Chapter 27 #2
“So Hal’s gone off and gotten married,” I tell Chris because making it all about me and my problems should help distract from
his harrowing day. I’m empathetic like that. “Another one bites the dust.”
He asks who she married so I tell him a bit about Astrid.
“I didn’t know Hal was lesbian,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Though we don’t really love the LGBTQIAXYZ labels. Celebrating liberated love and yet jamming it into those
little boxes. The hypocrisy.”
“I thought it helped people feel seen, to have those labels?” Chris says, like he’s reciting something from one of those How to Be an Ally corporate handbooks.
“It was probably a helpful stage, sure, but we’re beyond that now, or should be. The labels just affirm that being straight
is the default, that being anything else is the ‘other’ and in need of a disclaimer. Which is hilarious because everyone’s
a little bit gay. No one’s really fully straight.”
“I am,” Chris says. His internalized homophobia stands between us like a wall, relying on me to disassemble it brick by brick,
scraping off the mortar with my fingernails.
“Right,” I say, deciding today is not the day to enlighten him on compulsory heteronormativity and how he was conditioned to be straight, how it was chosen for him just like everything in his life was. “So you’re proposing to Olivia at Christmas?”
It’s a guess but it’s not a wild one. That’s the next step for people like Chris who like things to follow a linear path.
And I can only imagine the hints Olivia has been dropping on him. She seems like someone who’d have a complete meltdown if
she wasn’t married by thirty.
Chris fidgets. “Did Olivia tell you that?” he asks, confirming I’m right.
“No, Olivia didn’t say anything. I’ve just gotten good at sensing when a wedding is around the corner after I’ve lost my best
friends to matrimony. It’s sort of like a sixth sense I’ve acquired. I don’t wish it on anyone.”
Chris admits that yes, he’s planning a holiday proposal so long as the ring gets finished in time. I make a scoffing sound
that insinuates how ridiculous it is to have a rock symbolize love. Even if I were into monogamy and marriage, I wouldn’t
be on the diamond ring bandwagon. The industry is the worst culprit of child labor; everyone knows that. Not to mention the
environmental calamity of ravaging the earth with mining.
“I’m sure you’ll be very content marrying Olivia,” I tell Chris. The kindest thing I can say without being fake.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Chris says.
“Well, contentment is basically a synonym for complacency, isn’t it?” I say. “Real happiness has an intensity that’s impossible
to sustain over a long-term romantic relationship. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news; it’s just my personal view. There’s
a statistically insignificant chance that I’m wrong, so don’t read into it too much.”
It’s clear that Chris is reading into it, though, which is pretty flattering. “But can’t you live a content life with moments
of more intense happiness?” he asks. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“Theoretically, maybe, but I don’t see it playing out in real life,” I say.
“From my research, I’ve found that married people are either never fighting or always fighting.
They have no passion or they have vindictive passion.
They’re totally bored of each other or wanting to chop off each other’s heads.
Or both, like my parents. But hey, maybe your marriage will be better. There’s always hope.”
Chris goes on defense. “Olivia’s not boring,” he says.
“I never said she was,” I point out. “But if you’re asking for my opinion, then I’d say yes, she definitely is. There’s really
nothing controversial about that observation.”
“You’re wrong,” Chris says, and I like how he’s really taking a stance on this. “Boring is in the eye of the beholder. If
you think someone’s boring, it says more about you than it does about them. No one is actually boring; you just need to get
to know them deeply enough to understand how interesting they are.”
It’s a nice little rant but I’m not buying it. Some people are objectively dull. Most people are, actually. It’s just a fact,
but I don’t feel like arguing anymore. I’m too tired for that.
“I’ve got to get back to Bushwick now,” I tell Chris. “I haven’t been home since yesterday.”
He seems to take in my outfit for the first time, the glittery bodysuit under my coat and my knee-high boots that I haven’t
taken off despite his no-shoes policy. He asks where I stayed last night.
“That’s a good question,” I say. “I fell in love at the House of Yes and woke up somewhere in East Williamsburg. I don’t remember
the details.”
He looks like he’s waiting for me to say that I’m kidding but I don’t. I think he knows I’m not lying; he can always seem
to tell. It’s probably even easier today because I’m not wearing my contacts since I was planning to go straight back to the
Inn this morning. It’s a naked feeling not having the extra layer of color to protect me.
Chris tries to pay me for my help, but I say no, don’t think about it, I’m just glad Arnie’s alright. “He’s basically my family
by now too. Isn’t that right, my little pupper?”
Arnie looks all pleased about it, like he’s been trying to plot some Parent Trap thing to get Chris and me together. He can be a real rascal sometimes.
“I hope you and Olivia have a long and happy marriage,” I say when I’m already halfway out into the hall. I purposely say
“happy,” not “content,” to make a point that I’m not being stubborn, that I really am wishing them the best.
“We will,” he calls out. There’s a kick to it, like he knows I wasn’t telling the truth. Like he knows that I’m actually a
lousy enough person to hope they are perfectly miserable together.