Chapter 2 #2
She taps her glass against mine and I giggle, letting some of my tension ebb away as we each take a sip.
“Isaac is your family as well now,” I remind her.
“And his family. They’re good people. I’m okay sharing you with them.
And!” I waggle my eyebrows devilishly at her.
“Soon you’ll start having bay-bees. You’ll have more family than you know what to do with, and I fully intend on co-opting them all. ”
It’s true. Isaac’s mom in particular is obsessed with me. It makes the gut-wrenching ache of losing my own folks to their prejudice slightly more tolerable.
Bee snorts and rolls her eyes. “I worked way too hard to become a doctor to go on maternity leave any time soon. Give a girl a few years to breathe, won’t you?”
“Urgh, I guess,” I tell her playfully.
The truth is that I agree with her a hundred percent, and I know Isaac is happy to wait to start having kids so Bee can establish herself at the hospital. There’s no rush.
But I think there’s a part of me that’s eager to have the next generation in our lives.
Because I want to show them the unconditional love and support that I was somehow not worthy of.
I want to be the best damn uncle this town has ever seen.
No matter what, I’m going to champion whatever they want to study at school, whatever weird hobbies they pursue, whatever careers they aspire toward.
And I’m going to approve of whoever they fall in love with or however they want to express themselves in their appearance. They could be gay or trans, fem or butch, have any kind of disability or medical condition, be a jock, a goth, a nerd or a quiet little bookworm that barely ever talks.
I’m going to love the shit out of any niblings I’m lucky enough to get.
That’s my vow.
Beatrice announces we need fresh drinks, and once she’s returned from the kitchen with them and some snacks to nibble on, she faces me on the sofa again. “Soooo…” she begins, immediately making me brace for impact.
“Yes?” I prompt. “You look like you’re going to tell me that Darren Criss isn’t actually gay. Again.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, it’s not that bad.
At least, I hope it isn’t.” She winces and takes a fortifying gulp of her drink.
“I had an idea. And it’s just an idea!” She throws her free hand up at me, eyes wide.
“If you hate it, we can pretend like I never even mentioned it. But I thought it was lovely and I think I’d really like to do it but only if it doesn’t freak you out or make you sad or—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say with a chuckle. “Slow down, superstar.”
Bless my big sister and her inability to hold her liquor.
You can tell which of us has worked their ass off to become a junior doctor and which of us works in a bridal dress store and drinks like a fish.
Perhaps I’ll gently suggest she switches to herbal tea after this one, at least until I’ve gotten some dinner inside her.
“What’s the idea?” I ask. “I’m all ears. Zero judgement here, I promise.”
“You promise?” she checks.
I grin and rub her arm. “That’s what I just said.”
She exhales, puffing her cheeks out and looking around her living room, like she might find some courage amidst all the half-made wedding favors and boxes of cake samples that went dry hours ago.
“So, there’s this organization called Rainbow Reach,” she begins.
“Isaac found them. This was actually his idea.” She gets a look on her face that tells me she thinks that was super romantic of him, and I decide right then to go through with whatever it is for their sake.
Isaac has been incredibly relaxed about this entire process, so if he has a suggestion that makes my sister look like that, I want to make it a reality, no matter my feelings on it.
“Go on,” I encourage her.
She takes a moment to apparently fortify herself, then plows ahead.
“They’re like a community—of both LGBT folks and allies—who want to be there for queer people when they need someone.
So, say a trans person has been rejected by their family, someone else’s mom might have a place or two extra set for Thanksgiving.
Or a gay kid won’t have anyone cheering for them at their graduation, so they can contact several nearby members who’d be happy to show up and make all the noise they can for them. Or—”
“Or a bride’s homophobic parents won’t come to her wedding if her hyper-fem brother’s going to be there,” I interject, pretty confident where this is going.
She visibly swallows and nods. “Yeah, that. And I understand why you don’t want to walk me down the aisle instead of Dad.
You don’t want to validate their absence.
And you’re doing pretty much every other job you could anyway!
” she adds with a tearful laugh. “But, well, Isaac found someone who’s based right here in town, which is insane.
He didn’t know if he’d find someone in SoCal at all, let alone on our doorstep.
But this is an older gay guy who wants to give back, especially to the Black, queer community.
Isaac would like…we would like…to ask him to walk me down the aisle. ” She tenses. “What do you think?”
Before saying anything, I take a long drink of my vodka and pink lemonade, swirling her proposal around as fast as I can.
“If this is something that makes you and your man happy,” I say slowly, “then I want that, too. However…I don’t want to sweep Mom and Dad’s no-show under the carpet.
I don’t want them to be let off the hook.
But I also don’t want you to walk down that aisle all alone.
” I take a really big drink and nod while I swallow.
“So maybe this would be a nice compromise.”
“Oh, Ro,” Bee says softly, shaking her head. “You know that Isaac’s parents would both happily walk with me. I wouldn’t be alone. We want to do this for you.”
For a few seconds, we just stare at each other as my brain catches up with my pounding heart and the lump in my throat. “For me?” I mange to utter eventually.
Bee nods. “And me,” she admits tearfully.
“I hate that they’re punishing us both for you just damn well existing.
But I think having someone like this guy from Rainbow Reach…
an older Black gay man…I think it could be healing to have him there for both of us in so many ways.
So that everyone at the wedding understands just how wrong Mom and Dad are and how loved you are by us all.
It makes a statement that their bigotry isn’t accepted and that your own community will be there for you if they refuse. ”
I drain my glass then rub my thumb against the stem for a few moments. “It’s like those people at Pride who wear T-shirts offering mom and dad hugs,” I say softly, looking at my fingers rather than meet her eye in just that moment.
I’ve sobbed in the arms of more than a couple of those volunteers over the years.
Bee laughs wetly and squeezes my knee. “Rainbow Reach does that, too. I think they get that there are a lot of queer people out there who have been hurt immeasurably by their families, and there’s something they can do to help.”
I picture what it would feel like to have a kindly grandpa kind of man walking Beatrice down the aisle on her special day, knowing he was there in solidarity with both me and her.
In my mind’s eye, he’s someone who has been through his own share of strife over the years.
Any gay man who survived the AIDS crisis of the eighties and nineties immediately has my respect, after all.
“I think that would be beautiful,” I tell my sister, emotion making my voice tight and raspy.
I put down my empty glass and invite her in for another hug.
She crashes against me and only manages to spill a little of her cocktail down my back.
We laugh and cry together for a while, and then this time it’s me who pulls back.
“What do you say,” I begin, wiping the tears from under her pretty eyes with my thumb, “we go make some pasta before we drink and weep our way through your entire night off?”
She laughs tiredly. “Can we drink and weep and eat pasta?” she asks.
“Deal,” I promise her.
Anything for the bestest big sister in the whole wide world.