Destination, Wedding!

by Xavier Mayne

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m just a state police officer. I help Greg out with talks on behalf of his organization.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wait, you’re the one who spoke to the group this afternoon? About marriage equality in the emergency room?”

  Puzzled, Brandt nodded.

  “Oh wow. It’s all anyone could talk about for the whole rest of the day. I was working in my company’s booth in the trade area, and usually when one of the big speeches finishes up everyone rushes the floor to see who’s giving away iPads and drinkable chardonnay. But you’ve never seen such long faces. I counted three who were still blotting tears—trauma surgeons, crying!—because of what happened to….” She took a sharp breath and laid her hand on Greg’s, her bright eyes instantly welling with tears. “Sorry, love.”

  Greg smiled a bit mournfully and put his hand on hers. “Thanks.”

  “I wish I’d had a chance to meet him,” she said softly.

  “He was the love of my life, and I’m grateful we got to spend a few years together. I think I heal a little bit every time we do one of these events in his name. And I’m very lucky to have Ethan along to tell the story. I don’t think I’d be able to keep it together if I had to do it alone.”

  She turned back to Brandt. “You must be some kind of speaker. I wish I’d had a chance to see your talk.”

  Brandt—blushing deeply, of course—chuckled self-consciously. “I can’t do anything like what Greg can at the podium, but I do my best.”

  “Handsome, muscly, and modest. Someone very lucky is going down the aisle with you.”

  “I will tell him you said so,” Brandt said with a smile. Their drinks arrived to save him from having to deal with any more compliments.

  “So, at the risk of bringing the room down,” Greg said once they’d all had a sip, “what’s this about going back to your maiden name?”

  Kerry sighed and set down her drink. “Remember that thing you warned me about before my wedding? When I accused you of being a jealous drama queen and told you he would never in a million years ever do such a thing, ever?”

  Greg put his hand to his mouth. “He didn’t!”

  “Did he ever. Then slunk away in the dark of night. Only heard from him one time after that, when he called to offer me a good chunk of his trust fund to keep it quiet. Well, I’m not one to go advertising my poor taste in men, so I never would have breathed a word, but I may have neglected to point that out. So much on my mind at the time, you know.” Kerry laughed. “Next day the papers arrived, I signed, and once the fantastically complicated financial operation had ground slowly to its conclusion, I started my new life as a single lady—as of a month ago. Now all I need,” she concluded, looking about the room, “is to find a nice trauma surgeon to spend a little time with.”

  “As hunting grounds for rebound guys go, you could do worse than a bar full of doctors far from home,” Greg advised. “Just be warned that most married trauma surgeons don’t usually wear wedding bands, so watching for a tan line on their ring fingers won’t help you much.”

  Kerry laughed. “After what I’ve been through, I think my sleaze detector is pretty finely honed. Turns out that every single buddy of my ex had something going on the side, from a weekly rubdown courtesy of a night nurse to an entire second family the next town over. I know all the signs.” She scanned the room, a sniper acquiring targets. “There’s a bachelor surgeon out there who’s going to crawl to the breakfast buffet tomorrow with the last bit of strength I’ve left him.” She snapped back from sniper to charming pharmaceutical executive in the blink of an eye. “But first, a drink with my college buddy and his strapping but very taken friend.” She held her glass up, and the men joined her in toasting friendship.

  Chapter Three

  Saturday, Two Weeks until the Wedding

  Morning, San Diego

  TWO DAYS later, Kerry had apparently remembered her whiskey-induced threat to attend the session with the hospital administrators to see Brandt “work his magic.” On Saturday morning she arrived as Brandt was pacing the room, trying to work off his nerves. The ballroom was empty except for a silent band of chair arrangers plying their craft, conjuring neat rows of hundreds of seats from the stacks that kept emerging from closets at the back of the room.

  She watched him for a moment as he paced. “This really does make you nervous, doesn’t it?”

  He looked up, glad of the distraction. “Frantically. I hardly have to do cardio anymore, given that my pulse doubles every time I even think about what I have to do up there in an hour.” He jerked his head toward the dais at the front of the room. “And this one’s even worse—it’s my first panel discussion.”

  She looked at the raised platform. “I would think it would be easier that way, since you’re not up there all alone.”

  “Yes, but the people I’m up there with are all smart, and expert in their field, and they probably do this all the time. I’m going to look like I accidentally wandered in from the valet stand.”

  She stepped toward him and put an empathetic hand on his arm. “You will be charming and eloquent, and what you say up there will change the lives of the people in this room. I’ve seen the aftermath of one of your talks, remember.”

  He smiled, glad to be pulled away from his obsessive dread. “Thanks. I needed to hear that, and normally Gabriel’s the one to tell me. I would have called him, but he’s on his way to the airport by now and doesn’t need to bother with my insecurities.” He shook off his moping. “Greg and I missed you at brunch yesterday.”

  Kerry laughed. “Remember my plan to completely exhaust some strapping trauma surgeon? Well, let’s just say he had more stamina than I was expecting. We were still a bit involved when that brunch date rolled around.” She looked a little sheepish. “Truth be told, I was lucky to get dinner. Thank God for room service.” A hint of blush appeared on her cheeks.

  “So you were looking for a rebound guy but found something more?”

  “Oh hell no,” she retorted with a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, we rebounded for nearly twenty-four hours straight. But every time he opened his mouth, I remembered why I don’t like surgeons. The only time he ever said anything that didn’t start with ‘I’ was when he was telling me what to do. To him. Luckily we spent most of the day in an incoherent tangle, and I was spared a third telling of how he rebuilt the cheekbone of a major-league baseball player whose name I didn’t recognize, much to his disappointment.”

  “So no second date?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “But if I ever change my mind, he left me a glossy eight-by-ten headshot with his office number on it,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Plastics guys somehow view their own beauty as a testament to their skill. Not to say he wasn’t beautiful. And strong. He had muscles in some amazingly convenient places….” She drifted off dreamily.

  “Good for you,” Brandt said, genuinely happy for her. “Now, would you like to accompany me to find some coffee? Somehow being blitzed on caffeine helps me be less nervous.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Officer Brandt,” she replied with a broad smile.

  Somewhere inside Brandt’s autonomic nervous system, an ancient relic of hetero chivalry swung into motion, and his arm extended for her to take as if they were a prom couple. He looked down at his elbow in no small surprise, but if Kerry was fazed by it, she gave no sign; in fact, she smiled warmly as she slid her arm through his. They walked together to the coffee bar in the hotel lobby.

  Along the way, Brandt caught sight of their reflection in several of the mirrors mounted on the walls. They made a striking couple, evidenced by the number of heads turning to watch them walk by. The part of Brandt that was gratified ran smack into the part of him that was mortified to know everyone who watched them pass surely considered them a couple. A man and a woman. Together. Brandt suddenly felt the heavy weight of guilt press into his chest as they approached the coffee counter.

  “What’s yo
ur drink, Officer?” Kerry asked, looking at the menu card. “My treat. Least I can do after standing you up for brunch.”

  “My taste in coffee is pretty simple,” he managed to reply. “It’s Gabriel who can go on and on about coffee in its many and varied forms. All of which, apparently, make a big difference to fancy coffee people, but I can’t really tell the good stuff from whatever comes in a can at the grocery store. I sometimes think he can divine from the first sip the name of the plantation where the stuff was grown.” Now he was just rambling.

  “You really are nervous, aren’t you? You didn’t even take a breath there.” She smiled and again put a hand on his arm. “You’ll be okay. We’ll get some coffee in you and it will all be fine.” She looked up at the waiting barista. “Two Americanos, please, extra shot?”

  Brandt tried to breathe normally.

  “I think he was disappointed you didn’t order,” Kerry whispered conspiratorially. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked up, the poor boy.”

  Brandt glanced up at the young man making their coffees. He seemed to be about the same age as Jonah and Casey, the wrestlers from Woodley who were now finishing their first year at university. As Brandt caught his eye, the barista immediately broke into a flattered grin that stayed—just barely—on the side of professionalism.

  “And now you’ve disappointed the cashier,” Kerry continued, glancing at the woman about the same age as the barista who was busily running Kerry’s card for the coffee purchase. “She seemed hopeful that you would smile at her instead of the coffee boy.”

  Brandt looked from the barista to the cashier, aghast at the drama he was causing.

  “Oh, don’t panic, dear,” Kerry said warmly as the barista put lids on their drinks. “Surely you’re used to this.”

  “I never….” He had no idea what to say.

  “That’s an Americano, extra shot, for the gentleman,” the barista said, gazing into Brandt’s eyes with a force that made him blink in surprise.

  “Thank you”—Brandt glanced at the young man’s nameplate—“Luke.”

  Luke blushed, fidgeted, and nearly dropped Kerry’s coffee. “And one for the… lady,” he added distractedly.

  “Why, thank you,” Kerry exclaimed, as if he had laid his coat across a puddle for her. She made a not-terribly-successful effort to stifle a giggle.

  They walked halfway across the lobby to a pair of ornate armchairs hidden behind a planter full of orchids. Brandt offered the chair with the intricately decorated pillow to Kerry and sat down in the other.

  She sipped her coffee and regarded him appraisingly. “Now, when I met you, I knew you were modest. But my goodness, man, have you no clue the wake of roiling hormones you leave behind you as you stride through this world?”

  “Now you’re just having fun,” he replied. “And since I am a good sport and you bought my coffee, I will allow you to.” He raised his cup to her and took a drink.

  “Ethan, please,” she replied with a hint of an eye roll. “I am having fun, but you can be assured that the little melodrama played out at this hotel lobby coffee bar is just the latest in a long, long line. Surely you’ve noticed it?”

  Brandt considered this for a moment. “It’s not that I’ve never noticed anything like that,” he said slowly, “but only among a pretty distinct community of people. See, there’s this friend of mine by the name of Bryce who just goes on and on about me and Gabriel, but that’s just his way. Well, him and his… friend? Partner…? Well, I’m not sure what to call Nestor, but he and Bryce are kind of birds of a feather. A pretty fabulous feather, actually. But aside from them… and our wedding planner this one time… oh, and there’s Nick, but he’s straight. Sort of. I guess….” He wound down and slumped in confusion. “I really am kind of clueless.”

  “I’d still call you modest, not clueless,” Kerry replied. “If you took notice of everyone who looked at you like our poor barista, you’d not have time to do anything else. And I can assume that Gabriel has a similar effect on people?”

  “Oh yes,” Brandt answered immediately. “Now, guys throw themselves at him.”

  Kerry nodded, clearly feeling vindicated. “And he would doubtless say the same about you,” she summed up. “But does he also attract the attention of the fairer sex, as you did with our desolate cashier over there? I only ask because it’s a rare gay man who can draw the ladies the way you do. Greg could pull it off in college, but that was because he was still in denial, and there were many, many women who wanted to help him nail that closet door shut. But once he decided which team he truly plays for, the ladies in waiting… well, they gave up waiting.”

  Brandt’s head was swimming again. Every question this woman asked sent him into a tailspin. But a moment’s reflection made clear that she was spot-on. As Donnelly had grown into his skin as a gay man, the hungry looks that came his way came entirely from men. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’s men who follow him across the room. But it is—and I’m not kidding here—every single one of them.”

  She nodded sagely. “And yet you,” she said, narrowing her gaze, “you pull in everyone. So what that says to me is—”

  “That this is about to become a therapy session rather than a friendly chat over coffee?” he interrupted with a smile that showed he meant no offense.

  “Your requisition for a change of subject has been declined,” she replied. “What this says to me is that—despite your impending marriage to another man—you somehow manage to, shall we say, engage both men and women. That makes you… bisexual, perhaps?”

  “Wow, when you analyze someone, you really go for it, don’t you?” Brandt shook his head and tried to think through all of the things that were wrong with her statement, but kept tripping over the things that were right in it. It was a mess.

  “It’s probably too late to say that I don’t want to pry, isn’t it?” she said impishly. “But it’s just that I’m a pretty good judge of people—my horrid ex to the side—and I also lack any sort of filter to keep every thought in my head from rolling right out my mouth like some demented gumball machine. So, I have to ask: honestly, Ethan, do you even live in that amazing body of yours?”

  “I’m starting to think I don’t,” he said, seriously and with no small amount of distress plain in his voice.

  She sat back in surprise. “It… it was just a joke—”

  “No, I’m serious. I think you’re exactly right.” He looked at her, studying this person who had shown up out of nowhere to jostle his entire self-concept. “Not about the bisexuality, though—you’re completely up a tree about that. But about not living in my body. That’s something Gabriel said to me recently, and he’s known me for years. You got that after being in my presence for a grand total of less than a half an hour.”

  “Well, this may sound trite,” she replied, “but women know things.”

  “I guess they do,” Brandt said, sitting back in his chair.

  Kerry took a breath as if she were about to launch into another inquisition about his identity, and Brandt knew he had to keep that from happening.

  “Well, I should get in there,” he blurted, standing abruptly. “Thank you for the distraction. And the coffee. And the psychotherapy.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she assured him, rising as well. “You don’t mind if I stick around for the panel, do you? I desperately want to see the Ethan Brandt magic in action for myself. I mean, you have the strapping young barista demographic completely on board, but I would love to see you work a room of hospital administrators. One imagines that a smile—and a shirt full of pectoral muscle—won’t put them over the moon quite so easily.”

  “I would be delighted to have another friendly face in the audience. May I escort you back to the room, then?” he asked, holding his arm out again. She took it with a graceful nod, and they made their elegant way through the lobby, once again drawing the eyes of most hotel guests. Brandt let it roll over him, as he had reached his self-reflection
limit for the morning.

  As the panel began, Brandt was distracted by the presence, in the front row, of Greg and Kerry, who sat together and fixed him with remarkably similar looks of appreciation. Either their early history together had shaped them in ways that were still visible a decade after college, or they thought the same things when they looked at Brandt. That, more than the pressure to say the right thing at the right moment, made him nervous as the panel discussion got underway.

  But he soon found his bearings and was able to tell the story of Greg and Peter and the horrible drama that played out at the hospital after their wedding, when Greg was prevented from ever seeing his husband of only a few hours on his deathbed because their marriage wasn’t recognized by the laws of that state. As was the case with the trauma surgeons two days before, there were more than a few tear-dampened faces among the hundreds in the conference hall. Brandt was more keenly aware of this effect than he had been previously, and it gave him a sense of accomplishment that surprised him—not because he could make people cry but because the crying would likely make them remember the import of his talk long after they left the room.

  At the end of the panel discussion, Greg and Kerry hovered near the dais while Brandt shook hands and fielded quiet questions from the other panel members—including one who, early in the discussion, had tried to defend the refusal of religiously affiliated hospitals to recognize visitation rights for gay spouses. The panelists took a few pictures, trading their phones around so everyone would get a shot of the group. Brandt was handed business cards from several administrators who wanted to talk with him about making a presentation at their hospitals, and he cheerfully promised to make himself available if his schedule allowed it.

  Finally he was able to detach from the group and join Greg and Kerry.

  “Great job, as always,” Greg said, crushing Brandt into a hug.