was haggard and beaten. Standing side by side, you could never have guessed they were the same age. He seemed savvier with his prosthesis, but there were dark rings around his eyes and his lips were chapped. Ryder felt a stab of pity. Once upon a time, he would have looked out for this man like a brother. He would never have let things come to this.
“Let’s go inside, Dad,” Johnny told his fuming father, and the whole family seemed to listen to him. Right, Ryder recalled. Because he’s the other man of the house. In a funeral-like procession, they all marched inside. He was surprised by how pleasing he found the house’s familiar smell. Like baked goods and potpourri.
Mrs. Christiansen actually set to work making tea as Chloe and her sisters held a subtle, sweet reunion. Celeste and Marie marveled at her new look, touching her jeans, her shirt, the new way she wore her hair. Ryder felt proud of her. She was standing tall in this family that had always seemed to suppress her. Maybe everything would be okay after all…
...or not. It felt like years had passed in the silent family kitchen, between Mrs. Christiansen’s monk-like pouring of the tea and her father’s penetrative stare into space. Everyone was waiting for the other to speak. Ryder seemed inclined to break the stalemate, but Chloe motioned to him (via eye contact) that it was best he take a back seat. After all, this was her family’s turf. Like it or no, they needed to meet the Christiansens on their own silly terms.
Miraculously, it was Johnny who finally broke, setting his mug down with a clang. Chloe watched the rim of the saucer spin angrily.
“This isn’t fair,” her brother said, directing his column of fury at the table. It was so quiet they could all hear her father swallow before he spoke the next words.
“What’s not fair, son?” Oh, boy. They were in it now, for better or worse. She could tell by the shaky quality in that typically un-shakeable voice. “You yourself told us about... the basement. And the drugs.”
“Those were mine, father.”
“What?” The grey helmet of hair would have trembled, had the hairspray permitted it. “What do you mean?”
Johnny flinched even more under the microscopic gaze of his whole family. Even Martin’s eyes were like headlights.
“I’ve been on painkillers, on and off, since the hospital,” her brother said, in a broken voice. “I’m weak. I gave into temptation, too. And I blamed it on Ryder because...” Johnny looked at his friend for the first time in weeks.
“...because I was afraid. I didn’t want to be the source of our family’s shame.”
“But is it still true?” The voice that piped up now was her mother’s. “Is it still true? About the fornication?”
“Jiminy Christmas, Elyse...”
“It’s a large sin, Johannes! We deserve to know!”
“We’re talking about the boy now.”
“Dad...”
“Mr. C...”
“SHUT UP!” Seven heads pivoted as one toward Marie, who now stood on her chair in the corner. “One thing at a time, you guys! I want to know about Ryder and Chloe. I want to know if I get my sister back.”
Ryder swirled the contents of his tea-cup, as if he could read the leaves at the bottom and predict the next moment. Chloe tried not to let herself get lost in the fantasy that remained parceled like a candy bar in the furthest corner of her mind. Imagine seeing the world with this man, she told herself, taking an illicit bite. With his new rock-star hair and military bod, with that snake on his shoulder. With his human love, his human kindness, his endearing flaws. Ryder’s grey eyes found her blue ones. Preposterously, he winked.
“I love him, Mama,” she said. “He’s my person. The way Daddy is your person. And I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I know I can be a decent human being and even a Christian without living exactly like you do.”
“But it’s wrong, baby!” Her mother was crying. “Certain kinds of lust are just wrong. I think about your friend Gwen’s father and his...friend...and I feel in my heart that it’s wrong.”
“No,” Ryder snapped. “That’s not wrong, it’s ignorant. You know, I actually learned this in your house, Mrs. Christiansen: just because you don’t understand something, it doesn’t make it wrong.”
The sunlight was ebbing. Her Constant Comment was growing cold. Chloe wished it was a week ago. That dizzy evening when they’d gone skating on a crowded pond in Central Park. That night, for the first time in their whole courtship, Ryder had opened up about his family, speaking of his mother’s abrupt illness and death. He’d talked about how his Aunt Tilde was the only one to open her arms to him when she passed, though she’d proved a flaky parent, not quite up to the task. After this soul-bearing talk, Chloe had dragged Ryder back to Hampden House and kissed his cold cheeks until they’d started a private fire. What an exhausting conversation this was, compared to that. Right, wrong, who cared, she thought. Be kind. Hold on to your family. Love as often as you can. That’s it, right?
“If they’re not welcome here, I’m not welcome here,” John said. This time, her brother took pains to meet everyone’s eyes across the table. When he glanced her way, she tolerated the emotions that came up. He looked so defeated. What had been taken from him...she could no longer blame him for outing her and Ryder in the basement, especially now that she knew the truth about his condition. John was in pain. She loved him anyway.
“Alright,” Elder Johannes said, in the voice he usually reserved for his most solemn lectures. “Alright, enough melodrama. We’re Christiansens. You are my oldest daughter, and you are my oldest son. Let them stay, for now.” Her father’s magnanimous glance considered his family, inviting no further discussion. Chloe tried to swallow her surprise. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her father waver in his faith. Not so much as a glass of wine had tempted him, as far as she knew. Yet here he was, distributing tacit blessings like he’d gone Unitarian on everybody.
Marie started clapping, which lead to Martin laughing, which lead to more tea. Ryder smirked across the table, and Chloe felt the lightbulb switch in her personality grow bright again. “See?” He mouthed to her, when no one was looking. “All happy families are alike. They forgive.”
Epilogue
“So it’s not the worst thing in the world?” Gwen asked. Chloe laughed. It was still so bizarre, how her coolest BFF was now soliciting sex advice from a former Miss Prude 2015. Every time Gwen asked a naughty question, Chloe felt the tectonic plates of the earth shift underfoot.
“The first time hurts. But if he’s slow and sweet, it gets awesome really fast.” The two descended into whispery, childish giggles until a tailor’s assistant shot them a judge-y look. Not in front of the gowns, the bitch seemed to say.
They were allowed to be a little silly, Chloe figured. A girl only got a few shots at the whole perfect wedding dress thing. She pictured Ryder’s sleepy grin in the hotel that morning and reconsidered her word choice. One shot, she smiled at her reflection. I get one shot. I only need one.
Miss Patricia’s Dress Shoppe (and yup, that w
as ‘shop’ with the extra ‘P’) was Lexi’s recommendation. “Legit the best place in the city for vintage wedding dresses,” she’d told her giddy, enfianced friend. So far, the place had lived up to the hype. Chloe and Gwen currently frolicked in a steampunk-y set of high-collared gowns, complete with bustles and lacy sleeves. Though she figured Ryder might prefer to see a little more of his bride’s body on their wedding day, ‘vintage’ clothing presented a happy medium between her own newfound tastes and her mother’s more fuddy-duddy wedding plans.
“Well look out, groomsmen,” Gwen said, arranging a huge veil over her face.
“So much for maid of honor, huh?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve only ever been to a Mormon wedding and a gay wedding. If I have a shot in hell of fulfilling my doing-it-in-a-tacky-dress fantasy, this will be the day.”
“I hate to break it to you, but there’s a lot of gay people in our wedding.” Chloe laughed, before inspiration struck. “Except for Wally. Yeah, wait, you might like Wally. He’s another military guy.”
“Ooh la la. Mama like.” Then the giggles rained down again.
The date had been set. For March 10th, a year to the day after hers and Ryder’s first meeting. “You crazy kids,” Gwen had hooted, shocked at the speed of it all. But if you were crazy-in-love, consenting adults with religious parentals to please, the day to end ‘living in sin’ just couldn’t come fast enough. Ry and Chloe were getting hitched at a sweet, non-denominational church on Hudson Street, near the hospital where Wally and Ryder met weekly. Elder Johannes would lead portions of their tailored ceremony to accommodate members of her former faith, as well as anyone else who wanted to share in the joy. Her friend Therese would be the officiant who married them. And best of all, she’d get to kiss the man she loved in front of friends new and old, plus her entire family. It was getting hard not to smile. Chloe felt a whole new understanding for the obnoxious bride-to-bes from her college days, perky Barbie girls who were prone to crying at commercials.
Only that morning, after a rigorous few hours spent tangled in one another, Chloe had fully affirmed her life’s trajectory for the umpteenth time. Ryder had been moving inside her with slow strokes, the crook of his arm cradling her head. They’d gazed into one another’s eyes like the daffy lovebirds they were, and come simultaneously and slowly, their mutual cries co-mingling. “I love you,” he’d said, quite plainly. She’d kissed him and kissed him, from his forehead to his chest to the tip of his member. Naughtiness had brought them together, and it continued to feed the flames. “I love you too, Ryder Strong.”
“Looking forward to becoming Mrs. Chloe Strong?”
“Umm, did we discuss the name-switching thing? Because at least one of us is not a comic book character.” He’d slapped her ass playfully, and it had started again like clockwork. It felt so amazing to laugh with someone who could also fuck your brains out. No, she had not a single doubt.
“Hey, Chloe,” Gwen asked, primping in the old mirror. “You never told us. How did Ryder propose?”
She opened her mouth, about to spill. But something stopped her breath. Some things, she figured, were better off sacred.
Chloe Christiansen smiled like the Mona Lisa and twirled in her gown, feeling free.
THE END
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