You have to be willing to stand alone in the corner once in a while, but not here. Engagement Party 101: Starve yourself to fit in the dress, and, at the off chance there’s a full meal provided instead of finger food, act like you’ve already eaten so you don’t have to worry about zipper troubles after you’ve gone piss. Everyone is too worried about their sides spilling out of the dress they wore to a sorority formal freshman year of college. Not only will I get the chicken leg, I’ll get my choice of seating.

            She looks like a damn drumstick. A skinny one. The one that you’d leave at the table, playing altruism, for the family member who just has to have a chicken leg. The secret, of course, is to get to the table first, grab the larger leg, and start chomping before you’ve left the family-style plating area. Don’t even bother with snagging a chair first.

            “Spence!” I about shit myself at the shrilly squeal of her voice mixed with the god-awful dragging of the chair next to me. “Oh my god, I just love the ambiance in here! Everything is absolutely gorgeous. Thank you so much for doing this for Jay and me.”

            I know you do, Natalie. You never thought you’d marry a woman, and I never thought I’d be in charge of my cousin’s engagement party, and yet, here we are. I made sure to use my Maid of Honor duties to make the least gay party just for you and your fellow Tri-Delta alumni.

            I bring my crystal glass to my lips, throwing back the corked red wine within. “Oh, Nat, no worries! You’re part of the family now! Jay is lucky to have you, and so are we.” Rule number two, smile with your eyes after you’ve said something that may come across as jagged. This way, it’s perceived as a tonal faux pas.

            She sits to my right so she can flash me the giant rock on her left hand every time she takes a sip of her French Sauvignon Blac.

“Make sure you get the one from the Loire Valley,” Jay had told me. “We’re winos.” Jay and her perfect life needed the perfect engagement dinner for the perfect gay couple. As Jay’s right hand woman, the party was my responsibility, but I knew I’d knock it out of the park. I had one condition—I will not give a speech. All the clichés have been said, everyone knows Jay and Nat are perfect for each other, and my personal experiences are just as valuable to the rest of the group as a man’s opinion.

            “Between my Natalie’s eye for the perfect room design and Jay’s obsession with Chrissy Teigen cookbooks, the two of you will never be bored at home—” I swear if I listen to one more word, wine is going to start flowing out of my nose like the fucking Niagara Falls.

            “I love you guys,” the bimbo continues. “So happy for you!” She throws out her arms like she’s about to give the room a hug. “Kristy, I think you’re up, love!”

            Oh, yay; Auntie’s turn. I flick my head to the right of the room to see my mother sitting perfectly at the end of the second row. Her ankles are crossed to the left of her body, her knees facing the outside of the aisle. She always makes sure she can slip out at the drop of a pin, just in case; but there is a faint smile on her lips that creeps up into her ears, touching the 18-karat gold pronged diamond earrings dad got her from Tiffany last Christmas—she had started a new firm a few years before and had officially become the largest law firm in the city. Meanwhile, Aunt Kristy is front and center, going through tissues like it’s nobody’s business, Uncle Tommy sitting at her side, hand on her thigh, glowing with pride and excitement for his little girl and her bride.

            Auntie owns a crystal shop downtown. She had originally wanted to name it “Rock and Rolls of Sage,” but when she learned saging was a closed practice, she quickly changed her mind. Uncle Tommy helps support Kristy’s Krystals with his more stable income. As the manager of a social media marketing company, he’s more of the breadwinner—a very traditional American dynamic for such a progressive family.

            Mom and Kristy were never very competitive. Their lives are so different there wasn’t any reason to want for something the other had. Of course, now, mom’s pressuring me to get married. Jay’s successful relationship has put pressure on her to also have a daughter whose love life reflects the success of her professional life.

            “My dearest Jay,” Kristy begins. “I have never wanted anything less than happiness and joy for you. It has been obvious since your senior year of college that the two of you were destined for each other.” That’s my cue to emotionally check out.

            It’s not that I expected to be involved in their narrative, but I often forget that their love story means people won’t remember I ever had a part in the blossoming of their relationship.

            “And Spencer,” oh shit. Kristy, please don’t. I change my mind. I’d like to exclude myself from the narrative. “Thank you for bringing one more person into the mix of my favorite girls. You and Jay have always been such beacons in my life. Ever since the two of you rode around in that pink Barbie Jeep through the neighborhood, I knew you would be lifelong friends. Looking out there and seeing you with my daughter and her soulmate makes me unbelievably happy. Everyone, please raise a glass with me to Jay, Nat, and Spence’s friendship, and to the pairing of two of the most fabulous people I’ve ever met!”

            I forgot about the Barbie Jeep. My mom had bought it for me, and I was too afraid to drive it around. Jay offered when I refused. She begged me to get in the passenger seat. Growing up, she was the one who could get me out of my shell when no one else could. I guess that hasn’t really changed.

Natalie leans over to whisper in my ear just as her sister announces Noni’s toast with a knife and perfectly dry, empty champagne flute—a sight for sore eyes considering she’s the family alcoholic. “I was hoping to slip away before your grandmother gives her blessing. I just can’t handle the back-handed compliments. I planned a surprise for Jay that I have to go grab. Will you come help me?” 

            “I’d love to,” I say before jumping out of the chair fast enough to startle even the most secure of guests.

            As we make our way to a back room, Natalie’s dress flows just enough to brush the sides of her ankles, the dress itself denying any wrinkle in the night. There are three boxes of soy wax candles stacked just inside the door.

            “It’s such a gorgeous night. I was planning on taking these out the back door and setting them in a circle for Jay and I to dance in after the toasts are finished. What do you think?”
           Disgust sewed my eyebrows together in the middle of my forehead and dug her nails at the corners of my eyes.
           “You hate it,” Natalie said, gently shrugging her shoulders.

            “No! I don’t hate it. This kind of stuff just really isn’t my thing. Remember that time in college when your sorority requested my assistance with the rush barbecue? Alyssa Baker asked me to decorate the archway, and it was a disaster. I am so happy to help you; I just don’t want to fuck this up. If you give me guidance, I’m totally down. Seriously.”

            She looks at me and her platinum-toned curls open up her face like curtains to the gardens of Versailles. I don’t dislike Nat. She’s fine. I hate that her and Jay have this magazine-cover life filled with college reunions and pride flags. They don’t have to worry about what their sexuality does to their familial relationships or their careers. They’re the gay trailblazers of both their families. They’re the poster children for lipstick lesbians, and I look just like them.

            Nat and I met junior year of college in Women’s and Gender Studies 350—Feminist Theory. She insisted that I rush, and I insisted that she was ridiculous for even asking. I realized very quickly that her and Jay had a lot in common, more than I knew at the time. Natalie was my best friend in college, and Jay was my cousin and best friend growing up. I brought my two favorite people together, hoping they would enjoy each other’s company, and the three of us became inseparable. We went to house shows in matching outfits, sang karaoke on Saturdays, and played trivia at the corner bar on Monday nights.

            In the first weeks of senior year, Natalie and Jay told me they had been dating for nearly two months and were hoping that we could still stay best friends, despite their growing relationship. Not only did my two best friends develop a relationship without my knowledge, they discovered their queerness and hadn’t felt the need to share that with me. They had their newfound love, I had med school. Things hadn’t been the same since.  

            Of course, that’s fine by me. Administration at the hospital is enough to fill my plate and then some. The last time they invited me over, I brought my friend Cal. She fit right in, but Nat and Jay thought she was my date, and, well, I didn’t see them again until they asked me to be in the wedding. I only see Cal in the hallways at work.

            “It’s going to be great,” I say, grabbing Natalie’s hand. It’s a friendly gesture. Her shoulders drop and her breath releases. I can feel her melt into the floor a little more. Without hesitation, I gently kiss her forehead. She smiles up at me, hands me a box of candles, and leads me to the outdoor patio.

            As I carefully place candles on the ground, uneasiness seeps through the cement and into my heels. It reminds me of nights in college, sitting in my apartment on my stained, used mattress, thinking, I want to go home. Of course, there’s no home to go to—you’re already there, it just doesn’t really feel like home, you don’t really feel like you, and your body doesn’t really feel like it’s yours. There are moments in life where the Universe tries to tell you what to do. She tries to coax you into making a necessary choice, albeit uncomfortable. These moments are easily recognizable, but they are also for the weak. I don’t let others tell me what to do, and I sure as hell won’t make an exception for the Universe.

            “Spencer, can you tell me if you think I’m making the right choice?”

            There it is. The chill in my heels begins to crawl up the backs of my legs before clawing at my spine.

            “Natalie, what in the world are you talking about?” I spin around to face her. She has floated her way across the patio to my side, staring at me like a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck—aware of what lies ahead, unsure of how it got there, and deathly afraid of what’s to come.

            “I want to hear you say that you know this marriage is going to work out.” She’s talking with her hands. She always talks with her hands.
           “Nat, you know I can’t make that promise to you. This isn’t my relationship or my marriage. I have no clue what the future is going to hold for the two of you.” Her eyes drop to the dancing wicks of the lit candles. “What I can tell you is you have loved each other for six years. You came out together, you have experienced firsts together, you bought a house together. You guys are beyond committed to each other and this relationship, nothing is going to change that.”

            She whips her head back up to look at me. “None of that matters if it isn’t what you want. I’ve been with the same person my entire adult life. I love her, but what if I’m completely unaware of what could be waiting for me out there?” She points away from the building, toward the dark, silent street.

            “Don’t become a cliché. Cold feet are supposed to be saved for the wedding day, Nat.”

            She takes a frustrated breath before hugging me. As she pulls away, I notice her eyes darting between my eyes and my lips, and I’m back in college.

            There are people who see what they want and grasp it, pulling themselves closer to the life they so desperately long for, and then there are people like me. I’m always one step behind, weighing the pros and cons of listening to my head over my heart and then blaming everyone around me for leaving me in the dust.

I’m tired of writing that narrative for myself. I’m tired of playing into the idea that everyone else gets to live out the dreams I only experience when asleep. Maybe Cal is straight. Maybe I dropped the ball if she isn’t. Maybe I’ll fumble a few times before I finally figure it out, but I think it’s time I give it a try before I have to go to another fucking wedding miserably placing myself in the corner so I can pretend I’m unphased.
           I take a step back.

“I love you, Natalie. You’ve got this.”