20
Justin Asks for Molly's Hand
T
he next week flies by. I get my stuff done at school; my bulletin board is truly a work of art this yearâone of the best I've ever seen. My desk is set, and my faces are memorized. I'm ready to go, but still in a certain amount of shock that school starts the day after tomorrow.
As I sit at my dressing table plucking at my forever-uneven eyebrows, I am a bundle of nerves. In a few hours we will be at my parents' house and Justin will be blatantly lying to my father's face as he asks for permission to propose to me. And soon after that, my brother will be rocking their world with the announcement of his homosexuality. Those of us in the know are nervous wrecks.
I think I have spoken to Logan eighty-nine times a day for the last week. And Justin, Mr. Confident Actor, isn't doing much better. Justin did end up agreeing with me that we could let Logan in on our little secret, but thought we should do it after the engagement/coming out. I am fine to wait ... it gives me more time to think of a way to explain it to Logan without him having me committed on the spot.
As I study my face, I hear Justin clunking around in the bathroom. He has basically moved into the second bedroom. He admits that my place is nicer than his. He lives in Brooklyn with a self-proclaimed “slutty” roommate. Plus, my apartment is also closer to his work. I like the company, so I'm happy to have him around. As he clunks and I pluck, the tension in the apartment is thick; it's shattered like a glass by the ringing of the phone.
“Hello?” I grab it on the second ring.
“Molly, I'm just not ready,” Logan tells me. I can tell by his voice that our nerves have nothing on his.
“Yes, you are,” I tell my brother, and I am surprised by the confidence in my voice. “You can do it,” I encourage.
“Okay,” he says.
“We'll be there soon. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” CLICK.
I know he's ready because most of the eighty-nine calls per day have sounded exactly like that one. During one of the earlier calls I also questioned his readiness, but he assured me that now was the timeâhe just needed me to reassure him whenever he asked, which is often.
I walk back into my bedroom and look at the sweater set and skirt I have laid out on my bed. It's the third outfit I've laid out today and I'm still not positive it's right. I put the items back in my closet and take out a knee-length denim skirt and a white top. I lay them on the bed, study the look for a minute, and then put it on. I slide my feet into red sandals and tie a red scarf around my brunette ponytail. I'm ready to do it.
I walk out of the bedroom and stick my head in Justin's room ... funny that I think of that room as his now. He's wearing knee-length khaki shorts, a short-sleeved, button-front shirt, and brown leather sandals. It kind of surprises me that nobody has questioned me about his sexuality because he would undoubtedly be the best-dressed straight man in Manhattan.
“You ready?” he asks me.
“Whenever you are.”
He nods his head and walks out of the room, toward me. Hand in hand, we exit my apartment and head for the country.
We do the usual meeting with Jamie and Bryan to take the train together, but it's hard to act like nothing is going on in front of them when such major stuff is happening.
Luckily the train is not crowded today and all four of us get seats, with Jamie and me by the windows and our significant others beside us. I try to let Jamie distract me with her tales of the problems of finding fashionable maternity clothes and her fear that she will pee her pants at school. Apparently she read somewhere that pregnant women lose bladder control and Jamie, being Jamie, is not afraid of the labor and delivery of something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a peanut, but is terrified that she will pee on herself. I must admit, she does do a pretty good job of getting my mind off what is to come that evening; before I know it, the train is in Connecticut and a few stops later we are getting off.
As always, my dad is waiting for us on the platform with his warm smile and open arms, and as always, Jamie and I run into his embrace like we are seven and ten ... not twenty-seven and thirty. When we finally let go of him, he turns to the boys and gives each of them a hug. I sneak a smile at Justin and he is grinning back at me because this is the first time that Dad has hugged him hello. So far, things are going well for us. I just hope they are going as well for Logan.
As we drive the short distance to our house, I can't help but be in awe of all the beautiful leaves changing to their fall colors. Fall has always been my favorite time of year ... especially in the country. It always feels like a fresh startâthat must be a teacher thing because the new school year startsâ and I love all the beautiful colors and changes that happen in nature. We pull down our long driveway and pile out. I can feel that the air is starting to get crisper than it was just a few weeks ago when we were last out here.
As always, the house greets us with the wonderful smells of the feast to come. Mom comes out of the kitchen and pecks us each quickly on the cheek before rushing back to tend to a timer going off.
“Where's Logan?” I call after her.
“He's in the back with Brad. They're playing with Skipper,” she yells from the other room.
Brad is here!! I stiffen and tensely look from Justin to Jamie ... they both know about the recent conflicts, but apparently I'd failed to fill Mom in so she included him, as she always does, for holiday things.
Dad hangs up his keys on the key peg I helped him make (more like supervised) when I was eight and offers drinks.
“I'll have a glass of white wine, please,” I say.
“Gosh ... I miss wine,” Jamie complains.
If wine was so important you shouldn't have gotten pregnant,
I cattily say to myself ... don't worry, I swear it was to myself. I'm trying to get past my awful jealousy and so far I've been doing pretty well.
“Can I have apple juice in a wineglass?” she asks like a little kid.
Dad just smiles at her and then looks at the boys.
“Why don't I help you get the drinks, Mr. Harrigan, and the others can head outside to see Logan. I know how the girls are always dying to see him.”
“Justin. For the umpteenth time, call me Larry. And that's a lovely gesture. You all get yourselves comfy on the deck and we'll be out with the drinks soon.”
I sneak a peek and a nervous smile at Justin. My stomach now feels like I swallowed a hive of bumblebees ... I'm about to burst ... I'm practically tingling all over. Thankfully, neither Jamie nor Bryan protests and the three of us head outside, leaving Justin with Dad.
We walk onto the deck and holler hellos down to Logan and Skipper (and Brad), who are playing fetch in the yard. As soon as Skipper sees us, she comes flying up the steps and exhausts herself completely trying to greet three people at one time. Logan and Brad follow her trail pretty closely. Logan greets me warmly and I give him a big, hard hug and an extra shoulder squeeze as we pull away. He then turns to Jamie and gives her a hug as well.
“Look at me!” Jamie exclaims, thrusting her protruding belly forward.
“Jeez, James ... that thing seems to be growingâhave you consulted a physician?”
Everyone giggles at Logan's joke. Then I turn to Brad.
“Hey there,” I say. Being face-to-face with Brad forces me to deal with the sadness I've been suppressing.
“Hi, Molly,” he replies and I think I sense the same longing in his voice. “Where's Justin?” he asks gently.
“He's inside getting drinks for everyone, with Dad,” I answer, and I can visibly see him stiffen when he learns that Justin is not only still in the picture, but also on the property.
“Where's Claire?” Jamie pipes up from behind me.
“She's in Paris for the weekend trying on wedding dresses.”
I can hear Jamie holding down a gag. I turn around to face her, with my back to Brad, and roll my eyes. We then make ourselves comfortable on the deckâthe opposite side from Brad, who is chatting with Bryan (who apparently hasn't been kept up to date on the recent events, either), but I notice that Brad is definitely keeping one eye on me. This night is huge in a lot of ways and I'm not going to let him mess it up.
A short time passes and still no Dad or Justin. I would give my right eye to be listening to their conversation. The anticipation is literally killing me. I can only imagine how Logan must be feeling.
“Maybe I should go in and see about those drinks?” Brad offers.
“NO!” I shout, uncontrollably. Everyone looks at me a little strangely. “I'm sure they're fine,” I add, trying to regain my composure.
“What if they need help carrying stuff?” he asks.
“Mom has about a million trays,” I hiss at him. I swear, it's like he has a sense of what is going on and wants to ruin it! “Jamie,” I say, turning to her, “tell Logan about those funny maternity outfits you were talking about on the train.” I figure they distracted me, maybe they'll help him, too.
“Logan doesn't care about those,” she says, which is probably true.
“Of course he does,” I answer for him, since he is so brutally honest that he would probably confess that he didn't give a crap about her maternity clothes woes.
Jamie is retelling an anecdote about a conversation she had with another pregnant woman at the Pea in the Pod dressing room about turquoise maternity pants when Dad and Justin walk onto the deck with a tray (told you so) of wine and beer and apple juice in a wineglass. They are both beaming ear to earâI catch Justin's eye and my own lips can't help but spread toward my ears as well.
“All right, gang,” Dad says as he spreads around the drink orders, “here you go.”
Everyone thanks him and we sit back on the comfortable deck furniture and watch the sun begin to set. Jamie, of course, picks up right where she left off.
“I mean, can you believe it? Turquoise pants wouldn't be flattering on the skinniest woman, and they want pregnant women to wear them?”
Nobody really responds to her question and she gives up, sitting back with her juice. Bryan strokes her head. It's so sweet the way he adores her ... and doesn't want to murder her when she goes on and on about ridiculous things. He's amazing at appreciating who she is. Justin joins me on my lounge chair and secretly gives me a thumbs-up. I smile at him, but feel like I'm being watched. I look across the deck and see Brad staring icily at us. I give him a quick scowl before turning back to Justin.
A little while later, Mom hollers for help setting the table and I jump up, followed by Justin ... and Brad.
“That's okay, man, I got it,” Justin says nicely to Brad. Brad just scowls again and sits back down.
As we head into the house to help Mom, I take a second to ask Justin how it went.
“Incredibly perfect,” he says. “You're going to die when you see what your dad gave me.”
“What?!?” I ask, unable to take the suspense.
Justin puts his hand in his pocket and holds out the exact engagement ring I had fallen in love with at Tiffany's. I can hardly breathe ... I'm shocked and excited, but most of all, confused.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“It was your grandmother's,” he answers.
My eyes fill with tears as I finger the perfect solitaire diamond. Justin quickly snatches it back.
“Not yet, Miss Molly. Your dad actually hoped that I would propose tonight in front of the whole family, which would have been a great idea and a great story. But I couldn't do that to Logan ... so I just said I already had something really special planned for how to ask you.”
I squeal with delight and give Justin a quick hug before heading into the kitchen where Mom is waiting. He grabs my arm and pulls me back for a bigger hug.
“I really do adore you, Molly.”
“Me, too.”
Of course neither of us means it in
that way
... we've just grown to be the closest of friends and we both realize that friendship can often be even better than a romantic relationship. Things couldn't be better ... right about now, my plan feels downright brilliant.
21
Logan Comes Out
D
inner is lovely, but strange. I'm a combustible combination of excited beyond belief about Justin's conversation with Dad and the ring and a complete nervous wreck for Logan's revelation ... the blend has me acting completely goofy. Justin is a milder version of me. Jamie, as always, is doing anything and everything possible to keep the attention for herself, including yelling, “Oh my God! Did I just pee a little?!?” as Mom serves the salad.
Bryan is, as always, happily sitting by, never threatening Jamie's spotlight for even an instant. Logan is uncharacteristically silent ... although nobody seems to notice but me, so I wonder if I'm just imagining things. Dad is extra jolly and so is Mom, so I assume he told her about his conversation with Justin. Brad is silent and still staring at me. It's starting to creep me out.
We mow through the salad, ribs, corn, garlic bread, and baked beans until there isn't a drop left. Then Jamie (much to her dismay, “I'm pregnant!” and my insistence, “Pregnant, not handicapped”) and I clear the table and bring out the dessert. Suddenly everyone has found just a little extra room for Mom's peach cobbler. Mom always complains that we never let her make anything else, but we insist that once you have found perfection, there is no need to fool with it.
We dish up the cobbler and ice cream and pour coffee for those who want it and milk for the rest and we are about halfway through when Logan clears his throat.
“I have something I need to tell you all,” he says with a prepubescent crackle.
“What's that?” Dad asks warmly.
Justin takes a deep breath and looks at me. A wave of nausea washes over me and I want to stop him. I want to send him to the other room and break the news for him so he doesn't have to see any looks of disappointment or anger or who knows what ... I want to save him from any second of pain, but I can't.
“As you all know,” he begins slowly, “I had a wonderful time in Italy, but the purpose of the trip was to find myself. And I did.”
“You're going to go to graduate school, aren't you?” Jamie yells out, “I should have gone to graduate school.”
Let me tell you, if looks could kill, Jamie would be dead now. She catches my glare and shuts up.
“No, James, I'm not going to grad school,” Logan says kindly. “I'm gay.”
Silence.
More silence.
I look around the table and see my mother's eyes filling with tears. My father is biting his bottom lip and staring at his cobbler. Jamie looks confused, and Bryan (of course) looks concerned about Jamie. Brad continues to look at me, but I think his stare has slightly changed.
“I'm happy if you're happy!” I say loudly, repeating what Logan had told me was the right thing to say at our lunch last week.
He looks up at me with the most grateful eyes I've ever seen. “Thank you, Molly.”
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” my mother says, and I'm not sure if she's saying it to Logan or to Dad. They both nod.
I am about to burst into tears looking at Logan hang his head in shame for being honest about who he is.
“Daddy,” I command, “say something to him.”
My father looks up at me, still avoiding Logan's eye. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell him you love him,” I command.
My father's face lightens with the relief of knowing what to do. “Of course I love you, son. Nothing could change that.”
Logan looks up and his eyes fill with tears. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course, of course,” my mother adds.
“Obviously us, too,” Jamie says for herself and Bryan. Bryan does nod his head in agreement.
Suddenly, everyone is talking at once, offering words of encouragement and support for Logan, and his face is lighting back up to its normal hundred-watt sparkle. Everyone except Dad, that is. Dad pushes back from his chair and stands up.
“Son, I will always love you the same, but I need some time to deal with this.”
Then he slowly walks out of the room and my mother goes flying after him. Logan's face goes crashing down once again.
“Hey, Loge, it's okay. He's gonna deal with it,” I say.
“Seriously, man,” Justin adds, “it took you twenty-three years and a trip to Italy. You gotta give him some time.”
I'm impressed with Justin's wisdom, but then again, duh ... he's been through this, and everyone agrees with what he says. Mom comes back into the room and walks up behind Logan. She puts her arms around his neck and gives him a tight hug.
“We're disappointed, Loge. Not in you, just with the situation. But we really do love you as much as ever and we're gonna work through this.”
She kisses his cheek and heads back to Dad.
Brad takes this as his cue to exit.
“I'd better escort you off the property,” I say, our running (although lame) joke, and get to my feet before remembering that things aren't like this with Brad and me anymore.
Once I'm standing, though, I have no choice but to walk him to the door. In silence, I lead as we walk through the dining room, living room, and foyer. We finally arrive at the front door and are standing face-to-face.
“Molly, you're a wonderful sister,” he says kindly, putting his hand on my cheek. It feels so normal for him to be doing this that the weirdness between us is temporarily erased.
“He deserves the best,” I say as I take his hand off my cheek and kiss it. “Don't you need a ride to the train station?”
“No, that's okay ... I drove Claire's car up here.”
I come screeching back to reality and drop his hand ... for a few seconds there, I'd been able to forget that Claire Reilly existed.
“Okay, then. Drive safely,” I say as I open the front door and then close it behind him.
I walk directly back to the dining room. Everyone is exactly where I left them, so I ask my brother, “Wanna spend the night in the city?” hoping that getting him out of the house will do everyone some good.
“Yes, I do,” he says gratefully.
The four of us accompany Logan to his room to pack a bag and I leave for just a second to tell Mom and Dad that he's coming with me ... and we're taking their car. They are grateful ... I'm not sure if they are grateful that I'm getting him out of their house or that I am taking care of his needs ... maybe both. When I get back to his room, his bag is packed and the five of us head out. We pile into the green Explorer, with Justin behind the wheel, and drive back to Manhattan. The car is quiet as the Manhattan skyline approaches, but there is a closeness among the people in the car.