Chapter 26
Most of the time, fear gets the worst of people, but once in a while it gets the best of them too. It’s like this for Astrid,
who decides she doesn’t want to hide as a fugitive or chance deportation, so she books a flight back to Norway, set for mid-December.
Hal is distraught, but it’ll blow over; all breakups do. Not that they’re technically broken up. They’re going to attempt
long-distance. I give them three weeks, maybe four.
Buoyed by my relief to be rid of her soon, I start being much kinder to Astrid, insisting even that we throw her a little
goodbye dinner at the Inn. I ask what food she’s going to miss the most. It’s not the pizza or bagels; she doesn’t eat those.
Sweetgreen salads and sweet potato fries, she says, so that’s what I order, all leaves and grease. Tara picks up a cookie
cake from a bakery too, one of the ones where they scan photos on the frosting. It’s a picture of Hal and Astrid sitting in
the egg chair together. It makes me giggle, the thought of smearing their happy little faces with our forks, smacking the
frosting against my lips and swallowing it until they disappear.
Hal’s been over at Astrid’s helping her pack, but she bounds into the Inn now with an energy she hasn’t had in weeks. Astrid’s
right behind her, wearing a bedazzled tiara and in an equally fizzy mood. Maybe they thought this was a theme party.
“Greetings!” Hal calls. “EJ and Tara, please assemble on the couch. We have an important announcement.”
Tara and I look at each other, assessing if we’re equally in the dark. It seems that way. “Maybe an investor for their start-up?” I mumble to Tara as we make our way to the sofa. It would mean Astrid might get her entrepreneurship visa after all.
Hal takes a deep breath, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Don’t overreact to what I’m about to tell you,” she says. “It’s
not going to change anything. We’re just facing extenuating circumstances and have to act fast to keep Astrid from being deported.”
Tara slips her hand into mine and gives it a nervous little squeeze. Neither of us like the sound of this. “Just spit it out,”
I say.
Hal goes quiet and looks to Astrid, who finally comes out with it as calm as can be, trying to gloss over it with her accent,
smooth the serration. “We’ve decided to get married.”
It’s like a mousetrap springs, snapping the hammer down on us. Tara’s hand goes limp in mine.
Hal jumps in fast, trying to justify the unjustifiable. “It solves the visa issue,” she says. “I don’t know why it took me
so long to think of it.”
It doesn’t take me long to regain my bearings. The stakes are too high to dawdle in shock. “Hmm, it couldn’t be because the
Redstockings made a lifelong pact to never get married,” I say, attempting sarcasm but not executing it right. My tone contorts
into bitterness, not that I try to mold it back. “No, that would be far too reasonable of an answer.”
“But ours isn’t an old-fashioned marriage like we meant in that pact,” Hal says. “We’re tying the knot to thwart the government’s
evil authoritarian regime that’s tossing Astrid out of the country, and we’re also fighting back against how queer rights
are being stripped. What’s more progressive than that?”
I call Hal’s bluff on that. “Does that mean you’ll be getting divorced once Astrid can get another visa?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Hal says, as if I’m the crazy one here.
Astrid chimes in, says she never would’ve thought she’d be getting married to a woman, but she’s come so far in her time in America and it’s all thanks to the Redstockings. “I’m so very grateful,” she says, eyes aglow with enlightenment-gone-wrong.
It’s such warped logic that it’s not even worth my rebuttal. Tara’s quiet too, like she’s trying to convince herself that
she’s taken too many hallucinogens. I’m hoping I’m seeing things too, but I know I’m not. There’s an eerie realism pulling
me down into the scene—grippy socks, not ballet slippers.
Of all of us in the pact, I was sure Hal was the safest, the most loyal. The Hal I knew would never do something like this.
“Come on, EJ, don’t overblow this,” Hal says when I tell her that. “We’re evolving into real adults who don’t need a juvenile
pact to tie us together. It’s the next phase of our journey, that’s all.”
Letting go of Tara’s hand, I ask if that’s how she feels too, that the Anti-Marriage Pact was nothing but a phase, a childish
game. “No hard feelings,” I say. “I’ll just pack up my stuff and be out the door.”
Tara says no, the pact is a lifelong commitment that she’s taking to the grave. Turning to Hal, Tara pleads, “Don’t give in
to marriage. You’re too much of a free spirit for that. There’s got to be another option here.”
I can feel Tara’s hurt and it’s even deeper than my own.
“You’re both blind,” Hal says. “I’m not falling into the trope of a conventional marriage. I’m actually dissenting more than
you are, resisting the patriarchy from the inside, full Trojan horse–style.” Cozied up next to Astrid, she goes on to say
that nothing will change, that we’ll still be the Redstockings.
“That’s false and you know it,” I say. “Remember Jenni? She swore marrying Peter wouldn’t come between us, but that’s all
it’s done. At the end of the day, marriage is marriage no matter how you spin it. It places a romantic partner above platonic
friendships and that’s heresy, end of story. Looks like the Redstockings were just another of your start-ups. A novelty to
throw yourself into and then leave in the dust to start something new.”
Looking at Tara, I know we’ve already lost. Even if Tara never marries, never leaves me, we’ll still be two people against the world.
Two is that despicable number that belongs to couples and conformity.
In an effort to overcorrect for all the lesbians they wrongly deemed roommates over the centuries, my biographers will probably assume I was sleeping with Tara, that we were lifelong lovers.
If I even get a biographer at all. Probably not because there’s suddenly nothing original about me or my contributions to society.
The Friendship Soulmate Revolution is as good as dead.
Hal decides she’s done trying to earn my approval and puts on her business voice. “We’re going down to city hall tomorrow
morning to make it official,” she tells Tara and me. “You’re welcome to come if you want; it would mean a lot. But don’t bother
if you’re going to be all judgy about it.”
Hal goes on to say that she was hoping that Astrid could move in here so we could all still live together, but based on our
reactions, she’s reconsidered and decided it’s best if she moves to Astrid’s apartment in Washington Heights.
Washington Heights is an egregiously long subway ride from here—might as well be Washington State. I carve my stoniest expression
and tell Hal and Astrid that unfortunately I have a prior engagement tomorrow. “But I wish you the very best in your little
prison cell together, I really do.”
Without tying my boots, without zipping my coat, I head out the door. I don’t slam it on the way out, don’t even close it.
I leave it open, letting the frozen air strike until Hal has to get up and close the door herself, like she’s already done
on us.
It’s very late by the time I return to the Inn, already morning. Tara has texted me to say that she’s gone down to city hall
to be there for Hal and Astrid.
I don’t love it obviously but want to support Hal, she says. Lmk if you want to come too. We’ve still got each other and always will.
Tara’s too soft for her own good; it’s sad to watch. I shut myself in our room, covering my head with my pillow because I’m
basically buried already. Everything I stand for is going to the grave that some people call the altar. It’s hard to breathe
and I wonder for a second what it would be like if I just stopped inhaling altogether. The thought makes me angry that I even
entertained it. I’m not someone who gives up; I’m someone who gets up.
So I wind up going to city hall too. It’s not like I’ve had a change of heart about giving my blessing or anything; I just
want to catch a glimpse of Hal and Astrid so I can process that it’s actually happening. It’s proven that seeing the dead
body is a necessary stage of grief to help process it, so that’s all I’m doing. Seeing the cadaver.
City hall is down in the Financial District, next to Tribeca and not far from Chris’s apartment. I’m not thinking about him;
it’s just a random fact that pops in my head as I’m trying to distract myself from the ghastly scene before me.
There’s a line outside city hall. Apparently everyone wants their modern little elopement to make them feel better about how
they’re about to be legally tethered to another person.
I hide in the crowd without having to hide at all. That’s probably the best thing about Manhattan. The ability to not be seen.
It’s the worst thing about it too. How no one ever sees you.
Finally Hal and Astrid emerge from the hall. Hal is in this penguin tux she got who knows where, and Astrid’s in a white calico
frock with a faux fur capelet. They unleash the PDA right there on the steps, a flamboyant dip and kiss. The other people
in line to get married are hooting and hollering, and Tara’s there snapping all these photos.
I try to feel outraged as I watch it all go down, but there’s an envy rearing up instead.
I try to tell myself I’m just jealous that Astrid is stealing Hal away, but I’m worried I might actually be jealous of both of them together and the life they’re skipping off to with real commitment, more than our pact ever meant apparently.
Jealous of how they’re leaving me behind, a relic of a past era but too recent for antique shops to ascribe any value to.
There’s the temptation to walk over to Hal and let her know that I came after all, but my body won’t let me. So I just stand