Life some assembly requi.., p.27
Life, Some Assembly Required, page 27
“Yes,” Connor whispered back, despite Logan’s huff of disagreement.
Then the wedding march struck up from the speakers and the ceremony began.
Anne wasn’t the kind of girl Brent had dated in the past. She was pretty, but her jaw was long, her figure was shapelessly rounded, and her dress was simple, worn with low, sensible heels. She walked down the aisle on her father’s arm as casually as if she was taking an evening stroll. But the smile on her face when she looked at Brent was matched by the light in his eyes when he saw her. When she gave her father’s cheek a light kiss and stepped to meet Brent, they came together simply and sweetly. Ryan decided he approved already.
The preacher had a thick Texas drawl straight out of a low-budget soap opera, but he stuck to the good parts of the Bible. He talked about love and faith, not brimstone and hellfire, and he smiled as if he was having a good time bringing this man and this woman together. Even Drew’s boys paid attention and didn’t fidget too badly. Ryan watched Brent kiss his lawfully wedded wife and didn’t tear up or get sentimental or want to reach for John’s hand. Much.
Then it was time for greetings and pictures and all the rigmarole. Ryan moved on down the receiving line. He shook hands with the bride’s father, Eugene, and a manicured blond woman whose introduction he missed but who had to be the bride’s mother. Anne smiled happily at him, and Ryan managed a quick peck to his new sister-in-law’s cheek. She held his sleeve an extra moment and said, “I’m so glad you and John made it here. Don’t run off, okay? We’re going to try to fit in some family time.”
“Sure. Whenever.” He shook Brent’s hand. “You’re a lucky man, you bastard.”
Brent’s grin was wide and he pulled Ryan in for a hug like nothing had ever happened. Or like a man so high on the moment he couldn’t remember, anyway. “I know it! Thanks!”
His own dad gave him a quick hug and shook John’s hand again with apparent warmth. Ryan grinned at Drew and resisted the temptation to bow theatrically over the maid of honor’s elegantly proffered hand. Eventually he ran out of receiving line and platitudes. John at his side buffered him out of the crush of people. They found a spot in the shade under the canopy, where small tables were set up.
Ryan fished out his handkerchief, mopped his forehead and stuffed it back into his pocket. “If we’re ever tempted to do something fancy like that, let’s not. We can have a potluck cookout instead. With lots and lots of cold beer on hand.”
John’s smile was surprisingly bright. “You’ve got it. Although if it was sixty degrees out instead of a hundred, it wouldn’t be too bad. You stay here. I’ll go find beer or something equivalent.”
It was only after John had gone off to forage that Ryan heard his own words in his head. “If we ever do that…” Well, hell, maybe he did get sentimental at weddings after all.
A voice at his shoulder said, “Well, look who washed ashore. Ryan?”
He turned, gripping the cane unobtrusively in against his leg. Sure enough, it was Doyle, Brent’s best friend and co-rabble-rouser from high school. And wait for it… there was the glance down at his leg and cane, as if the damage would show through his tailored slacks, then the quick look back up and faux-casual smile. “It’s been years,” Doyle said, his handshake extra hearty. “How’ve you been? I mean, I heard you got…” He looked down at the cane again.
“I’ve been great,” Ryan said, before Doyle could tie himself in knots. “I survived—” He allowed himself the evil of a moment’s pause, watching Doyle get ready to be sympathetic, then went on, “—my first year in med school and painting Dad’s house up to his standards in the same year. It’s good.”
“Oh. Excellent. Great.” Doyle looked aside quickly. “Med school, huh? You always were the brainiac. Well, I’ll see you around, right?” His clap on the shoulder nearly knocked Ryan off his feet.
“Have a beer,” John murmured in his ear, steadying him and passing over a cold glass as Doyle strode off.
“Oh, thank God.” Ryan took a long swallow.
“Someone you know?”
“Yeah, from high school. He hasn’t changed a bit, unfortunately. How are you holding up?”
“Me? I have a beer, a friend, and no awkward acquaintances. I’m good.”
“Have you checked your phone?”
John looked sheepish. “Yeah. While I was waiting for the beer. No messages.”
Ryan sighed and tried to relax. Whatever came next, he’d managed to see Brent get hitched.
What came next was a few friends, a bunch of strangers and the occasional elderly relative. The call to eat rescued him from Great Aunt Marjorie’s litany of all the family weddings she’d ever seen, with frequent hints that his should be next. John led the way to their table, which they shared with Grace and the boys and the sisters of one of the bridesmaids. The seating chart put one of the girls between him and John, and Logan on John’s other side. Logan had clearly gotten bored with weddings and wanted to talk baseball. By the end of the meal, Ryan could feel every woman at the table melting over John’s respectful attention to the little boy.
He’s mine.
As if hearing the thought, John looked his way and smiled.
It was a pleasant meal. The toasts were good and the speeches short. The champagne was decent. By the time the cake had been eaten, he felt mellow with relief. The girls hurried off to fix make-up together. Grace said, “They’ll start the dancing in half an hour or so. But we’re wanted inside the house for a bit. Brent and Anne wanted a chance for the families to get together, since we’re so spread out. Come on, Ry.”
“I’ll wait here,” John said easily.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Ryan said.
“I thought we were going to be unobtrusive?”
“Not to the point of leaving you out of the family.”
John raised an eyebrow at Grace. Logan said, “You haven’t finished telling me about Willie Mays, Uncle John.”
Grace nodded. “Ryan’s right. There’s unobtrusive, and then there’s knuckling under. If Anne or Brent says differently, you two can stand on opposite sides of the room.”
Despite his determination, Ryan felt the knot of tension retying itself in his belly as they went in the back door. Grace led the way into an open, vaulted living room. The bride and groom stood with all three parents near the fieldstone fireplace. As Ryan and John entered the room, Anne looked over with a smile. Brent’s face was studiously blank. Ryan noticed John moving farther away from him.
The bride’s mother came their way. “Grace, I brought down a box of Nate’s old toys for the boys. It’s over there by the couch.” She turned to Ryan. “I was so glad to hear you were able to come. You and Brent and Drew do look alike, don’t you?” She held out her hand.
He took it automatically. Did they look alike? Hair color, maybe. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Of course you were invited. Why, we’re family now.” She looked past him at John. “You are?”
“My friend John,” Ryan said.
Her smooth forehead wrinkled perplexedly, but she said, “Welcome, John.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ryan, you should have a seat. Try the couch. It’s pretty firm, so you won’t sink into it.” She gave a short laugh. “Eugene does love his deep easy chairs.”
Ryan made his way to the couch and perched on the edge of it. John sat beside him but bent sideways over the arm to talk with the boys about their treasure trove of toys. Grace sat on the floor with her kids, and Drew dropped onto the couch on Ryan’s other side.
Drew grinned up at Brent. “Whew. Next time you get married, bro, don’t do it in the summer.”
Anne said firmly but with a hint of a smile, “There will be no next time.”
Brent kissed her cheek. “The boss has spoken.”
A tall, heavyset guy about John’s age came in and was introduced around as Anne’s older brother, Nate. There was some stilted get-to-know-you chat about what everyone did or was doing this summer or thought of the wedding. Ryan participated with half his attention, the other half on the easy conversation John was having with the little boys.
Anne said, “We’ve gotten so many wonderful-looking wedding presents already. I’d love to rip into all of them tonight, but I just know I’ll lose the tags and get the thank-yous all wrong. We decided to open the family ones now, though, so we can thank you in person, instead of with little cards in the mail.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Grace said.
Ryan looked over and met John’s uncertain gaze. He couldn’t do anything but shrug.
Grace turned to a sideboard with a few wrapped boxes and envelopes and lifted a familiar box with silver wrapping paper. “This is the biggest one.” She gave Brent a happy grin.
“Go for it,” Brent said. “Who’s it from?”
She took out the card. “Ryan and John.” Her voice didn’t falter as she read both names. She tugged on the ribbon gently, then harder.
“You might have to cut it,” Ryan said evenly. “I failed Wrapping 101, and I think there’s a knot under there.”
Anne reached for the scissors, and Brent steadied the package to give her a hand. They unearthed the cardboard box and opened it. Anne made a startled sound of pleasure. “Oh, look.” She pulled out the bowl. “How gorgeous.”
It was dark wood, a big piece that John said had started life as a heavy, crudely turned salad bowl. He’d rescued it from a garage sale, shaped and carved it, until the sides were waves, reaching upward in stylized curves. Along the rim, he’d put in fish and dolphins leaping, children swimming, a dog paddling with a stick in its jaws and a bird plunging for a fish, head and neck breaching the surface of a wave. He’d sanded and polished it and stained it a deep rich color, enhanced by the glossy finish.
Anne handed it to Brent, who gave John a startled look tinged with respect, then passed it on to his new mother-in-law. “Oh, that’s a work of art,” Anne’s mother said warmly. “How beautiful, Ryan.”
Grace said, “John’s an artist.”
Beside her, Connor looked up in confusion. “I thought he was Uncle Ryan’s boyfriend.”
In the sudden, stiff silence, Grace said calmly, “He’s also an artist. He carved Uncle Ryan’s cane and that beautiful bowl.”
“Oh.” Connor got up and went to look at the bowl, oblivious to the tension. “There’s a dog on it. Would you make me a dog, Uncle John?”
Ryan had never loved John more than when he said, in exactly his usual voice, “Sure, I can carve you a wooden one, if you like.”
“Yeah! Like Grandpa’s dogs? I want one just like that.”
“Like Sarge or like Solo?”
“Solo’s prettier.”
“Deal.” John held out his hand, and Connor put his small one in it to be gently shaken.
Grace stood up. “Come on, boys, I think there’s still plenty of wedding cake left in the tent. Shall we look?”
Logan jumped up. “Oh, good.”
The adults all held still, waiting, as Grace ushered the boys ahead of her out of the room, with a backward admonishing glance that seemed to fall on all of them. When the back door banged shut, Anne’s father looked at Ryan, at John, then at Anne. “Annie? Did you know about this?”
Her chin came up, and Brent moved closer to her. “Know that John is an artist?”
“Don’t be like that, girl. You know what I mean.”
“Then say it.”
Ryan winced. John shifted against him on the couch so their thighs touched.
“All right.” The patrician man gave the two of them another look, then turned back to his daughter. “Did you know Brent’s brother was bringing his gay boyfriend to your wedding?”
“Of course.” She still met his gaze defiantly. “He’d hardly be bringing his straight boyfriend.”
“Annie!” There was a touch of appeal in that rough exclamation, and Ryan suddenly thought that this woman might have been a headstrong teenager. Her father, for all his bluster, didn’t sound like he was sure he had the upper hand.
“Dad, this is the twenty-first century. People everywhere are gay and lesbian and have boyfriends and girlfriends. There are at least two lesbian couples out there among the guests too, you know.”
“There are what?” His eyes strayed to the window, then back at her. “At least they’re not rubbing my face in it.”
“Neither are Ryan and John.”
He waved a heavy hand at them. “What do you call that?”
“Two men sitting on a couch?” She sighed. “Look, Dad, don’t make a big thing out of it, all right? As long as you don’t have a fit, no one will care.”
Her mother said, “Now, you know that’s not true. There are a lot of us who just aren’t comfortable with that kind of thing going on in our own homes.”
“Arrgh. They are doing absolutely nothing that anyone should care about.” Anne glanced around as if looking for support at last.
Drew said, “And even if they were holding hands or whatever, John is Ryan’s serious boyfriend. They live together. They have a teenager, and they’re a family. Whether you’re comfortable or not doesn’t change that.”
Anne’s father looked stubborn. “A wedding is not the time and place for this. I think they should leave now.”
Her mother said, “All of our family is out there. Grandmother Seaboldt and everyone. We really can’t have this.”
Ryan said, “Look, we can just go. All right? We saw Brent get married. We brought the, um” —he swallowed the word fucking— “wedding present. So we’re done.”
“I think that’s for the best,” Anne’s mother said, and her father nodded sternly.
John picked up Ryan’s cane, stood and held a hand down for him. Ryan got to his feet as smoothly as he could. He hated seeming weak in front of these people.
Anne said, “Don’t go. Brent and I want you here.”
“Now, Anne,” her father said. “Let’s try to keep the wedding pleasant for everyone, including your mother.”
Ryan held his gaze on Brent and waited. Brent flushed and looked down but said nothing. Ryan took a step over there and kissed Anne on the cheek. “Thanks for everything. You’re a gem. Brent’s a lucky man.”
“I do know that,” Brent said quietly as Anne hugged Ryan and gave John a smile.
Drew said, “I’ll come with you, guys. Brent, you, you…” He broke off and strode toward the door. Ryan turned to follow, ignoring his father saying his name behind him. John stayed close at his side.
As they shut the back door behind them, Ryan took a sharp breath and bumped John’s shoulder. “Wanna make out on the dance floor after all?”
“Not really,” John said evenly.
Grace came over with the boys in tow. “Drew? Was it okay?”
Drew shook his head.
Ryan said, a bit manically, “Well, no one pulled out the shotgun or the tar and feathers. I don’t even think there were threats of violence. We were almost glared to death, but it could’ve been worse.”
Drew said, “I’m going to wring Brent’s neck. He should’ve stood up for you.”
“He should have stood up for Anne,” John said quietly.
Ryan nodded. “He’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick his ass for you.”
Logan said, “Uncle Ryan said ass, Mom.”
“Oops. Sorry.”
“I think you’re allowed just this once.” Grace ruffled her son’s hair. “But you’re not, kiddo.”
Ryan said, “We’re going to head out now.”
“Don’t let those idiots chase you away,” Drew told him.
“Those idiots are our hosts. Anyway, dancing isn’t really my thing these days.” He tapped his leg. It made a good excuse.
Grace said, “I wish we had more time together. The boys have really taken to John.”
John smiled at the kids. “We’ll have to do it again sometime. Maybe you could come out to Wisconsin. I have a good-sized house. We could put you up for a visit.”
“I’d like that.” Grace leaned over and hugged him. “It was really lovely to meet you. We’ve been worried about Ryan, but now we know he’s in good hands.”
Ryan waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed and hugged him too. “I don’t want to know what that meant. Keep in touch, Ry.”
“For sure.” Ryan lowered himself to one knee carefully to hug his nephews. “Have fun, guys. Don’t eat too much cake.”
“How much is too much cake?” Connor asked.
“Whatever your mother says it is,” Drew told him, reaching a casual hand down to Ryan. He pulled him up and into a hug. “Glad you came, bro, regardless. I know Brent is too. There would've been a hole in the wedding if you’d stayed away, no matter how gutless he was in there. And I’m sorry you-know-who spilled the beans.”
Ryan said, “That’s okay. In a way, I’m glad he said it just like that. Like it was nothing special. That was cool.”
“He’s a cool kid,” John murmured beside them.
Drew gripped Ryan for another second, then stepped back. “You keep in better touch, all right? And we’ll make that trip happen somehow.”
“Right. Definitely.”
The sun was slipping behind the buildings as Ryan turned toward the drive. It was still hot and dry. He thought briefly of another beer, or even lemonade, but in the end, all he really wanted was to be gone. John walked beside him silently. Ryan couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Angry? Hurt? Bored? Just glad to be going home?
At the car, John held out his hand. “I’ll drive back.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re moving stiff?” John suggested.
Ryan clenched his teeth, and from John’s expression, it showed.
“Because that was your family vying for jerk of the year this time?”
He could still fucking drive. He pressed his lips together.
“Um. Because it’s my turn?”
“Bzzzt.” He could give that one the winning buzzer sound and hand over the keys. Truthfully, it would be so damned good to have the chance to stretch out and close his eyes. He walked around and got in the far side.
