by Kris Ripper
He kissed my cheek. “You look super hot. You know. In your moment. You have to let me take a picture for Sidney. I feel certain they’d want to see you in this suit, Dec.”
“I’m not sure that’s—”
“It is, shut up.” He stepped back and made me shift until he liked whatever was behind me. “There. Done. And sent.”
I rolled my eyes as if I was annoyed when I kind of wanted Sidney to see me all dressed up.
“Too bad about your hair though,” he said.
I fake-karate-chopped him to the gut and he humored me by doubling over. “You’re such a jerkface.”
“Poor you.”
Oscar’s voice came from the dressing room. “I look like a marshmallow.”
Mase and I exchanged glances. “Not even possible,” I said. “You’re not sweet enough to be a marshmallow.” Mason punched me and made a face. “I mean, I’m sure you don’t.”
“Why cream? I look better in black.”
“Just come out!” Mase called.
“But I look like a marshmallow.” Still, the door pushed slowly open.
“Oh my god, you look fantastic, dummy.” I went up to where he was lingering out of range of the three available full-length mirrors and straightened his tie.
“No, you guys look fantastic. I look like I’ve never been to the gym and eat too many donuts.”
We used to try to convince him he looked good. Now we skip that step. I got all up close behind him and Mase shimmied against him face-to-face, both of us feeling him up. “Mmm, daddy, you’re so sexy,” I whispered.
“You turn me onnnnnnn,” Mason whispered in his other ear.
Oscar held out for maybe seven seconds before laughing and shoving us away. “Go to hell, both of you.”
“Ahem.” A discreet throat-clearing drew our attention to Fitting Attendant Dude.
“Please excuse my friends,” Oscar said, blushing dark.
FAD was obviously used to ignoring the antics of his customers. “Are any further alterations necessary?”
Mase ran both hands up his torso. “Not here, honey.”
I had the distinct impression FAD wanted to sigh. He turned to me and I decided to let him off the hook. “My suit fits perfectly, thank you. Oscar?”
He grimaced at his reflection, turning to the side. “Do you have some magical way to make me look less like a marshmallow?”
FAD stepped forward, assessing the situation with a professional eye. “Will the groom be wearing a cummerbund or vest?”
“No groom,” I said.
“Two brides,” Oscar added.
“Ah.” Pause. “Are either of them wearing a suit?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Would they object to a cummerbund in their groomsmen? That may help some, if I understand your...dissatisfaction correctly.”
“Wouldn’t that just draw attention to—” Oscar gestured at his midsection.
“No, sir. The cummerbund, when worn correctly—and I will show you how—makes one look taller. Longer.”
He didn’t say thinner but we were all thinking it. I’d never considered the tight rope you’d walk at a place like this, trying to address people’s insecurities without confirming them.
Oscar turned to Mason and I. “Am I being stupid?”
Mase reached for his hands. “You don’t look like a marshmallow. But if wearing a cummerbund will make you feel better, then let’s do it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Sweetheart, I know you don’t think a cummerbund can detract from my personal charisma.”
Smiling weakly, Oscar looked at me. “You don’t mind, Dec?”
“Hell no. Cummerbunds are kinda sexy in a weird way.”
FAD nodded. “I’ll be back shortly.”
We only waited a little while. More measurements were taken and we made another appointment for the following Friday to pick everything up, including cummerbunds in the same shade of lavender (who knew?).
Before we left Mase held out his phone open to a message from Sidney. To his picture of me in a suit, they’d replied with a Golden Girls GIF of Blanche Devereaux spritzing herself with water as if something was too hot to handle.
I tried not to blush but it’s hard to fool old friends.
“That is so stinkin’ cute.” He kissed my cheek. “You still look damn good in a suit, babe.”
I should have said Thank you or something equally innocuous. Instead I said, “You look better than you used to.”
He kissed my other cheek. “See you.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Watching Mason walk away hurt me somehow, a deep ache that went all the way into my marrow. There had been a time in our lives when I’d loved him more than life, and yet I’d left him standing in front of everyone we cared about, left him to make all the apologies while he was still devastated, confused, angry.
How could I even think about doing this again? Another relationship, another thing that would spin out of control when I wasn’t looking, which I would destroy like I had before. If I’d done it to someone I’d known and loved for years, who could tell what damage I’d do with someone I’d only met recently?
I realized FAD was eyeing me through the window of the shop and started walking to my car. A cummerbund might help with self-confidence, but I doubted FAD had anything that would help with massive commitment issues and a tendency toward abandonment. Sigh.
Chapter Sixteen
Halfway through the day on Thursday I got a text from Sidney that read, So, how does sex tonight sound to you? Followed almost immediately by a text that read, I wrote and deleted like twenty-three more subtle proposals until I decided that we’re both grown-ups and direct might make the most sense.
Commitment issues? What commitment issues? Hiiiiiiiiii, I WILL BE THERE WITH BELLS ON. MY DICK. BELLS ON MY DICK. (Not really. Unless you were into that.)
I do not think bells will be required, Sidney sent back.
We achieved some logistical understandings—we’d order takeout, I’d go home by midnightish so they could not totally screw up their sleep schedule—and I went back to work with a veritable spring in my step.
And texted Mason a jumping up and down GIF.
He texted back, I’m having wine for dinner and taking myself to a lousy Netflix rom-com in my living room. HAVE FUN. Softened by the kissy-face selfie he sent along with it.
I sent him a whole line of hearts and pretended to work for the rest of my shift. Actually worked? Actual work was done. While my mind was on other things.
Like Sidney. And how I’d have to stop by my apartment and shower and dress for the occasion. The occasion of sex with Sidney, hello, one must look one’s best.
Skinny jeans that made my ass look good, black T-shirt, silver choker. Not quite right yet. I texted Mase (this date selfie thing was legit) and he told me to try a scarf with the ensemble. I added a gray scarf shot through with shimmery threads and sent him another picture.
I got back You so sexy, which seemed solid, and a row of hearts which made me feel good. Before I left I laid out the clothes for the morning and pre-made a lunch, because everything needed to go smoothly.
I...may have also grabbed a little tinkling bell still out from Mia and Ronnie’s Christmas gift. Just in case. Not for my dick. But I thought it might make Sidney laugh, and I liked making them laugh.
We were both nervous. That was the first thing I noticed. They let me in and we stood there awkwardly for a minute.
“Sorry, was this weird? I think this was probably weird, right?” They bit their lip.
“Nah. Well. I didn’t think so until right now? Um, hi. Can I kiss you hello?”
“Yes please.”
That was less weird. Kissing. Lingering. Stepping a little closer until both of us had our hands on each other, until our bo
dies shared heat.
“Less weird?” I murmured.
“Yeah. Um, I have to keep reminding my brain that it’s okay to go for it. Because we’ve actually planned on sex.”
“Usually you tell your brain something else?”
They flushed. “Well, if we’re about to shoot a video, or if I know you’re planning to go home soon, then yeah.”
“We could do up a sandwich board for YouTube: Gone fuckin’.”
“We are not putting a sandwich board on YouTube that says Gone fuckin’.”
I pouted. “Aw, c’mon, Sidney! It’d be funny!”
They kissed me. “Granted, it would be. Only instead of a fishing pole it’d be what, a bottle of lube?”
“A bottle of lube and a set of fur-lined handcuffs?” I said hopefully.
“Those cheap fur-lined cuffs are impractical. I have better restraints than that.”
I pulled myself against them, clutching their arms. “Oh, swoon. What else do you have in your bag of tricks? Please tell me you have a literal bag of tricks.”
“It’s more of a...box.”
After much begging, I was permitted to see the box of tricks, which did not disappoint. “Oooh, butt plugs and vibrators and magic wands, oh my!”
“The magic wand is really loud, but it’s the first thing I bought when I moved into my own apartment. I still worry that the neighbors think I’m jackhammering or something.”
I giggled. “Jackhammering yourself.”
They shoved me. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“That is not how one uses a magic wand! Unless one has the correct attachments.”
I looked into the box again. Maybe...
“Sorry.”
“Alas.” I draped myself across the bed. “Visions of jackhammering danced in my head. Then died.”
“Well.” They held up a sleek looking dildo. “Not entirely.”
“Oh boy. Oh damn. Oh yes. So, um, sex?”
Sidney grinned. “Is this where you offer to be my jackhammer?”
“I was thinking maybe this was where you showed me what you like. I mean, either way. I’m open to anything. Up for anything even. Wait, do you have a strap-on?”
“Dude. Of course. Why? Are you in need of a jackhammering?”
“You know I am.” I did a seductive eyebrow waggle that in no way made it look like I’d lost my eyebrow remote at an inopportune time. “Also—” I produced the bell with a flourish from my pocket. “Just in case.”
They laughed.
* * *
Sometime—some hours—later we stood in the kitchen eating Thai food out of takeout containers. Sidney and I had gotten different types of curry, and while I was a big communal food person, they were very much an eyes-on-your-own-plate person. They did offer a bite of theirs and, after a brief hesitation, accept a bite of mine, but then we settled into eating our own curry.
Standing in the kitchen because we were hungry, and also, at least on my part, because I was hoping we’d return to the bed afterward. Which somehow seemed less likely if we settled in on the armchairs.
“We’re going to need a decoy date,” I said when I’d eaten enough to not be starving.
“Ohhh. Yes. You mean because the alternative is sharing the details of our sex life with YouTube?”
Wait, maybe I was being strange. “Am I being strange? I’m not usually all that reserved when it comes to sex? But this feels... I don’t know.” I didn’t want to be all This feels super special and I don’t want to share even though that was sort of how it felt.
“I don’t think you’re being strange. To be honest, I’m kind of relieved. Not that I would have balked if you’d wanted to be more open, but being less open, at least about this, suits me.”
“Good. Okay. Decided. So we’ll need a decoy date.”
They nodded. “I concur. Can you do Saturday afternoon again?”
“Sure. The Jenkinses will be gone if you want to come over to my place. We’ll have the run of the main house because I dog-sit when they’re traveling.”
“That sounds good. To be clear, I would have proposed getting together again even if we didn’t need a decoy date for The Love Study. We don’t really. We could just tell them, ‘Things are good.’ And then have people call in or something.” They pushed their glasses back with a knuckle. “I guess I’m just saying that my interest in seeing you again this week has nothing to do with YouTube.”
“Ditto.”
“Good.”
We ate the rest of our food and cleaned up what little mess we’d made. I filled them in on my work project and Dire Jack. They filled me in on a few more memorable characters at the grocery store (all of whom I already had in my internal cast list from talking to Mia). Just as I was getting ready to propose sex (again), they said, “How is the wedding planning going? I hope that Ronnie’s sister is still coming?”
For this horrible extended moment I was picturing Mason in his suit, and then his face when I couldn’t get out of the limo. It wasn’t a complete flashback, but it was definitely an emotional glitch where I could feel all those feelings as if it was happening again, like the word “wedding,” which I’d heard and said a lot lately, was this sudden portkey to the past and I had no choice but to be sucked into it.
It only lasted a few seconds and I tried to cover it up by enthusiastically recounting our fitting room event, but Sidney wasn’t fooled. They played along, letting me overact my anecdote until I kind of fell silent and waited for them to call me out.
My friends would have called me out. Gently. But persistently.
Sidney took my hand and led me back to the bed. We kissed and lay against each other and I closed my eyes when they wrapped their arms around me. Being held made it safe enough to speak. “Sorry. Mase made this joke the other day about the wedding, about how hopefully Mia and Ronnie go through with it because we—like, our friends—are oh-for-one. And I know he didn’t mean it to be cruel at all, but I think it got under my skin.”
“You still feel guilty?”
That was only the most obvious part of it. “I probably always will, you know? But I guess part of me still thinks if I’d been...stronger or something, we could have had that life we expected to have.”
“Hmm.” Their fingers trailed up and down my arm in this wildly soothing way and I tried to just feel it, every centimeter, every shifted arm hair, every goose bump from every shiver. “Do you wish you’d forced yourself to go through with it? I...didn’t get the impression Mason wished that.”
“No. He doesn’t. And realistically neither do I? But there are way better ways to break off a wedding than flipping out on the actual day of the wedding. I wish I’d figured it out sooner. Or maybe that I’d never thought it was a good idea in the first place.”
“Was it the idea of being married? Or the...what you said before? The life you expected to have?”
“I think that appealed to me.” I tried to sort it out in my head while they kept touching my arm. “Or just the idea that I’d have something other people recognized, you know? My parents paid for a lot of my college, and it’s not as if I grew up and became a doctor or a lawyer or something. I grew up and became a temporary office worker.”
“Which you like.”
“Which I like a lot, but it’s not what they expected from me. I’m queer, and they’re fine with it, but it wasn’t what they expected. They love Mason. They would honestly get us back together in a second. Us getting married was something they understood. We loved each other, we were committed to each other, of course we should get married.”
Sidney nodded, the movement brushing against my head. “It’s difficult to be always outside of that model. Any model, really. But that’s a potent fantasy for a lot of people, and not just for themselves.”
“Exactly.” I sighed. “That�
��s exactly right. I broke Mase’s heart. But in a way I feel like I broke my parents’ hearts, and even my friends’. Like we had this great thing that everyone celebrated and I screwed it up. Threw it away.”
“And you...said you go to therapy?”
“Ha. I went to therapy for a while. You think the wedding’s triggering me?”
“It would make sense if it was.”
“Even though it was six years ago?”
“I don’t think triggers come with expiration dates.”
“Yeah. True. Anyway, I’m sorry I’m all over the place.” I kissed their neck, which was the skin I could easily reach. I wasn’t quite ready to lift my head and look them in the eye.
“I’m sorry I asked about the wedding. I’ll leave it to you to bring it up if you want.”
“It’s going really well. Ronnie’s sister is still going to be the maid of honor or whatever, which is great. And they’re getting down to the wire since it’s Valentine’s Day.” That was enough change of subject. Probably? I lifted my head. “Are we still on for V-Day Eve next week?”
“V-Day? I’m not going to The Vagina Monologues with you, Declan.”
I blinked. “Wait. Is that a Vagina Monologues thing? Oh shit. I’ve been seriously saying that for years like an asshole! I meant Valentine’s Day!”
They were looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and laughter. “Maybe people took you as a crusader to end violence against women?”
“I am! I’m a crusader! I don’t like violence against women!” I collapsed over their chest and buried my face. “I can’t believe this. Where were you when I was in college and thought I was being cool?”
“I was probably in college going to The Vagina Monologues every Valentine’s Day and trying to sort out my complex responses to it.”
“Oh my god, right? Me tooooooo. I can’t even deal with this. My friends are going to laugh really hard at me.”
“It’s a reasonable mistake, I think. But to answer your question: yes. Unless you want to bring me to a theatrical production, in which case I might be washing my hair.”
“Noted.” I reached out to play with their hair, lying on the pillow. I hadn’t quite had the courage to ask if I could take out their clips earlier—it felt too soon for that; hair intimacy is different than sex intimacy—but I had asked if it was okay if I touched and they’d said yes. “The wedding is the day after our Valentine’s Date.”