Chapter Six
LENA - ORANGE, CA
Kevin slept peacefully beside me. I tried not to resent him for it, but sometimes, I couldn’t help feeling annoyed at his ability to sleep through the night without interruption.
Insomnia and I were old friends, and during the hours of sleep deprivation, Kevin’s blissful slumber made me want to jump out of my skin.
Not the best recipe for catching some z’s.
Instead of tossing and turning, I went for my morning run earlier than usual.
I harnessed Atticus, and he yawned but obliged, thumping his tail rhythmically on the terracotta tiled floor.
When Kevin and I bought our home in Orange, I’d used running to acquaint myself with the new neighborhood.
I memorized landmarks, learning my way around the antique shops of Old Towne, the Chapman University campus, and the old Sunkist Exchange Building.
I ran in the early morning, when the air was cool and full of the promise of a new day.
The sound of my sneakers hitting the ground would measure my progress, while Atticus’s frequent urination marked his.
I ran, craving a release. Two miles, three miles, four.
My brain spun. I pushed harder, pumping my arms, my hands in tight fists.
I looked at the pearl ring on my right hand—my mother’s ring.
A powerful sense of longing hit me. What I really wanted to do was pick up the phone and call her to vent about my father throwing me this curve ball and about how I didn’t want him to make a big to-do of the wedding.
If anyone deserved to have gotten married again, it should have been her, not the one who’d screwed up the marriage because he couldn’t stay faithful.
I wanted to hear her familiar voice telling me it would all be okay, that yes, my father was being ridiculous by having a wedding at his age, that I was justified for being annoyed, and that helping my father plan his second wedding to his boyfriend was not stabbing her in the back.
But the hole in my heart reminded me that there’d be no such phone call.
I sighed, rounding the corner, and our house came into view.
I’d hoped the soothing sunrise and meditative sound of my footfalls on the pavement would calm my nerves, but they didn’t.
That familiar revved-up feeling was still taking up precious real estate in my body—like blood coursing through my veins in overdrive.
Great. Now I’m sleep-deprived and stressed.
I entered the house and unharnessed Atticus, setting him free to drink.
While he lapped at his water bowl, I filled a huge glass with water and started downing it at the sink.
Kevin strode into the kitchen, saw Atticus and me drinking, and smirked.
He always made fun of me for not bringing water on my runs, but I hated carrying anything or wearing a silly-looking fanny pack.
I came up for air, taking a break from rehydrating.
Kevin planted a good-morning kiss on my lips, and I breathed in his freshly showered scent.
He was dressed for work in the crisp blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt I’d bought him for Christmas.
His shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing the golden hairs of his forearms set against his tanned skin.
Kevin exuded a Southern California beach vibe that my dark features, thick mane of unruly curls, and olive-toned skin could never naturally achieve.
I knew I had to fill him in on the news, though it felt surreal to even think of telling Kevin about my father’s upcoming nuptials. No time like the present.
“Okay, are you ready for this?” I asked.
He nodded and leaned forward.
I had to just spit it out. “My dad called last night. He wants to get married. To Oliver. This October.”
“What? Wow, that’s amazing,” Kevin said.
“It’s many things. It’s crazy, it’s weird, it’s rushed...” I huffed. “Oh, and to make matters worse, he wants me to help plan it. Do you believe it?”
“I think it’s great. And yes, I believe it. Of course he wants you to be involved.”
“Kevin, my father has no right to get married again.”
He looked at me, surprise registering on his face. “Why?”
“Seriously? It’s not like he was any good at it the first time. He screwed up his marriage to my mom, remember?”
“Lena, hon, come on. There’s no rule that says someone who screwed up their first marriage can’t get married again. If that were the case, there’d be a lot less second marriages.”
He laughed, which rattled me. This wasn’t the time to make jokes.
“My mom didn’t get married again.”
“That was her choice. She had to do what was right for her after what she went through. You made it sound like that was kind of her way of asserting her independence.”
I bit my lip. He was right. My mom had had no interest in being married again, partly because she’d been burned so badly the first time around and partly because it made her feel strong to stand on her own two feet.
She’d told her live-in boyfriend, Larry, right at the start that marriage was off-limits.
“It’s hard to explain. You don’t know what it was like. You weren’t there. You didn’t have to live it. You don’t have to live it.”
“Hey, my father-in-law is gay, right? It’s not the same as you, of course.” He paused. “Not that you let me talk about it or anything.”
“It’s not the same. Sorry. You didn’t grow up with it or go through it.”
I wondered how I could explain it to Kevin.
The ugliness of the 1970s and ’80s. Bullies who would make fun of a boy for wearing a pink Izod polo shirt to school and call him a faggot.
The AIDS crisis and how society had responded with fear and blame of the gay community.
The senseless murder of Matthew Shepard.
When I rented the movie Boys Don’t Cry while Kevin was away on business, I’d heaved sobs, unable to move off the couch for a solid half hour after the credits.
All those images and experiences were part of my DNA.
Sweat beaded at the back of my neck, and there was that old familiar feeling of mild nausea and tingling in my hands.
No, no, no. The beginnings of a panic attack.
I went over to the sink and put cold water on the inside of my wrists and back of my neck, trying to ward it off. I took a few deep breaths.
Kevin jumped up and came over to me. He grabbed my hand. “You okay?”
I nodded. I could feel my pulse slowing down. He gave me a moment.
Then he lifted my face to his. “Sweetie, maybe your father never got married again because he never thought he could. And now he can finally marry someone of the same sex and have it recognized in the entire country. I mean, the timing makes sense with the recent case. Heck, you know that better than anyone.”
I didn’t need to be reminded of the current legal landscape. I knew it by heart. That was my career, not my personal life, but now my two worlds were colliding.
“Maybe I’m being unreasonable, but it doesn’t seem fair that he gets to do this when he screwed up his first marriage big-time.”
I hated admitting this out loud. I felt like I was letting my dad down by even thinking this way.
It was an honor that he’d asked me to help plan his big day.
I’d committed to it and wouldn’t go back on my word.
But I had a feeling the wedding planning was going to give me a lot of gray hairs in the coming months.
“Is he planning on a big celebration?” Kevin asked.
“No, they want something small. Nothing extravagant, only about thirty people.” Thank goodness. “But the next few months will be so busy for me with the case and now the wedding...”
I sounded so whiny. And my jaw hurt. I could feel stress along my jawline where Kevin’s hand was. Probably grinding my teeth in my sleep again. I’ll have to wear my mouth guard. So attractive.
“Okay, so something small, and the wedding isn’t for almost four months? You know him... he’s not picky. You can put this thing together in no time. Lena, he trusts you. You’ll be like the best man.” He gave me an encouraging smile.
The best man. How strange. How many adult women are serving as their father’s best man for his second wedding? Few, I bet.
“I don’t want to be the best man,” I said. “Bad enough I’m planning the shindig.”
“I’ll help you. We’ll make it fun,” Kevin said, squeezing my hand. “Problem solved.”
Problem solved, just like that. Except I didn’t need Kevin to solve my problems. I wanted him to sympathize and tell me I was justified in being so rattled by this.
No drama, I reminded myself. Too messy. There was so much drama in my parents’ marriage that I always tried to keep it out of mine. For the past eighteen years, I’d tried to keep that pledge as seriously as I treated our wedding vows.
“Okay, you’re right. I can pull this off.” I managed a weak smile.
“And it’ll make the old man happy. He loves when you get involved.”
“I know,” I said like a kid giving in.
“It’s your way of showing love. Kind of like your mom used cooking to show love. With you, it’s planning for other people.”
Planning as a way of showing love? He was giving me way too much credit. More like my way of being a control freak.
“You should call Anthony. I’m sure he’ll offer some words of wisdom.”
“Yeah, I’m planning to on my way to work. And I’m sorry I’m snappy this morning,” I said. “I’m just stressed.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry if I pushed your buttons. Just trying to cheer you up.” Kevin kissed me on the lips, butterfly light, and then grabbed his travel mug. He waved and headed out the door to work.
Fine. I’ve got this. I can plan a damn wedding.