For Better Or Worse

by Payne, Jodi;

  Okay, this time she asked for it. “Circles you operate in.” I repeated, emphasizing each word. I closed and locked the door behind me as we went inside. “I’m sorry I don’t make a six-figure salary, Julie, but that’s no reason to imply that I am trash, either.”

  “You just don’t understand!” Julie barked at me and hurried into the bedroom, unable to hide her tears this time. I arrived at the bedroom door just in time to have it slammed in my face. Julie and I had had many arguments, but we didn’t slam doors; we didn’t walk away from each other. It was our rule. There was something more going on here. And by ‘something’ I didn’t mean hormones.

  “What is this really about, Julie?”

  “Nothing!” she sobbed from the other side of the door.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No!” Her voice was a little farther away from the door this time, and I heard her blow her nose.

  “Please?”

  Julie sniffled. “Go ‘way.”

  I tried the doorknob. She hadn’t locked it, and so I started to turn the handle.

  “My mother wants us for Christmas!” Julie shouted, and I froze.

  I blinked at the door for a long moment, and then took a few steps backward, away from it. “On second thought, Julie, honey, I’m going to stay out here.”

  “I hate my mother!” Julie shouted.

  “No, you don’t.” She doesn’t. Julie is incapable of hate.

  “I should!”

  “You said no, right?” I asked tentatively and received no answer. “Julie? Tell me you said no?”

  Except that I already knew that she hadn’t, Julie never said no.

  The bedroom door opened slowly, and Julie looked at me with red, watery eyes. “It’s not polite to turn down an invitation from one’s mother,” she said helplessly, as much a slave to her good manners as ever.

  3

  Of all the things I knew I’d have to endure when I decided to shack up with Julie full-time, I never expected to be spending Christmas with Mommy and Daddy at their mountain home in Vail.

  I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like a palace. As we pulled up the driveway, the sun glinted off the slightly greenish tinted glass that covered one entire end of the house. Floor to ceiling windows on three floors allowed for an unspoiled view of the mountains from every room.

  The limo that picked us up had custom plates that read “mumsey”; it was Mommy’s limo. When it stopped near the front entrance I reached for the door handle, but Julie put her hand on my arm. “Don’t. Ben will get it,” she said. She was completely serious.

  ” _Ben _ will get it.” I repeated her words back to her as a statement, not a question, trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice and failing miserably.

  “Gail, you promised—”

  “Not to be snarky,” I interrupted. “Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry.” Why did I promise her that when I knew there was no way in hell I was going to be able to keep that promise?

  As forecast, Ben did open my door and I stepped out, reaching a hand back in to help Julie out as well. Ben closed the car door as Julie and I made our way up the white gravel path to the front steps. “Let me guess. Ben will get our bags, too.”

  “Well, Ben will bring them into the house, Eileen will get them from there.”

  Christ. “Eileen?”

  “Don’t start, Gail.” Julie chided. “Best behavior, you promised.”

  “If you don’t stop reminding me of my fucking promises…” I began just as the front door opened for us.

  “Hello, Mother.” Julie said, right about the time that I used the f-word, loud enough to drown my voice out. I just stared at her. Never trust a woman whose children call her ‘Mother’.

  “Julie, so good to see you!” Her mother pulled Julie into the house and gave her a fairly convincing hug. She and Julie looked nothing alike as far as I could tell; her mother’s hair was blonde and straight, and her face was long where Julie’s was rounder. “Look at you. You look…

  well, you look pretty Julie, but I wish you’d wear your hair—”

  Julie cut her off. “Mother, this is Gail,” she interrupted before her mother could give her a makeover right there in the living room.

  “Oh.” Julie’s mother turned to me, and I stepped into the house. She looked me over critically before introducing herself. “I’m Mrs. McHugh.”

  Julie balked at that. “Mother.”

  I watched the woman’s thoughts march along behind her eyes. Her lips twitched. I think it might actually have been painful for her. “Call me Kathleen,” she said tightly.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” I replied, hands tucked neatly in my pockets. She hadn’t extended hers in greeting and so neither did I. I think Vail got even colder at that moment.

  “You’re late.” The man that entered the room next could only have been Julie’s father, as I now saw a clear family resemblance.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Julie smiled as he made his way over. I knew that smile and it was a genuine one.

  “Our plane landed late.”

  Julie had always said nice things about her father. She’d also said he was a man of few words, which was evident in his next statement. He gave Julie a kiss on the cheek, then raised a hand to me and said, “Hello, call me Gareth,” before turning around and disappearing back the way he’d come. Julie didn’t seem at all fazed by his greeting, such as it was.

  Most of our afternoon was spent in a lavish sitting room at the front of the house. Julie talked with her mother for a long while about school and the children in her classes, while I remained mostly silent, and took in the magnificent view through the enormous glass windows.

  I managed to steal a few kisses while Julie and I unpacked and got ready for dinner. Julie whined at me a little and tried to make an excuse about not being able to “do it” in her parents’ house, but I could tell by the goose bumps I left her with on her arms and the way she bit her lips while she dressed that I could have her if I wanted her. I resolved to dishonor her under her parents’ roof that very evening.

  Dinner was nothing short of interminable. Yet again, I had said nothing all evening, mostly out of disinterest in cousin Aly’s new boyfriend and the construction being done on their condo in New York City, when Kathleen’s change of subject finally caught my attention.

  “So Julie, did you know that your cousin Mark is like you?”

  “Like me?” Julie asked, sounding a little terse for the first time all evening.

  “Yes, darling, you know, gay.” Kathleen whispered the offending word the way I’d heard my grandmother whisper _cancer _ as a child, as if you could catch it by saying it too loudly.

  “Actually, I’m lesbian, Mother.”

  Kathleen looked shocked. “Julie! Must you use such words at the table?”

  I laughed. I guess I ought to have been offended but I found her ignorance so ludicrous all I could do was laugh at her. Julie glared at me, though, and I quieted down quickly.

  “So, Mark is gay, huh?” Julie asked, bringing the conversation back to its beginning.

  “Oh, yes. Your Aunt Celia was shocked.”

  Julie ground her teeth a moment before finally asking what was really on her mind. “Mother, if you can’t even _say _ lesbian, why did you invite us?” Julie had told me she was going to ask, but I hadn’t expected she’d ask so soon, or ask with me in the room, let alone at dinner.

  Oddly, Kathleen seemed prepared to answer that question, and smiled at Julie. “Honey, it’s not taboo anymore to have gays in the family.”

  I nearly spit my wine across the table. ‘Is it still taboo to have an idiot in the family?’ I was thinking, but I kept my mouth firmly shut.

  Julie turned a shade of red that I hadn’t seen on her since that ill-fated cocktail party. “What?”

  she asked incredulously, her voice pitched high.

  “Oh, sweetie, it’s fashionable now, you know? Everyone knows someone who’s g
ay nowadays.”

  Kathleen seemed to truly believe she’d had some kind of revolutionary breakthrough. “Did you know that John, the Connolly’s gardener, is gay? And, oh! David Sykes, you remember him, I went to school with him and he’s now the Board Chairman for that,” she waved her fingers at Julie’s father, “that pharmaceutical company. What’s it called, Gareth?”

  Julie’s father picked up his wine and replied in a bored tone, “Don’t drag me into this, Kathleen.”

  Kathleen waved him off as if he were useless and continued on. “Anyway, some very famous people are gay, you know.”

  I was starting to think that if Julie’s jaw dropped any further it would dislocate. Me, I’d been hiding a grin behind my hand for the last several minutes. Clearly Kathleen was uncomfortable with the ensuing silence because she started in again.

  “But you’re the only gay woman I know, Julie, and all my bridge ladies say the same thing. How unique and—”

  “Mother!” Julie stood abruptly, bracing her hand on the table edge. “Do not talk to me again until you can look me in the eye and say the word ‘lesbian’ three times in a row.” And with that, Julie turned around and left the table.

  I froze, and flicked my eyes first to Kathleen, then to Gareth and back again before leaning back in my chair. That was definitely my exit cue as well, but I needed a reason to go. Kathleen helpfully supplied one.

  “She’s always been such a moody girl.”

  I stood. “You know, I think I’ll turn in,” I said and headed for the door. I know I promised Julie, but when I decided to turn around and take our wine glasses up with me, I looked at Kathleen and smiled. “If you can’t manage ‘lesbian’, I’m sure Jules would also accept ‘dyke’,” I said helpfully before leaving the room. I could hear Gareth’s laughter as I climbed the stairs in the hall.

  4

  I made my way up the long, extravagant staircase and down a lushly carpeted hall to our room.

  Julie was running a bath when I came in. “Baby?” I called as I pushed open the bathroom door with my toes.

  Julie looked distraught, but she wasn’t crying. “I’m sorry, Gail, this was a stupid idea. I thought maybe Mother had changed or maybe she was trying to change and, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “Julie.” I handed over her glass of wine.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ll tell Mother in the morning and then we’ll go.”

  “Julie.”

  “Don’t ‘Julie’ me!” She snapped and swallowed back the remaining contents of the wine glass. I blinked at her. She lowered it again and held the empty glass out to me.

  “Would you rather I call you ‘Ralph’?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood a little. Julie burst into tears. I have an uncanny knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, and I have never learned. It’s remarkable really. At least this time she didn’t say ‘you don’t love me’ like she has in her more hormonal moments, or told me to sleep on the couch. It occurs to me now that perhaps Kathleen was right. Julie was a little moody, but in a good way.

  I sat beside her on the edge of the tub and put my arm around her shoulders. “You know, I’ve never met your mother before, Jules, but I think, in her own very _odd _ way, she _is _ trying.”

  Julie sniffled, but her shoulders stopped shaking so I could tell I had her attention. I babbled on, hoping to say something right for a change. “I mean, to talk about your cousin, and to seem…

  sort of happy that it’s… you know,” I sighed.

  “No longer taboo to have gays in the family?” Julie asked, with a hint of the sarcasm more often attributable to me in her voice.

  Good point. “Well, okay, that was sort of…”

  “Ignorant?”

  I almost laughed, but I didn’t think Julie would appreciate it, so I stayed the course. “Are you even _trying _ to give her the benefit of the doubt?”

  “No.”

  I could tell this line of conversation was going to get us nowhere. Julie didn’t want to forgive her mother yet. The tub was filling quickly and I leaned over to shut the taps off. When I stood and tugged off my boots, Julie stood as well. “Can I have the rest of your wine?” she asked, and I nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  We began to undress in that matter of fact, comfortable way that couples do, but I watched her all the same. I love to watch her. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing, she just does everything with a polished gracefulness that makes me look like a bull in a china shop. I admired the way she

  stepped out of her jeans with pointed toes as the denim slid to the floor, and the way her delicate fingers, always neatly manicured, unbuttoned her blouse. She smiled at me then, as we bared ourselves for each other, knowing that I was watching her and liking it, I think.

  The water in the tub was hot. I hissed as I dipped my toes into it, but managed to ease myself in slowly. Julie did the same, but had to tell me how hot it was five times in the process, all the while refusing every offer I made to cool it off a little.

  I pulled her back against me and we sat in silence for a while, Julie clearly lost in her own thoughts. I enjoyed just holding her, and scooping the warm water up over her shoulders with a washcloth to keep her warm.

  It isn’t easy being Julie McHugh, especially not in Vail. My Julie, the stable, well-educated, thoughtful schoolteacher and one-drink-wonder, is actually the fuck-up in her family.

  Her younger brother, Robert (and don’t you dare call him ‘Bobby’), recently earned a graduate degree in business from Stanford University and is working as an investment banker. He makes upwards of a hundred and twenty thousand a year and he has no life, no time, and no significant other to spend it on.

  Peter, Julie’s older brother and darling of the McHugh household, is a surgeon who got his pre-med undergrad degree from Harvard and his medical degree from Johns Hopkins. This guy doesn’t just _have _ brains, he actually operates on them. You know how people say things like

  ‘this isn’t brain surgery’? Well Peter doesn’t find that saying funny at all. To him, everything is brain surgery. Including marriage. He very carefully dissected the dating scene, tossed aside prospective wives like he was selecting a tie, and finally plucked from the bowels of the female race a frighteningly perfect woman. Perfect looking, that is; the woman is a mannequin. After seeing a picture of her I had to ask Julie if she was actually smiling or if the perpetually stretched corners of her mouth were some kind of face-lift gone bad.

  As for Julie, well, her mother had expected her to go to college, find a nice boy (preferably Catholic) who was majoring in business or medicine or law, and marry him. Then she was supposed to have a few kids named after various family members and maybe a Mercedes and a summer house in Palm Beach.

  Instead of Norman Rockwell, Kathleen got Gloria Steinem. Julie shacked up with a woman who (even worse) was a bartender, and instead of being a rich man’s wife she followed her life long dream and became a schoolteacher. Her mother had such heart failure when Julie told her I was a bartender that Julie wasn’t able to get to the part about me being a woman in the same conversation. Julie sat on that for another two weeks until her mother’s Xanax had taken very, very firm hold.

  I suppose that all of that sounds funny in retrospect, but at the time it sent Julie into quite a tailspin. She had moved fifteen hundred miles away from her family because she felt that she would never be able to be who she needed to be, a lesbian and a school teacher, if she remained in the shadow of the McHugh estate. So that phone call, the one that sent her mother crying hysterically to a psychiatrist about how wronged she was and how she wanted to kill herself, was the most difficult moment of Julie’s life.

  For a solid week she and I argued about whether or not I should just back off. I’d never seen Julie so emotional.

  “Don’t make any fucking self-righteous sacrifices on my account!” Julie shouted at me when I suggested that maybe we should slow down a little.


  “Baby, I just don’t want to make things harder on you.”

  “So you think walking out on me is going to make me feel better?!”

  The tears were running down Julie’s face in sheets. I hadn’t ever seen anyone cry like that.

  Angry, hurt, confused tears that made me want to run to her and run away at the same time. I’d never had anyone put that kind of emotion on me, and here was Julie, saying here I am, for better or worse, and _this _ is the ‘worse’ part so you better damn well fucking be there for me.

  Right.

  I tried, I really did. I think, looking back on it now, that Julie knew I was trying, but I was such a wreck about it. I’m just not equipped for tears and all the emotional drama. I’d only had a couple of girlfriends that I had dated for any length of time before Julie, and everyone else had been either weekend flings or pick-ups. And the fact is that, at the time, I had no respect for her family. I didn’t like their politics, I didn’t like their snobbery and I really did not like their money. So consoling Julie about her mother’s narrow-mindedness wasn’t easy. I’d say things like ‘Fuck your mother, who needs her?’ and, of course, Julie would cry. I’d say ‘I love you’ and she’d cry even more. I even tried ‘Would it make you feel better to hit me?’ which was also met with tears, although she punched me in the arm for good measure.

  What made it all even more difficult was that we couldn’t even have sex after a couple of weeks.

  Julie grew self-conscious and self-doubting and it became increasingly difficult for me to touch her. Damn that Catholic guilt. One night I got so angry about it I got up out of bed and slept in the living room. Well, I didn’t sleep, I lay there in the dark staring at the ceiling and worked out what to do. Something had to give and by dawn I had a plan.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  The next night, after taking her out to dinner and plying her with a bottle of wine (of which she had her usual one glass and I finished the rest), I took her home with very specific intentions. She looked at me with an indulgent smile and shook her head.