The suburban country club was exactly how I’d pictured it would be—traditional manicured mansion on a golf course—but the banquet was a bigger affair than I had expected. There must have been a hundred and fifty guests. Andrew was a perfect loafer-and-pastel-button-down-shirt-wearing gentleman when he greeted us as we arrived, in front of Gemma’s parents and his parents.
“Theo! Good to see you, welcome.”
“Hi, Andrew. Long time.” You cheated on my girl, you dick.
He patted me on the shoulder while shaking my hand, and kissed Gemma on the cheek in a way that I swear was proprietary. He didn’t have a date. When he asked us what he could get us from the bar, I insisted I’d get the drinks for us. It was an open bar, but still.
Gemma recommended the whiskey sour, so that’s what I got us both. When we were seated at the dining table next to Andrew and nine twentysomething people who were surprised to learn that he and Gemma were no longer dating, I was already onto my second cocktail, but I did not imagine the suspicious looks that those people gave me, or his subtle insinuation that I was the reason they had broken up. The whiskey barely made all of the private jokes that Andrew kept bringing up more tolerable, and it definitely didn’t make me any more interested in all of the stories he kept telling about whacky fun times that he and Gemma and these other people at our table had shared together over the years. Holding Gemma’s hand under the table was the only thing that made this banquet bearable, and if she had just allowed my hand to slide further up her leg like it had on the plane to Vancouver, we both would have been more comfortable. I remembered that Gemma had said that people in Cleveland didn’t really care about what happened outside of The Cleve, but I didn’t believe it until now. I had never been met with so many blank stares when I answered the question: “So, what do you do?”
Andrew ordered me the fourth whiskey sour, which I finished during dessert, while he was standing up and giving a toast to Gemma’s parents. “Of course, my own parents are my favorite couple, but it’s no secret that I’ve always admired your relationship, Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. You’ve always treated me like the son you never had, and it was my honor to grow up alongside this beautiful daughter that you raised.” Dick. You don’t deserve to be a part of that family. He let his hand linger on Gemma’s shoulder after he said that.
Gemma gave a really cute, very brief toast to her parents, and once all of the toasts were given, Andrew started to border on maudlin and kept leaning in to tell Gemma, in front of me, how much he missed her and he alluded to the last time that they were here at the country club together, and how they had made out in a bathroom. Gemma’s hand immediately went to my thigh, but when he referred to their text conversations—recent ones—about this party, about what he’d been going through in law school, she slowly pulled her hand away and watched me out of the corner of her eye.
I’d like to think that I had a pretty good poker face. I’m pretty sure I didn’t get too quiet. I don’t believe I was frowning, and I certainly didn’t say anything offensive. I counted slowly to a hundred, and once the band started playing and people started going out onto the dance floor, I excused myself from the table to check my phone and get some fresh air. When Gemma asked if I wanted her to join me, I said sure, but Andrew asked me if I’d spare her for one dance while I was “checking business messages.”
“It’s all up to Gemma,” I said, just as Andrew and Gemma’s parents came over and encouraged us to join them on the dance floor. Andrew put his arm around her shoulder and led her away from me, and I gave her a reassuring wink when she looked back at me, over her shoulder.
“Just one dance,” she mouthed to me, holding up her index finger.
“Come find me,” I mouthed back, tossing my head in the direction of the patio doors.
It was a nice night, and the back lawn was vast and quiet. I was able to respond to twelve emails before I heard the patio door open, and Gemma’s voice behind me. I could tell from her tone that she was annoyed, and when I turned around I could see why. Andrew was hanging all over her, whispering something in her ear.
“Hang on hang on!” he said, laughing, and yanking her back as she tried to come join me.
She stopped in her tracks and whispered “What?!” in a snappy voice.
Andrew said “awwww, Gem,” as he leaned in to hug her, pulling her in way too forcefully and—God help me—sliding his hands down to her ass.
“Hey!” I said, stomping over to them and pulling him away from her. I could feel myself hulking out, and like the Incredible Hulk, I was powerless to stop it. “You don’t get to cheat on my wife and then hug her like that!”
He snort-laughed. I shoved him backwards, and he almost lost his balance. Out of the corner of one eye, I could see Gemma’s hands cover her mouth and out of the corner of the other eye, I could see Andrew’s fist awkwardly coming at my face. I caught his wrist midair and then punched his face. It all happened very fast—a reflex.
“Oh shit!” Gemma exclaimed.
I had only punched one other face in my life—some drunk asshole at a high school graduation party—but Andrew’s face was a lot bonier than it looked. I cursed to myself and shook out my hand. It’s not like I had hit him all that hard. I could tell he wasn’t really in pain, just pissed off.
“Fuck you,” he said. But he didn’t come after me. “I’ll report you to the authorities for marriage fraud you asshole—you can still be deported!”
“It’s not marriage fraud, Andrew! We’ve been together—really together for weeks. I love him. I always did.”
“You’re already married?” I didn’t recognize the voice in the background, but Andrew and Gemma obviously did.
We all looked back at Andrew’s mother, who was coming towards her son, but looking at Gemma. Andrew’s father was being held back by Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. They must have seen and heard everything from the open patio door.
“They’ve been secretly married for three years,” Andrew said, letting his mother put her hands on his face to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “She married him so he could get a green card.”
“What? I don’t understand. Is that true, Gemma? While you were still with Andrew?”
“Yes,” Gemma said. “It’s—it’s not like it sounds—it’s complicated.”
“Did you know about this?” Andrew’s mother looked back at Gemma’s parents.
“Let’s not let this ruin the party, we’ll explain. Come inside.” Gemma’s mother waved for us all to come in, or at least for Andrew’s mother to.
“Shame on you!” Andrew’s mother said to me, spitting out the words. She was shaking, and I did feel ashamed, for doing this in front of Gemma’s parents. They probably didn’t catch the part where he was feeling Gemma up and trying to punch me first. I didn’t want to ruin this party. I just wanted to wipe that smug look off Andrew’s face.
I caught Mrs. Kelly’s eye and tried to wordlessly convey how sorry I was. Mr. Kelly wouldn’t even look at me. I felt sick to my stomach.
“You coming?” Andrew asked Gemma, ignoring me.
“No! I can’t believe you said that, Andrew!”
“Me? He’s the one who—”
“I will deal with you later,” she said to him, like he was a bratty toddler.
He turned and joined his parents inside.
She just stood next to me, with her arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head. I was in trouble. There was no way to turn this around like I did after the nightclub in Whistler.
She said her goodbyes and then we left the party early. She didn’t say a word to me as she drove us back to her parents’ house. She didn’t even look at me until we got up to her room, and she shut the door behind us.
She sat down on the bed, and threw her hands up in the air. “Theodore!”
“He had it coming.”
“You punched him in front of our parents! At their anniversary party! At the country club!”
“I’m sorry about that. You did see that he tri
ed to hit me first.”
“He would have missed your face, he was drunk! He was being an idiot but he didn’t deserve—”
“You’re not actually taking that guy’s side? The guy who cheated on you for years? Over me?”
“This isn’t about loyalty.”
“Well what is it about, Gemma? It’s not about us being best friends, or living together, it’s not about us marrying each other, it’s not about us fucking, it’s not about me being in love with you. Please—enlighten me. What is it about?”
“It’s about trust.”
“Well, I don’t trust that guy and I don’t see how you could.”
“Okay but how can you not trust me?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and it was those few seconds that cracked everything open.
“Theo.”
Here we go... “You said you were secretly in love with me when you were still dating him.”
At first, she gave me a yes, and? look, but then she understood what I was getting at and the color drained from her face.
“And you’ll never know for sure if I’m telling you the truth when I say I’m in love with you. You’ll never know for sure if I’m secretly interested in someone else.”
I looked away, and when I looked back, I could see in her face that it was over. This glorious ride we’d been on. Just like that.
She stood up and started pacing around the room like a caged tiger. “Right. You don’t trust me.”
“I didn’t say that. I would never say that.”
“Oh of course not, not the polite Canadian. If you don’t at least admit it, I don’t see how I could trust you.”
That was a trap. I knew it, and the old me, the guy who used to be able to control himself and be the best version of himself around Gemma, would have just backed off, if not a while ago, then definitely at that moment. But. Lines had been crossed.
“Fine. I’ve seen and heard how you were with him before you broke up. All that time, I never would have guessed that you were in love with someone else.”
She held up her hand in protest, like so many reality show stars. “Are you kidding me? Did you seriously just say that to me?”
It was a rhetorical question.
“What are you saying, you think I was faking everything? You think I’m a fake? Not our little green card marriage—you think that I’m the fake?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fuck you!”
“Don’t put words into my mouth, Gemma, that’s not what I think.”
“I knew this wouldn’t work.”
“It won’t if you don’t want it to.”
“Stop putting this on me!”
“You’re the one who lied to me about not texting with him.”
“I didn’t lie! I didn’t tell you I never texted with him.”
“Lie of omission.”
“Oh my God! I didn’t tell you because they were just dumb texts! It was no big deal and with the way you’ve been acting lately I was afraid you’d turn it into a big deal.”
“And look at that. I did. You were right. Must feel great.” I had never ever wanted to fight with Gemma before, but once you start you just can’t stop. Like the relationship you’re fighting about, you have to be in it to win it.
“Oh, it does!” she said, through gritted teeth. “It feels awesome! This is all I ever wanted! Good talk!”
“Great talk! You’re being sarcastic, but I think that’s more true than you know.”
“Oh well, you’re the genius! Since you know me so well, I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.”
“You’re moving out.”
“Damn right I am! For real!”
“So you keep saying.”
“Oh, I mean it this time and I’m sure you’ll get used to the idea soon enough.”
“Yeah because as I’ve made it so clear to you over and over again—I can’t wait to get rid of you! Although it really has been a delight, getting to know this side of you. You’re so petite I never would have guessed you could store so much crazy in there!”
“Well, when I move out my crazy you’ll have more shelf space for all your big containers of chalky protein powder and your bags of chia seeds that always spill everywhere and get between the kitchen tiles and my teeth and your gross high fat oils and weird superfood powders!”
“I can’t even wait! There’s gonna be so much more room for me to pace around think without all of your walls of denial blocking me! And you can take all of the throw pillows with you—every single one of them—I fucking hate throw pillows and I’ve put up with a thousand of them ever since you moved in! Also—I’m going to switch out all of those amber colored Edison lightbulbs—with LED lights! Hallelujah I’m going to be able to actually read at night again!”
She gasped and glared at me: How dare you.
Here’s how dare I, little missy: “Oh and by the way you should probably get used to protein powders and chia seeds because you won’t be able to get much nutrients from the ramen noodles you’ll have to eat once you realize you can’t afford anything else besides rent on your shitty little paychecks!”
“Fuck you! Fuck you! I knew you were never really supportive of my career you snoterb!” Her eyes widened, when she realized what she’d just said.
After a moment, we both broke out laughing, even though I could tell she was still furious with me.
“I meant to say snobby tech nerd.”
“No, that was genius, now I have a name for my next company. Snoterb Ventures. You probably won’t understand what we do because we’re so much smarter than you.”
She started to laugh, and then she suddenly said: “Stop it! Stop being cute and funny just stop it! If you don’t understand how much it hurts me—”
Her voice was cracking and she couldn’t even stand up straight. She covered her face. I. Did. Not. Understand. This. Woman. I used to. I thought I did. What the hell happened?
“Hey,” I said, reaching out for her. It killed me to see her like this.
She shrugged my hand away, wiped her eyes and said, “I’ll sleep on the sofa in the family room. You stay here.”
“No. I’ll take the sofa.”
“No, my parents get up early and there’s no avoiding them if you’re in there.”
“Do you even want me to stay?”
She didn’t answer, just stared at the floor. That was all I needed to know.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
“If you don’t mind, it would probably be…”
“Yeah. I’ll go.” Fortunately, I hadn’t really unpacked my bag. “Do they have Lyft or Uber here? I’ll just call a cab.”
She nodded.
She sat on the doorstep with me, waiting for the cab to come pick me up. Neither of us said anything, because what else was there to say at that point? I had blown it in a way that Andrew never had—with my fist, in public, in front of her parents. I would send them an anniversary card when I got home, and write something like: “If only I knew the secret to staying married for so long…” Or something.
When the cab pulled up, we stood up and I looked at her, waiting to see if she was going to give me a goodbye hug. She didn’t. I turned to walk down the path.
“See you back in L.A., I guess.”
“Just don’t…”
I looked back at her. “Don’t what?”
Under the dim porch light, I could still see her green eyes glistening with tears. “Don’t forget to feed the birds.”
I nodded my head. Sure. I would feed the birds. “Don’t forget to tell Andrew to go fuck himself.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Will you apologize to your parents for me? I’ll send them a card.”
“Don’t worry about that either. They’re pretty understanding.”
“Gemma?”
She looked up.
“I wish we really could have started over.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
22
Gemma
It had been a little over a year since the time I’d returned to the Burbank airport from Cleveland, newly-single with the quaint notion that I could convince myself to fall out of love with my best friend whom I was secretly married to, after finding out that my boyfriend had been cheating on me for years. I thought that things were so complicated back then, that my suppressed unrequited love was the worst thing I’d have to deal with. Like returning home to my handsome shirtless BFF was so terrible! Now, I didn’t even have a real L.A. home to return to.
I was emotionally depleted after finally having it out with Andrew the morning after Theo left, and my parents were dealing with Andrew’s parents’ ire about not being informed about the green card marriage while I was dating their perfect son. I was so mad that I almost picked up the phone to call them and tell them exactly what their perfect son had been up to while we were dating, but—boundaries. I needed to have them, and I didn’t need to complicate matters worse by messing things up between Andrew and his parents, them and my parents, and me and his parents, and me and my parents…I needed to face the music with Theo, and it was going to be a sad song. Not the snappy jazzy kind about how to make two lovers of friends—the kind you use as a ringtone—but the bluesy kind about how love ruins everything, the kind they play in dive bars at closing time when you don’t have to go home, you just have to settle up your tab and get your brokenhearted loser ass out of there.
We hadn’t texted each other since he left my parents’ house, I hadn’t told Chloe anything about what was going on, just let her know I’d be staying in their guest room again. My eyes were so swollen from crying, the flight attendant kept asking me if I was okay and finally I told her it was allergies. When she offered me a Claritin, I took it. It wasn’t a pot brownie, but the drowsiness that set in felt somewhat better than the anxious exhaustion I had been feeling.
Green: a friends to lovers romantic comedy Page 19