My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

eyes. And she is crying as well. Such forceful tears, flowing without sound, streaming down her beautiful Grace Kelly face in sweet little streams. She squeezes my hand again and speaks. “No, Father, I’m afraid I do not.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

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ow can I possibly describe the look on my mother’s face? She’s waited rapturously for this moment, the moment that neither she nor I ever thought would happen, the moment when she sends her child into matrimony for the remainder of his life. And now, it’s not coming to fruition as she had dreamed. The guests of the church are watching her almost as closely as the two of us standing before the priest, and as I look into her eyes, I actually detect quiet resignation that this is the natural outcome to everything that has brought us to this juncture. She doesn’t even look as if she wants to flee the church and go running down a golf course fairway, as I had wanted when Donald had given me the man-to-man communique on vaginas and soldiers that day, which now seems a lifetime ago.

If she does want to flee, she doesn’t show it. She stays planted. Her kind yet befogged gaze fixed on me and Nicolo, as the Argentinean breeze blows through the windows of the little open-air church. “I do,” Nicolo answers.

In the reflection of his almost black eyes, I flash back to the last time I stood before a priest in a church, in Kansas, with Amity by

my side. Her wedding gown was a long, satin, off-the-shoulder dress that flowed over her body like water. She used white lace to pull her hair back into a pony tail and had forsaken her usual perfume to bathe herself in the scent of the fresh lavender necklace Jackie had made for her. And in this beautiful form she returned to me the unconditional selfless love I was offering. I should have known by her tranquillity, her repeated assurances that everything was going to work out for the best, that it would. But it wasn’t until she told Father Warner that she did not agree to marry me and pulled that check from her cleavage and dropped it into my hands that I knew what she’d done. And as if that weren’t enough, she turned and spoke to the congregation in my defense. “Y’all” she told everyone, through her tears of painful happiness, “I can’t marry Han’y because it wouldn’t be right. Don’t misunderstand me. Harry is a wonderful man. He’s smart and sweet and good, and he makes me laugh all the time.” All the Tom. “And I have no doubt that he loves me. As much as my parents have ever loved me.”

Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs were grateful for the acknowledgment, but as confused as the rest of us.

“And I want everybody here to know that I love Harry too just as much. I think he knows that now,” she said. “But he’s not in love with me, and that’s because Harry is gay, and y’all know that. And if you don’t know, it’s probably because you live life with your head in the sandbox which is a good way to get your head pooped on by a stray cat, so maybe you ought to pull it out. Because Harry deserves more than that from you. And he deserves more than even I can give him. And y’all, he’s found it. And that’s who should be standing here in my shoes today. Truth, his boyfriend is kind of a butch guy, and I don’t think he’d be comfortable wearing my shoes, but you know what I mean. The problem is, most likely none of you would show up if Harry’s true love were to join him here at the altar. And that’s not right. We’ve got a phrase in Texas: “Love me, love my dog.” And y’all need to learn how to love

Harry’s dog.” She turned to me. “Harry, I want you to know, if you ever come back here with Nicolo, I’d like to be your best man. Just don’t ever ask your best man to wear an ugly taffeta dress.” She started to choke up about now, as she opened her purse and walked over to my mother. “And, Susan, something tells me that you and Donald will find it in your hearts to be here too,” she said, lifting a cold, watery, plastic storage bag out of her purse. She handed the plastic bag, containing thawed ice and the engagement ring, to my mother, and turned back to me with a stage whisper, “Had to freeze the ring, Harry. Didn’t want to be tempted to pawn the family jewels.” I laughed to keep from crying. “Listen,” she said to my parents. “I’ve come to know y’all over the past few months, and I’m sure that you love Harry and ultimately want him to be happy. If I’m wrong, forgive me. I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings. And Grammie Ford, I hope I haven’t shocked you or upset you, ma’am. I’m just doing what has to be done.”

“Not at all, dear,” my grandmother said, breaking the silence of the frozen crowd. She then opened her purse while saying to Amity, “Here, I want you to have a piece of candy and one of my credit cards.”

Amity refused the credit card, but gladly took the piece of taffy, which she unwrapped while returning to the aisle to tell the entire congregation, “I still think there should be a reception, because we’re all here, and the money’s been spent, and my folks are all the way up from Fort Worth. And I guess that’s all I have to say. So I’m going to walk out of here now.” She walked over to me and sweetly whispered into my ear, “I did it ‘cuz I love you.” She started to walk away, but pulled back and added, “And I’d be bullshitting you if I didn’t tell you I can’t