Chapter Forty-Four #2
Dad and Oliver held hands, stared into each other’s eyes as the officiant spoke about the two of them, her words made more meaningful by the insider info I had provided.
When she mentioned the hobbies my dad and Oliver enjoyed, some of their favorite songs, and a few funny anecdotes, Kevin squeezed my hand and smiled at me.
I squeezed back, glancing at him sideways and trying not to get too emotional.
No such luck. A tear slipped down my cheek, and as I wiped it away, I noticed others also shedding happy tears.
What a triumphant day—a chance for my dad to declare his love for Oliver publicly, a man who I felt was a good match for him after so many failed relationships.
I thought of how he and my mom had failed at marriage, but it hadn’t exactly been a failed relationship.
We’d reached the ring-exchange part of the ceremony. I loved the rings they chose—a modern two-tone band with silver edging and an inlay of black in the center. My dad took Oliver’s left hand, repeating after the officiant, “With this ring I pledge my love to you,” with a quiver in his voice.
Oliver reached over with his right hand and rubbed my dad’s shoulder. My dad nodded, signaling that he could hold it together. He placed the ring on Oliver’s finger and then brought Oliver’s hand up to his lips and kissed it.
“Not yet, Frank. No kissing until I say so,” the officiant said.
We all laughed, and my dad looked like a kid who’d been able to sneak a cookie from the jar before dinner.
“Now we’ll perform the ribbon ceremony,” the officiant announced.
“Frank and Oliver will pass around a ribbon, and each person will hold it and share a wish for the grooms and then pass the ribbon on to the next person. That way, all the friends and family members here will have a hand in shaping who the grooms will become as a married couple.”
I’d never seen this tradition. I leaned in closer, curious to hear what kind of sentiment each person would share. They ranged from humorous—“I wish for you a private chef because neither of you is a good cook!”—to heartfelt, “May your love shine as brightly as the sun.”
My dad’s face grew more expressive and emotional with each passing of the ribbon. He reminded me of a peacock, feathers splayed in their glory. He seemed to expand, buoyed by the words of love and support directed at him and Oliver.
When the ribbon reached me, I said, “I hope you always have laughter to accompany you and love to guide you. And that you continue to choose each other every day.”
My dad wiped a tear and blew me a kiss. I caught it and placed it in my heart.
The ribbon arrived at the end of the circle of guests.
The officiant looked around expectantly and then turned to my dad and Oliver.
“I now present to you the married couple, Frank and Oliver.” We all started clapping.
The officiant’s voice broke through the applause.
“And now you may kiss your groom!” My dad and Oliver kissed and embraced, holding each other for a long time, while we clapped and cheered—the sounds of our revelry blending with the crash of the ocean waves to create a symphony of celebration.
After the ceremony, the photographer gathered us for a group photo.
At first, everyone acted as expected, grinning at the camera.
But then Oliver and my dad struck various poses, and others started doing the same.
It became a goofy ham-it-up fest, with people sticking out their tongues and making jazz hands.
The staff then directed the group to the reception on the patio. My dad and Oliver stayed behind so the photographer could take photos of just the two of them. I grabbed my phone from my purse and snapped a picture of them silhouetted against the sea, kissing.
The dinner reception had a romantic setting with twinkling lights, a bubbling fountain, grapevines on a pergola, and terra-cotta pots framing the patio.
Once my dad and Oliver joined us, Anthony kicked off the toasts to the happy couple.
I’d asked him to go first, thinking it was appropriate, given that he was the oldest. Plus, I knew it would buy me some time and allay my nerves.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Frank’s son, Anthony, although I think you all know that,” he said, looking around at the expectant faces.
“I’m not one to make long, fancy speeches, so I’ll keep this brief.
We’re here to celebrate my father and Oliver’s special day, one I know my dad has fought for a long time.
It’s been a journey for him to get here, and I’m glad he’s arrived.
And with someone as great as Oliver.” Anthony raised his glass and looked pointedly at my dad and Oliver.
“So let’s raise our glasses to Frank and Oliver and toast their arrival at their destination. Cheers.”
Guests repeated “Cheers” throughout the room and took sips of prosecco. My dad and Oliver beamed as Anthony walked over and hugged them.
And then it was my turn. Yikes. I’d planned to keep my toast short, also, thinking about what I was going to say that morning as I was getting dressed.
I stood up and began. “Thank you for coming to help us celebrate my dad and Oliver’s big day.
I’m Lena—Frank’s daughter, unofficial wedding planner, and sort of best man.
” That got a few laughs. I smiled. “I know it means the world to them you’re here.
They wanted to be surrounded by people who love and support them, and that means all of you.
Please join me in toasting the grooms. Love is love,” I said, ending with the popular refrain of same-sex-marriage proponents.
I raised my glass and took a hearty sip of prosecco.
I sat down, glad to have that behind me. Then I heard someone else tapping a glass. Henry stood.
Well, well. Is he going to give a toast? As I was ruminating about whether that was appropriate, he began talking. No stopping him now.
“Hey, folks. I’m Henry. You could say I’m a best man too.
” He snickered. “Let’s face it. A man can never have too many best men!
I’m Frank’s longtime friend—someone who’s been on this journey with him since way back when.
I can’t tell you how much joy it gives me to see Frank marry Oliver, his partner, lover, and friend.
” My dad and Oliver wore big smiles and held hands.
“I wouldn’t have missed this day for anything.
Frank, here’s to you, buddy. I love ya. Cheers! ”
Everyone raised their glasses one last time and drank to the newlyweds.
The evening flew by with dinner and dancing. After the servers cleared the main course, Ella sat down next to me. “They’re so cute, aren’t they?” she cooed, eyes glowing.
I loved seeing how much it thrilled my niece to be a part of this celebration. I looked around, trying to locate the happy couple, and spotted them standing hand in hand, talking to friends at a nearby table.
“Yup, they really are,” I agreed, laughing to myself that a fifteen-year-old was using the term cute to describe a couple decades older than she was.
“I can’t wait for the wedding cake. It looks so good. Did you see it?” she asked.
I looked over at the corner of the patio where the wedding cake sat, looking resplendent with fresh flowers on top. “Yes, I even tasted it.”
Her eyes widened. “You snuck a piece?”
“No, silly. Although that would be pretty funny, actually. Your grandpa and I came here to sample the menu a few months ago, and they let us taste a few kinds of cake. We chose the chocolate ganache one.”
“Well, duh,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Because chocolate is the best.”
“You’re right about that, my girl,” I said, holding up my champagne flute in a toast.
“Hey, speaking of sneaking...” She looked around quickly. “Can I have a sip?” She nodded at my prosecco.
“Sure. It’s a special occasion, isn’t it? Have at it. But just a sip.” I handed her my glass and watched her take a gulp.
She smiled, licking her lips. “I like the bubbles,” she said, giggling.
Ella got up to take her seat as they were serving the wedding cake. I looked down at my plate and admired the chocolate concoction. I took my first bite. Melt-in-your-mouth delicious.
I looked around and saw Henry with his hand on my dad’s shoulder, leaning in, the two of them laughing.
Henry was still so darn handsome, just like my father.
They had aged well. I remembered what they’d looked like when I was a kid and thought about what a striking couple they must have made.
That caught me by surprise. Over the years, when I thought of my dad and Henry, it had always been with a hint of anger and shame, linked to my dad’s betrayal of my mother.
But Henry and my dad were so much more than the scene that the little-girl version of me had witnessed on the boat.
They’d been friends for over forty years, even after their inauspicious beginning.
I let that really soak in. Not many people had a taboo affair, broke up, and then didn’t just remain cordial but became lifelong best friends. It really was extraordinary.
Henry caught me watching him and smiled. He walked over and sat down in the vacant seat next to me. “Hey, Lena. Thought I’d say hello for a sec.” He looked around and smiled. “Beautiful place. Fabulous wedding. You did a great job. Your father is so happy.”
“Thanks. He is happy.” I added, “And he’s so glad you came.”
“Of course I came. It’s a big deal. A milestone.
And I’ve been there for them all—good and bad.
The worst was the heartache of losing friends to AIDS.
” He stopped and shook his head. “Then he met Oliver. Thank goodness.” He looked over at my dad, who was saying hello to friends at a nearby table, an arm around Oliver’s waist, pulling him close. “He deserves some happiness.”
It was jarring to hear Henry mention my dad losing friends to AIDS.
It brought me back to a dark Broadway theater in 1996, when I’d been visiting New York after being out in California for a year.
I was attempting to spend more time with my dad, so I’d accepted an invitation to see a Broadway musical with him, Henry, and their friends.
“Remember when we went to see Rent?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, I remember that. What a show. Beautiful but heartbreaking. I remember your dad having a hard time after. He said, ‘I finally come out, and that’s the exact time in history when this insidious disease comes along to wipe us out?’ It almost felt like bad karma to him.
You know, he always had that Catholic guilt going on about being gay.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being punished or something. ”
“That’s so sad. I don’t think he ever really told me that.” I thought back to conversations I’d had with my dad over the years.
“I know he tells you a lot. He trusts you. But he’s also tried to spare you, you know?” Care showed in Henry’s eyes.
“What are you two talking about over here?” My dad grinned and put his arm around Henry and me from behind.
“Heavy stuff, actually,” Henry said. “We were talking about when we went to see Rent on Broadway. Remember that? And that got me thinking of friends we lost to AIDS.”
“Ah,” my dad said, nodding. “Yes, there are some friends who should be here today.” He stared intently at one spot as if he could see their ghosts right beside him.
Then he looked at me. “And you know what? I was with them both in the hospital when they died. One was my friend Luke, only twenty-eight years old. A baby. His body swelled up like a balloon. He suffered so much.” His eyes flooded with tears, like puddles of water.
“My other friend, Matteas, was older but still only forty-three. His family wouldn’t come to the hospital to see him when he was dying.
Those motherfuckers left him there alone.
So I went. I held his hand as he took his last breath.
I’ll never forget it.” He swiped at his eyes.
“Sorry, Frank. Enough of this downer talk. Let’s toast.” Henry grabbed the nearest glass of wine, probably Kevin’s discarded one, and held it up. “To friends who couldn’t be here with us today.”
“Salute,” my dad said, grabbing a water glass to join in the toast.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, tapping their glasses with my prosecco.
That night in 1996, watching Rent, I hadn’t entirely understood the brave choice my father and his friends had made in coming out.
I’d mostly thought of the impact my father’s choice had on my mother, Anthony, and me.
But now I could move that to the side, like opening a curtain to peer through the window.
And what I witnessed on the other side was my dad’s struggle.
Oliver and Anthony walked over to join us. “Hey, do I see another toast happening? What’re we drinking to?”
“We were toasting my friends who are no longer with us—Luke and Matteas—and wishing they were here,” my dad said.
“Cheers to that,” Anthony said, and Oliver lifted his glass too.
“Ooh, I have an idea!” My dad ran over to the DJ, whispered something in his ear, then came back and grabbed Oliver’s hand. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for the rest of us to follow. “Let’s dance. This was one of their favorite songs. I love it!”
I heard the first few notes of the disco song “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” by Thelma Houston.
My dad hit the dance floor, snapping his fingers and moving his hips, singing along to the words, with Oliver by his side, swaying to the beat.
Anthony, Henry, and I joined them. The next thing I knew, everyone was flooding the dance floor, losing themselves to the music and the moment.