by Kris Ripper
“He’ll be here pretty soon.”
“Send him over to the wake. I contributed a couple of pictures he’s in.”
“I hope you’re wearing a cup.”
She laughed. “I know. I thought about asking permission but decided this would be more fun.”
We headed back to the knot of people with Richard in it. I glanced around, but Dred was talking to Josh and Keith at one of the photo boards.
“Well, kids, I think it’s about time this old man went home.” He kissed Hannah’s cheek, then Jaq’s, then mine. “I better be invited to your reception at the very least, missy.”
I clasped a hand to my heart. “Dad! How can you say that? Of course you’re invited.”
“And your parents?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
He sighed. Jaq muffled a laugh with her fist.
“What? They don’t care. I mean, they care, but they won’t care-care. You know what I mean!”
Richard gave me a hug. “I care-care, Zane. And I like her. A little rough around the edges, which makes her perfect for you.”
I gave him a look. “I’m not entirely sure that was complimentary.”
“No comment.” Right as he was turning toward the door, it opened, letting in another old guy. Who looked way more fish-out-of-water than Richard. His eyes caught on the nearest photo board and he drifted to it, seeming a little lost.
I nudged Jaq. “You recognize that guy?”
She shook her head.
Ed wasn’t anywhere I could see, which meant now I had the choice of approaching the guy—who might be Mr. Rodriguez—or letting him kind of . . . drift.
Richard touched my arm. “Let me talk to him.” He walked over before I could answer, standing beside the other guy. I could just barely hear him say, “Do you have a friend in one of those pictures?”
I was desperate to hear the answer, if there was one, but I couldn’t tell from behind them. I mean, the guy could be anyone. We’d promoted the party widely. Still, I had the weirdest conviction that he was Mr. Rodriguez.
I finally found Ed and gestured him over. “Hey, is that—”
“Joe. Yeah. Who’s that with him?”
“Jaq’s dad.”
As we watched, Mr. Rodriguez turned to Richard and just sort of crumpled into him.
“Oh god,” Ed breathed. “I should—”
“Let Dad handle it. It’s okay.” I caught Jaq’s eye. “He knows from grief, Ed.”
Ed visibly relaxed. “I just don’t want anyone to—to say anything to him. I know he’s— I know it’s complicated, but he’s so—”
“No one’s going to say anything to him.” I wouldn’t let them.
Richard guided Mr. Rodriguez over to us, at least half holding him up. “Joe wanted to meet the organizer. Joe, this is Zane. Zane, Joe Rodriguez.”
His eyes were bloodshot and damp, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Call me Joe. Please call me Joe.” He nodded to Ed. “I hope you understand I mean no disrespect by coming here tonight. I guess I—I felt like I should—I wanted to apologize . . .” He trailed off. “I’m just so sorry.”
“You don’t owe us an apology. No one here expects that, Joe.”
Richard’s arm around his shoulders tightened. “Can I get you a drink?”
He huffed a watery laugh. “I’m sure neither one of us ever imagined buying a man a beer in a gay bar.”
“Oh, I think of this place as the after-school hangout I wasn’t invited to, but occasionally stop by anyway.”
“Joey always kept this part of his life very detached from the part of his life he shared with us. We thought that was probably healthy, that eventually he’d meet someone, introduce us.” His entire body seemed to shrink in on itself. “We never imagined— We could never have imagined—”
“Of course you didn’t. Let me buy you a beer.”
Joe nodded and permitted himself to be led away.
Club Fred’s happened all around us, but for a long moment we just stood there: Jaq, Hannah, Ed, and I, watching Tom shake Richard’s hand, listen for the introduction, then shake Joe’s. How strange it must be for Tom, to serve the man whose son had been the reason he spent the weekend in jail months ago. But Tom pulled their beers and betrayed nothing else.
Ed broke the silence. “It’s too bad Honey’s not here. She’d really like this wake, Zane.”
“Yeah. She liked any reason to get a bunch of people together, tell stories, and drink.”
Judging that the old men at the bar were probably okay for the moment, we returned to the epicenter of the wake. We’d set out a table covered in pens, pencils, crayons, and note cards, inviting people to write whatever they wanted and stick them to a huge sheet of butcher paper on the wall, face out if they wanted others to read their card, or face in if it was private.
Ed grabbed a ballpoint pen. “Maybe I’ll leave her a note.” His voice was higher than usual. He cleared his throat.
“Me too,” Jaq said. “She’d bitch my ass out if she knew I still haven’t finished that blanket she helped me start.”
Hannah kissed the side of her face. “I’m going to mingle, sugar.”
“I’ll see you around.”
I wandered away. The pictures were drawing more and more people, including folks who just wanted to know what was going on, but got caught up in trying to find faces they recognized. I checked in with a few small groups, shaking hands, giving hugs, and eventually ended up where Josh and Keith were standing at a high table along the edge of the designated wake area.
“How’re you guys doing?”
“We’re good.” Josh raised his chin in the direction of the bar. “That the father?”
“Mr. Rodriguez, yeah.” I tried to see what they thought of that, but I couldn’t get a damn thing out of their expressions. “You, uh, still good?”
“Cam’s at the bar,” Keith said.
I hadn’t noticed him. He was two stools away from Richard, head down as usual.
“We can’t decide if we should go sit with him or leave him alone. He might not want to talk.”
Josh nodded. “More likely he’s listening to everything they’re saying.”
“Did he want to avoid Mr. Rodriguez? I could—” Something. I didn’t know what. I could do something, though. Probably. I couldn’t really kick Mr. Rodriguez out. Maybe I could nudge Richard toward the door.
“Jesus.” Keith gripped Josh’s arm. “He’s introducing himself.”
This could go badly. I waved and made tracks across the room, approaching just in time to hear Richard say, “And this is Joe Rodriguez.”
Cam reached his hand across to shake and settled on the closer stool. I hesitated before taking the one he’d vacated.
“Cameron Rheingold. Good to meet you both.”
“Ah, so you’re the Rheingold boy.” Richard smiled. “I knew your parents, back when they went to St. Agnes, before you started school.”
Cam nodded. “Nearly everyone knew my parents from somewhere.”
Joe cleared his throat. “They used to give me a press pass discount, when I was younger and we couldn’t really afford to go to the movies. I think they made that up just to cut me a break on the price, which at the time was three dollars. But for the three of us to go—” He broke off.
“I met your son. A few times.” Cam’s voice was perfectly even, but Joe’s expression twisted as if he’d been stabbed.
“I recognized your name from the report. I’m so, so sorry. There are no—no words for how sorry I am that he—that you—”
Cam reached out for his hand again and held it, awkwardly, across the bar. “You didn’t do the things he did. You can’t apologize for them.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“Me neither. Every day I wake up and I’m not sure if today’s the day I don’t get out of bed. But every day I do. That’s all we can do, Mr. Ro
driguez. Keep moving, even when we don’t know where we’re going.” He paused. “And I’m sorry, too.”
Joe leaned his head over their clasped hands and started to cry. I wiped my own eyes and pressed against Cam’s back.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Cam whispered.
Keith and Josh approached carefully, and didn’t fully come over until Cam looked at them. Then I moved away so Keith could wrap his arms around Cam. Josh settled for kissing his cheek and standing back.
“Z.” Dred’s voice, close to my ear. “Hey.”
I turned and leaned into her. “Hey.”
“If you’re crying, we’re breaking up. I don’t do tears.”
I muffled my tears—and my laughter—in her neck. She didn’t let go.
Carlos held court at each picture board in turn, calling out names, inviting people to share their memories. He’d found a crate to stand on so he could shout from a higher vantage point.
I stood at the back with Jaq and Alisha, watching and laughing. And occasionally crying.
After a particularly illustrative description of a guy we’d gone to high school with (whom Carlos had never liked), Alisha said, “I think he missed his calling. Carlos should be an auctioneer. Or maybe a stand-up comedian, famous for his bitter tirades against members of the audience.”
Jaq choked on her chili fry. “Shit, he’d be perfect at that. But I bet being a CPA pays better.”
“Too bad.” Alisha grinned. “I’d be his groupie. Like, I’d quit my job and follow Carlos around the country and cheer when he picked on people.”
“Don’t ever tell him that.” I shook my head. “He might actually consider doing it if you tell him he has a built-in groupie.”
She laughed. “Ed! Babe, come here!”
“What?” Ed shot her a suspicious look. “You’re up to something.”
“I’m not! Listen, if Carlos became a stand-up comedian, you’d quit the paper to be a groupie with me, right?” She planted both hands on his chest. “Right?”
“What . . . are we talking about right now?”
“I’m bored! We need to take a trip!”
Ed glanced at us, then up at Carlos. “But just you and me, right? I mean, I like Carlos, but I don’t want to go on a vacation with him.”
“Just us!”
Ed kissed her. “Name your month, as long as it’s April or later, and I’ll get time off work. But make it a surprise, okay? I don’t want to know where we’re going until we’re packing.”
“Screw that. I’ll pack for you and let you know when we’re already on the road.”
He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Deal. Give me the dates. I’m gonna go try to get some more quotes for—” His gaze caught on me. “For, uh, the piece I am totally not writing right now.”
Jaq snorted. “Way to cover your ass there, Ed.”
“Gotta go.”
Alisha clapped her hands together as he walked away. “We’re going to Mexico. I’m so excited. He’s always wanted to, and I think the vacation fund will have enough money in it by June. Oh my god, I’m so excited. I have to find a way to talk to his abuela without him knowing.”
Jaq patted her shoulder. “Sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah. It’s gonna be fantastic. I gotta start planning.” Her eyes glazed over.
I traded looks with Jaq and both of us laughed.
“To each their own,” she said. “Dance with me, Zane. You think we could get Fredi to play Madonna for us?”
“I think I’m not gonna ask her, but if you are, I want to watch.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fuck it. Let’s go dance.”
“You think—” I gestured to the wake.
“It’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Come on.”
I followed her to the dance floor, but right as we got there, the music cut out and Jaq laughed. In a suspicious manner.
“What?” I poked her. Harder than absolutely necessary.
“You’ll see in a second.” She laughed again.
Feedback hummed from the speakers, then stopped. Fredi could be heard in the background saying, “Oh Jesus fuck!”
People laughed.
She cleared her throat into the microphone and cursed again. “This is why I don’t do fucking announcements. This is Fredi, as you all should know. If you haven’t stopped by to look at the pictures at the front of the bar, you should. Because that’s why people go to a fucking bar, to cry.” She cleared her throat again.
I grinned at Jaq.
“Anyway, it’s come to my attention that one of my most forgettable customers recently got engaged. Congratulations, Jaffe.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Your poor wife-to-be. I really don’t know what the hell she’s thinking. Anyway, she wanted me to play the Beatles for you, but fuck that, this ain’t a goddamn oldies bar. So she decided on this instead. Fucking congratulations. Jesus! Tom! How do I turn this fucking thing off?”
I turned, searching for Dred, but I didn’t see her until Jaq physically pointed me in her direction.
She was leaning against a huge speaker, long skirt around her ankles, arms crossed. Watching me. Looking hot and like I was the best thing she’d seen all day.
For a second she managed to hold back her smile. Then her entire face sort of melted and reformed into . . . happiness.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and pulled her into the center of the dance floor as the club mix of Clean Bandit’s “Rather Be” started up. “This is our song now.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do we really need to be that couple? Who have a song? Really?”
“Oh yeah.” I tugged her hands to my hips. “Hell yes.” I caught sight of Emerson and Obie over her shoulder, dancing slower and closer than anyone else.
I wanted a little of that. I pressed myself in against Dred.
“Thought we were dancing,” she murmured.
“We are. Just, you know, closely.”
One of her hands slid around, grazing the side of my belly. “Fine. This can be our song.”
“Because as long as we’re both here, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be?”
She sighed. “Yeah, Z. Because of that.”
I leaned back and framed her face in my hands. “Jaq’s right, you know. We should get married fast so I don’t back out.”
I expected an argument about the appropriate months for weddings, which I was prepared to counter with a reminder that we weren’t having a big ceremony. But that’s not what she said.
“We need time to make a new quilt.”
“But we aren’t done with our old quilts.”
She shook her head, careful to not dislodge my hands. “Doesn’t matter. We need a wedding quilt. Aunt Florence is already planning it.”
I stopped swaying. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Yeah. And my dad wants to come to the county clerk’s with us. Sorry.”
“Wait. What? Is Aunt Florence planning our wedding?” I smirked. “How long have you been telling people you were going to marry me, Dred?”
“Shut up. And no. I wasn’t. But some people . . . were not that surprised. Anyway, shut up. We have to finish our wedding quilt before we get married.”
I pulled her back into a slow dance. “I kind of have an idea. But I don’t know if you’re gonna hate it.”
“Probably. What?”
Maybe it was a terrible idea. It was either terrible or genius. I couldn’t decide.
“Z, what?”
“What if we made more blocks for your quilt? But with stuff from like . . . my life too? Is that awful? I don’t want to totally appropriate your Aunt Florence quilt—”
She kissed me, her entire body holding me still so that the only things moving were our lips. And her eyes, searching mine.
“Yes.” Her chest was rising and falling fast. “Yes. Z. Yes, that’s perfect. That is exactly what we’re going to do. All the pieces of us in one quilt. Like all the pieces of the past coming together to make our f
uture.” She bit her lip.
I kissed her this time, and kept kissing her until she pulled away. Even though I knew she wouldn’t bullshit about quilts, I still had to ask, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Completely sure. It’s perfect.”
We started dancing again. The song turned over, but we weren’t really dancing to music, anyway.
I could picture it, if I tried. Our quilt. All of our blocks combined into one picture. One life. I could picture James chewing on the edge of that quilt. When I closed my eyes I could almost picture another baby, a younger baby, lying on it. Our family.
I shivered.
“You cold?” she murmured in my ear, arms tightening around my back.
“No. I’m totally and completely content in this moment. Is that crazy?”
She laughed. “Yeah. But crazy works for you, Z.”
I leaned my head against hers, and we danced and danced and danced.
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