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

“I’m happy,” I assure him. “More than you know. It’s just that my brain is taking a ninety-degree turn again at a moment when it shouldn’t.”

“What is it, Harry?”

“Well, can two guys get married?” I ask, ever the cynic even in my brightest hour.

“I first realized I was gay right before we left Argentina. The only person I told at that time was my sister, Graciela. I was so sad because I told her that I have always known that I wanted to be married one day, and now I couldn’t be because of my homosexuality. She told me that was nonsense. That if I want to be married, then I must marry another man. She was sure of my rights. That was the last conversation we had before she was disappeared. I have never forgotten. And I know she is right.”

“Well then,” I say, laying my cheek next to his, “maybe some day, after we have sex, we’ll get married.”

A flock of enormous crows flies in, not intimidated at all by our presence. Some land in the cottonwoods, some next to the creek. “After we have sex, huh?” he asks. “You are too modern.” “Hey, man, what if we suck in bed?”

“I hope we do,” he laughs, hitting me on the thigh.

As I jerk, a couple of the crows look over, but none fly away. “You know what I mean. What if none of the parts fit? What if the smells are all wrong? What if we don’t like the taste of each other?”

“We already know our mouths fit perfect,” he says, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “I guarantee that every part of my body tastes like dulce de leche.”

“Sweet milk?” I ask, translating.

“It is the thick, sweet caramel that Argentinos pour on everything for dessert,” he whispers suggestively. Then he looks at his watch. “Uh-oh. We have to have the horses back,” he says, sobering up. “The rancher said by noon.”

“Or thereabouts,” I stress, ready to strip off my clothes. “Whatever that means. Anyway, it will be past noon when we get back, even if we run. And I planned this ride for the morning because I have to return for my afternoon classes.”

“I thought you took the day off from school?” I ask, disappointed.

He shakes his head. “Not the whole day.”

Foiled again. “Mount up, eunuchs, mount up,” I moan, dragging myself up, untying the horses.

He grabs our hats. “What are eunuchs?” he asks, recoiling the rope.

“Dudes who don’t have the problems we have,” I say, positioning the bay gelding. He sticks the hat onto my head, and I climb onto my horse and take off like a rocket, spurring the cinnamon colored bay over the creek. We jump it together and land on the other side. Alive.

At home, we climb out of the track and head for the house. Because we smell like a couple of sweaty gay caballeros, Nicolo has agreed to take a shower with me, and I figure if I can’t get him to sleep with me I’ll at least soap his back. We’re pure dust, grime, and sweat as we walk into the house and smell food. Cooking. Food cooking. I know if you combine Diet Dr. Pepper, champagne, and nail polish on the stove, they don’t smell like chicken, so I’m completely stumped. I’m additionally confused because I thought Amity was supposed to be out on a trip. I yell, “Hello,” and as Nicolo and I round the corner into the kitchen, there stands Amity, wearing a gingham apron. She’s stirring something in a pot on the stove.

And beside her is my mother.

“Harry!” Amity-shouts nervously. “Look who’s here: Susan!” “Mother, what are you doing here?” I ask, friendly yet cautious.

“Well, I was supposed to fly down tomorrow on the airline as yOU know

.. .”

No, I didn’t know. And Amity told me she was working today and tomorrow.

My mother continues. “But Alexandra called to say she had to

An0y Gfluii go down to Dallas to market to find fabric for some drapes, and she offered me a seat in her King Air, so here I am, a day early!”

Before I can say anything, Amity butts in. “P’yew-eee, Aunt Bea! I can smell that horse fertilizer! Thank you so much for your work today, Raul.” Raw-ool. She’s talking to Nicolo, calling him Raul, motioning for him to take off. “Fertilizing the rosebushes is all we need for now. You can go ahead. We’ll call you if we have anything else.”

My mother smiles at me, nods to Raul. “I’d hug you, dear, but it looks like you’ve been giving the gardener a hand. Why don’t you have shower? Amity has made chicken and dumplings.”

Only Nicolo’s eyes move. He looks at me with anger and warning.

I can’t let this happen. He’s too Latin, too proud. The insult could be a thorn forever embedded. “Mother…”

“And after that, we’re going shopping for Amity’s wedding gown. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”

“Really, Raul. You can go now,” Amity states, not unkindly but with great urgency.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what am I saying!” my mother says, aghast. “We can’t let you see your bride in her dress before the wedding day that’s bad luck.”

Nicolo looks at me, then at Amity. She awkwardly washes her hands at the kitchen sink and avoids both our gazes.

My mother presses on. “Sometimes I think I’m getting daffy. Since the day you were born I had hoped you’d find a nice girl like Amity and settle down, and now I’m about to jinx the whole marriage by inviting you to go gown shopping with us!”

Nicolo turns on his heel. “Adios, amigo,” he says over his shoulder.

“Nicolo, wait,” I say, following him out of the kitchen and through the living room. “Nicolo!” He nearly shatters the front door on his way out. “Did you plan

to invite the gardener to your wedding?” he spits, stomping over the lawn in his boots as I run along beside him.

“I’m sorry,” I