“That’s adorable,” Paul said, grinning maliciously. “I am so down with cosplay weddings.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “We are not having anyone dress up like Thundercats at our wedding. Are you out of your mind? First and foremost, it’s supposed to be an elegant and sophisticated ceremony, for fuck’s sake. Secondly, everyone will be dressed appropriately for such an event, which does not include cosplay.”
“What about the drag queens?” Paul asked. He looked far too happy for some reason. “Surely, that wouldn’t apply to drag queens.”
I frowned at him. “Drag queens can be classy too, Paul. You know that. Just because we’re gaudy by nature doesn’t mean we don’t know how to tone it down. If my sisters want to come in drag, they may, just as long as they don’t try to upstage me. You don’t want to know what kind of unholy hell I will rain down upon them if they try and upstage me.”
“And where would this wedding occur?” Sherry asked.
“Definitely not at a church,” I said with a laugh. “I mean, can you imagine? We’re not religious at all, and I know Dare won’t mind.” I took another sip of wine. “Not a destination wedding, though. That’s too gimmicky. Maybe in the mountains? I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. We have time.”
“Right,” Paul said. “The wedding you’re going to have with Darren.”
“Right,” I said absently. “The wedding I’m going to have with D—”
Wait. What.
I looked back up. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was staring at me with slightly surprised looks on their faces. Well, aside from Paul. Paul looked extraordinarily smug.
And Darren. Darren was gaping at me, hands gripping the edges of the table like he’d just heard something so shocking, he hadn’t quite been able to comprehend it.
Because I’d just been arguing about where the wedding would take place.
Our wedding.
The one I would have with Darren. And me. Together. Again.
“Oh sweat balls,” I managed to say.
“Well,” Matty said. “I know what I’m making for the weddings. Green bean casserole, for the win!”
IN AN effort to avoid Darren as much as possible, I volunteered for dishwashing duties. It seemed like an appropriate plan and would give me time to figure out how to fake my own death in order to not have to deal with Darren directly, seeing as how I’d spent a good part of Thanksgiving dinner describing our perfect wedding ceremony.
Darren, for his part, seemed shell-shocked and didn’t even try to follow me from the table. It probably didn’t help that I’d gone slightly shrill and once again looked like I’d fallen into an exceptionally large pile of bathroom crack.
I expected Corey or Paul to be the one to follow me in. To my surprise, however, it turned out to be Sherry.
“I offered,” she said with a shrug as I stared at her.
“You’re a guest,” I said, rather scandalized. Even if I was in the throes of an epic meltdown, I was still a gay man; therefore, my sense of propriety took center stage over my hysterics. Guests were never allowed to do the dishes. It was almost considered insulting to have them even try.
And even more than that, she was Darren’s mother and I’d just forced an engagement on her son when this whole thing was a big fat lie. Part of me wondered hysterically if she was coming in to negotiate his dowry. I didn’t know if I had any goats to exchange for Darren’s hand in marriage.
Goddamned bathroom crack.
I didn’t know what to say to her because I obviously hadn’t made the best first impression. I thought maybe it was better if I didn’t say anything at all. I told myself that silence was my friend and that I couldn’t make things worse if I didn’t speak.
But it was like she knew what I was doing because she didn’t say anything either. She just stood by my side, humming quietly to herself as I handed her the dishes, some to put in the dishwasher, others to dry by hand. And if she knew, that meant that she was aware that it was only a matter of time before I cracked.
She continued to hum. I think it was “Oops!… I Did It Again.”
She fought dirty.
Everyone knew that song was my big gay weakness.
I handed her a fork.
She smiled at me.