by Lynn VanDorn
“In addition, he's little better than a whore. I know about this video business. Everyone knows about it. As a doctor, you have a reputation to uphold, and he will drag you down into the mud with him. I raised you to be better than that.”
Josh felt heat wash away his chilly reserve in a wave of fury. He wanted to hit something, but he restrained himself, fisting his hands but keeping his arms rigidly at his sides. “Do not call him that again. Ever.”
Josh’s father paused and looked baffled. Josh breaking into his lecture was not part of the accepted script. “I beg your pardon,” his father said, not sounding at all like he was either begging or wanted Josh’s pardon.
“Tyler is not a whore and I will not tolerate you calling him that. You don't have to approve of him, and you don't have to approve that we’re in a relationship, but I won't let you insult him.”
“Well,” his father said, ignoring Josh’s outburst like it hadn't occurred and certainly not apologizing, “be that as it may, you're nearly thirty-five and I can't tell you how to live your life, but I can tell you that I will not let you or that boy ruin your sister's wedding. I won't stand for either Rachel or your mother being unhappy. Not today.”
“Ruining the day? How, Dad? Were you expecting us to trade our tuxedos in for rainbow spandex and glitter body paint? Did you think Tyler and I would start twerking on the Egyptian tomb at the reception wearing assless chaps?”
“This isn't a joke, Joshua, and I am not amused. I expect you to take this seriously.” His voice had risen and several people who were setting up for the wedding looked their way. Josh’s mother hurried over to smooth things over like she always did.
“Now, dear, that's enough. Josh wasn't so very late, and he still has plenty of time to get ready. Even more if you'll let him get dressed.”
“Mom, can you go get me Rachel, or is she already changing?”
“I think she's arguing with the florist, honey. The wedding planner is trying to arbitrate. I could go get her. I'm sure the florist would thank me.” She flashed him a worried smile, then scurried off in a flurry of Chanel no. 5 and peach chiffon.
“You will not upset your sister,” Josh’s father said. “Do you understand me? What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“I have no intention of upsetting Rachel, Dad,” he replied. “I'm just taking this seriously, like you said.”
“Oh, good, you finally got here. Tyler had better be with you,” Rachel said after she'd marched over.
“He went to go find Brad and Ryan and he's probably already in his tux by now. I know it's your big day, but can you do me a little favor?”
“Sure,” she said, looking between him and their father with ill-disguised unease.
“I know you do his taxes, so can you tell Dad how much Tyler’s income was last year?”
Rachel gave him a questioning look but asked, “From his earned income, trust fund, or investments?”
“All together. A rough figure is fine.”
Rachel thought for a few seconds. “Just under two million dollars. Gross.”
“And expected earnings this year?”
Rachel grinned a little, probably seeing where this was going. “Just over two point five million, based on his current contracted pay from his most recent movie. He did very well this year, and next year will likely be better. After that, who knows, but he still has the investments and the trust fund, which are not inconsiderable. At his current rate of investment, I expect his income to only grow over time.”
“And my income?”
Josh’s father snorted and folded his arms.
“Last year's gross was just over 350K. I can't remember the exact figure off the top of my head. Is that close enough? I can look it up if you need me to.”
“No, that's fine. I don't know, Dad. Suddenly it looks like I'm the bad financial bet in this relationship.”
Rachel gave Josh a pointed look at the word “relationship” that he ignored.
“This isn't just about money,” their father said. “Money can't buy respectability.” Then, as if he couldn't help himself, he added, “Your income would be much higher if you'd listen to me and open your own practice.”
Josh made a sound of disgust. With Dad, it was always about the money. It was all he'd heard growing up. Study hard and get good grades so you could be successful, success always being measured by what you did, who you knew, how much money you made, and what zip code you lived in. His father was always saying things like, “all the best people send their children to this school,” or “all the best people belong to this club,” like life was nothing but a petty game and some huge snob was keeping score. Josh knew his father still blamed him for not being able to complete his surgical residency. It was “my son, the dermatologist,” not “my son, the plastic surgeon.” Like anyone but his father cared.
“What the hell, Dad?” asked Rachel. “Can you not do this today? Is there a good reason why Josh felt the need to drag me over here—not that I mind, by the way, because I was this close to killing the florist—to defend Tyler’s financial prospects to you?”
“I'm trying to keep your brother and that boy from ruining your wedding. Your brother can choose to interpret that however he wishes.”
Rachel shook her head. “No, you're not. You just want to have your way. And, yeah, Tyler wouldn't have been my first pick for him, either, but it's not up to us. Besides, I'm pretty sure Tyler really does care for him, Dad, or at least Brad is sure, and that's good enough for me. Like it or not, that crazy little shit has added Josh to his extremely short list of people he gives a crap about. Brad is also on that list, and apparently, I am, too. Tyler has no intentions of ruining this wedding, okay? I mean, why the hell would he?”
“Calling Tyler a crazy little shit is not helping, Rach,” Josh said. “He's not any crazier than I am.”
“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” Tyler said, having decided that he was going to stick his nose in whether it was wanted or not, no doubt drawn over by the raised voices. He placed his hand at the small of Josh’s back and Josh leaned into him.
“Was I wrong?” asked Rachel.
“No. My list is pretty short and you and your brother are both on it. His name is a lot higher up than yours, though.” Tyler faced Josh’s father, drawing himself up as far as he'd go, and said with exquisite dignity, “Mr. Rosen, if you're done with your son, I'd be more than happy to take him off your hands. Permanently, if necessary,” he added and smiled. Josh winced.
Josh’s father frowned. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning that I wouldn't dream of keeping Josh from his family. But at the same time, I will not allow you to berate him in public like he's a child. He’s taking it from you because he's far too worried about what you think of him to tell you to go to hell, but I'm not.”
“Excuse me?” Josh’s father bit out.
Josh put a warning hand on Tyler’s arm, which of course he ignored. “Sir, just like your daughter said, I have zero intentions of doing anything to ruin this day for either Brad or Rachel or even your wife, who’s always been nice to me. Even if I wasn't on my best behavior because I love my brother and quite like and respect your daughter, I’d like to think that my mother taught me better than to make a scene at someone's wedding just because I can. And even without all that, I would do pretty much anything for your son, up to and including tolerating you. But I will not let you upset him, which you have. Am I being clear?”
Josh’s father opened his mouth, seemed to change his mind, then shut it. “Who the hell do you think you are?” It came out sounding less angry and more bewildered than Josh thought his father would've liked.
“I am the man in love with your son,” Tyler said in the same way one would remark that the sky was blue or water was wet.
Rachel sighed. “I guess that was inevitable.” She looked at Josh. “Is it mutual? Stupid question, of course it's mutual. Even on Sunday I could see you practically worshipping the g
round he swishes over. It figures you’d end up replacing one Chadwick with another. Honestly, I swear it's sheer laziness on your part.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?” exclaimed Josh’s father. At the same time Tyler spat out, “Swishes?”
Rachel got an “oh, shit, what have I said?” look on her face.
“I had a huge crush on Brad back when we roomed together in college,” Josh blurted out while glaring at Rachel. He was not going to be the one who outed Ryan. Nothing Ryan had ever done warranted that. Brad would understand and condone this white lie, he was sure. Josh hoped that Tyler would go along with it. He probably would, but just in case, he gave Tyler a surreptitious pinch. “Totally unrequited, naturally, and I got over him years ago. Right, Rachel?”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” she agreed, nodding vigorously. “It's okay. I get the allure of Chadwick men, believe me. I would never hold it against you.”
“That’s mighty big of you,” Tyler spat, then he muttered, “Swishes,” again in an aggrieved tone.
“And things have totally worked out for the best. I mean, at least Tyler’s gay.” She kissed Josh on the cheek, then she looked at Tyler. “If you hurt him…”
“Gross bodily harm. Got it. The last thing I want to do is hurt your brother. I like my kneecaps. I'm very fond of them. Of him, too. You, though, are tumbling from favor. I do not swish.”
Rachel gave Tyler an insouciant grin, then turned to their father. “Enough, okay? Please? For me?”
He sighed. “Go get dressed, Rachel. Your mother will worry if you're not ready at least an hour early.”
“Sure, Dad,” Rachel said. She looked back at Josh, shrugged, and walked off.
Josh’s father cleared his throat and gave Tyler a pointed look. “You’re not good enough for my son.”
Josh choked.
“Probably not,” Tyler said, not sounding concerned.
“Dad,” Josh said. “For the love of God, he's not my prom date. I'm too old for this.”
Josh’s father ignored him, which was nothing new. “This is a wedding, not a freak parade. We had to hire security because of you and the circus you've brought with you. Now you've got your hooks in my son and I can see it's no use to tell him to leave you alone like the bad piece of business you are, but I am warning you right now that if you hurt any of my family in any way, I'll see that you regret it.” Then he did an about-face and left both Josh and Tyler alone.
“Well,” Tyler said brightly. “That was fun.”
“Come on,” Josh said. “Show me where to get dressed.”
“You okay?” asked Tyler.
“Sure. It could have been worse.”
“From my point of view, I'm not sure how. He seems to be pretty firmly in the anti-Tyler fan club.” Tyler smiled, but he looked worried to Josh.
“Eh. Don't fuck me over and he'll come around. Fifteen, twenty years from now, you’ll see.”
Tyler looked at him and raised that eyebrow of his. “That soon?”
Josh gave him what he hoped was a playful smile. “Don't tell me you're regretting being my not-so-fake boyfriend already?” And while his tone was joking, Josh felt real concern. Why would Tyler—or anyone, really—want him enough to put up with that kind of bullshit over the long term? He was forcibly reminded that by far the longest relationship he'd ever been in was the one he'd had with Ryan. He was going to fuck this up. It was only a matter of time.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Your father loves you. He's a huge dickhead who probably wants me dead, but he loves you. Don't take that for granted.” Then Tyler took Josh’s arm and led him to where Brad and Ryan were getting ready.
–—
Saturday, October 1st, 7:50 p.m.
The Field Museum: the reception
Chicago, IL
In the end, it wasn't Josh or Tyler who made a scene at the wedding; it was Ryan and his little party crashing not-boyfriend. Ryan disappeared to “deal with him” and hadn't returned. Josh’s mother was frantic.
“He's the best man! He was supposed to give a speech! It’ll have to be one of you now.”
“Josh should do it,” Tyler said.
“What? No,” said Josh, feeling a little panicked. “You’re his brother. You should do it.”
“You told me he's your best friend, right? This is a best friend sort of job.”
“But talking is something you're good at. It's practically your calling. Besides, I have no idea what to say.” Josh looked at Ryan's empty seat at the table in accusation, as if he could will Ryan’s ass into it.
“Brad,” Tyler called out, “who do you like better? Me or Josh?”
Brad swiveled in their direction. “Oh, Josh, by a long shot.”
Tyler made a gesture that clearly said, “There you go.” “Mrs. Rosen, if you can get us some paper and a pen or pencil, I'll help your son write a speech, okay?”
Josh’s mother beamed at Tyler. “Thank you, Tyler. I'll go see what I can find.”
“I think you've made a conquest there,” Josh said. “She's likely already thinking about knitting baby sweaters.”
Tyler gave a theatrical shudder. “Bite your tongue. But at least she's on our side, I'm pretty sure. I'll just never tell her that babies are not my thing and hope like hell my brother knocks your sister up soon. So. One Rosen down, two more to go. Although I think your sister is teetering in my direction.”
“You think our dads are lost causes?”
Tyler shrugged. “Hard to say. Mine is, for sure. That's okay, it's not like you need his approval, anyway.”
Josh’s mom returned with paper and a pen she'd scrounged from God-knew-where. “Here,” she said. She cupped Josh’s cheek. “Thanks for doing this, sweetheart. Your sister will really appreciate it.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead then went to sit beside his father.
“Okay,” Josh said, “let’s do this. And your brother owes me big time.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
–—
Saturday, October 1st, 9:32 p.m.
The Field Museum: the dance floor
Chicago, IL
Much later, after dinner, all the speeches (including his own, which had been easier to make than he’d feared), champagne toasts, the cake was cut and eaten, and the bouquet was tossed and caught, the dancing started. Dancing. The worst part of the evening, as far as Josh was concerned.
“Come on,” Tyler said, standing up from the table and holding out his hand. “Dance with me. I love this song.”
He didn't want to dance with Tyler. Or, rather, he didn't want to dance at all. Josh hated dancing. He hated everything about it.
Josh had gone to every single school dance with Ryan. Not as his date, of course, but as his solitary shadow, and by the end of high school, no one had questioned his dateless presence. Where Ryan went, there Josh went as well: games, dances, movies, parties. Invite Ryan and you invited Josh, too. Everyone knew it. Josh remembered hearing a guy joke that Josh was probably there when Ryan lost his virginity, and of course he’d been there. They had lost their virginities to each other junior year after homecoming.
At that dance, Josh had done what he always did—stood on the edge, listened to the music, watched Ryan, and endured. Ryan would get tired, usually sooner rather than later, of dancing with his date, and then he and Josh would slip away. Usually just for a short time, but homecoming that year had not gone well. First, the football team had lost, and Ryan had taken the loss poorly, making it all his fault in his head somehow. Then, he and his date were not getting along. They had bickered all evening. It culminated with her giving Ryan a slap and him turning his back on her. She'd rushed after him, trying to apologize, but he'd shaken her off, grabbed Josh, and the two of them had fled, Ryan peeling out of the school parking lot and making the tires of his BMW squeal.
They’d gone back to Ryan’s house because his parents had left for the evening. The au pair had already gone to bed, along with Tyler a
nd Brad. Ryan dragged Josh to his room and had uncharacteristically grabbed him, borne him to his bed, then attacked him. Not that Josh minded in the slightest. He didn't mind any of it, not even that it hurt at first, despite the lube that Ryan had produced from a hidden spot under his mattress. Josh wanted to belong to Ryan too badly to let pain to stand in his way, and it got better. Much better.
Every dance after that, every party, every function that Ryan took a date to, Josh waited on the edges and hoped. Sometimes he got what he wanted. Usually he didn't. The worst nights were the ones where the person getting dragged off was Ryan’s date, leaving Josh to find his own way home. Ryan always apologized, always made it up to him one way or another, but it was never quite enough compensation in Josh’s book.
In the days leading up to a dance or a party, Josh’s gut would churn and roil with acid. The uncertainty was the worst. Lady or tiger; would he be fucked or ignored? The possible outcomes would worry him all night as he stood and watched the boy he adored but could never touch. Not in public. Not where anyone could ever see.
That's why he hated dancing, but he couldn't explain that to Tyler. Not that Tyler wouldn't understand, of course he would, but he'd get that look on his face he always got when they discussed Ryan: a mixture of pity and fury. Josh didn't want to see it, not tonight, not so soon after hearing Tyler tell him that he was loved.
He thought of Tyler looking his father in the eye. “I am the man in love with your son.” No doubt, no hesitation, no fear. Josh stood and put his hand in Tyler’s. He allowed himself to be pulled onto a dance floor for the first time in his life.
“I suck at dancing,” he shouted over the music.
“I don't care,” Tyler shouted back, holding tight to his hand and refusing to let go.