The Wedding: A Family's Coming Out Story (3 page)

ANDREW   
Finally I locked eyes
with this guy who’d been hiding in plain sight, sheepishly scoping out the
crowd for several minutes. He was wearing short-shorts to dinner - tennis
whites that wrapped around his thighs, and a body hugging t-shirt, all a bit
too snug for dinner wear. Though I wasn’t fond of the air-tight packaging,
before we finished dinner I had decided the gift inside was sweet.

Over the next two weeks, we went out a few
times, but our relationship remained chaste. Our fourth date was a group affair
- my first trip to Jones Beach, an hour from the city on the Long Island
Railroad.

DOUG   
The plans were in place prior
to meeting Andrew. A few friends suggested lugging their portable volleyball
net to the beach. While the stuff was on the unwieldy side, it promised to be a
welcome diversion from another day of gay beach rotisserie tanning and cruising
while sucking in our guts, with the possible bonus that a volleyball game might
prove to be a man magnet. Of course, by the time of our outing, I already had a
man in tow, but since Andrew and I had never so much as held hands, I
considered myself a free agent in the volleyball draft.

Soon after we finished our first game, and lay
on our towels, Andrew questioned a few of my friends about their coming out
stories. As he listened with rapt attention, I realized that his interest
wasn’t mere flirtation. He was taking in the information as I must have done
with other acquaintances a half dozen years earlier.
He’s just come out
,
it dawned on me -
or perhaps it’s been a year already - maybe more even
…
but I could see him looking for something in each coming out story,
He’s
trying to put his story into a broader context
... Until now I had perceived
him as self-possessed beyond his years, and it hadn’t occurred to me that he
might still be fighting for self-acceptance. I had dated too many people who
were in the throes of inner turmoil over their sexual identity - and I’d been
there too long myself.
Is this still a struggle for Andrew? Or is he at
peace with his sexuality, and merely compiling anecdotes to add perspective to
his own experience?
The evidence was inconclusive, and I was far too
cautious to inquire outright.

Instead, I asked, “You want to go for a walk?”

“Sure. How about going in?”

I didn’t really want to swim, but I did want to
look game. When we waded up to knee level, it was immediately apparent that this
was the first time Andrew and I had been alone together. Of course there were
plenty of people at the beach, but this moment of shared solitude created a
connection between us. It was only an illusion, but for that instant we seemed
sheltered, safe and alone. Then somebody made a move.

And it’s been a running joke ever since. A
friend will ask: When did you first get “involved?”

Doug: Well, Andrew asked me to go for a swim,
and once he had me out there -

Andrew: Are you talking about the afternoon when
you threw yourself at me at the beach?

Doug: Me throw myself at you? You attacked me!

Andrew: No,
you
attacked
me
!
I was just standing there in the water...

Doug: You’re a full head taller - if you were
standing, I’d have to climb up your leg just to give you a hickey! I attacked
you? Oh my God...

Suffice it to say, it was a nice kiss.

ANDREW   
If I said the first kiss
was magical, I’d sound cornball, but how else to describe it? On our way back
from Jones Beach I was drained, but excited. That kiss suggested to me that
there was more fun in store for the evening. The wheels of lust began to spin
in my head as I strategized the best way to get Doug back to my apartment. The
task was easier than I had anticipated. All I had to do was tell Doug that I
knew where to get the best sesame noodles in New York. In fact, the tasting
menu included much more than sesame noodles, and we picked up where we had left
off at Jones beach. After gorging on Chinese food, and exchanging our views on
the sesame noodles, we moved to the “bedroom”, which in my small, cramped
studio apartment meant walking two feet toward the double bed. We lay side by
side, and began kissing. I felt a hesitation on Doug’s part. His response to my
kiss was more tentative than it had been at Jones Beach and I could not
understand what was causing his sudden discomfort. I eventually asked him what
he was feeling. He replied that he wanted to take it slowly.

Whoa
! That was a new one.

Historically, once I got to the point where I
was lying with a prospective sexual partner on my bed there was really no
question as to what would happen next. I was somewhat put off by his request.
At the same time, I thought to myself,
“Putting on the brakes? What a
concept.”

DOUG   
I’ve had a few hormonally
charged lapses, but by and large, I’ve been very “fifties,” as in the couples
in a Technicolor fifties romance. Kind of like Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee,
with Tab Hunter subbing for Sandra. Well, you get the idea.

Anyway, I could see Andrew wasn’t used to
hearing the word “no,” but I told him I didn’t want to move so quickly, and
after one last kiss goodnight at the door, I headed home.

ANDREW   
In the weeks that
followed, we spent every available moment together, and the days - and nights -
were filled with a sense of discovery. And we shared a mutual fascination with
each other’s professional worlds. Getting a real behind-the-scenes look at what
was involved in the promotion of a major talk show like the Joan Rivers Show
was intriguing for a star-struck guy fresh from Montreal. I would frequently
visit Doug during his nightly edits, where he educated me on the process. He
handled himself like a pro. I was impressed.

Although my world - that of the struggling
graduate student - was certainly less glamorous than Doug’s, he displayed a
keen interest in psychological issues and would inquire in a genuine way about
my day and the patients I’d seen. I was struck by his analytical skills and
insight, and was wooed by his sensitivity and kindness.

And after a few weeks of dating, I finally got
lucky.

DOUG
   
I felt
connected to Andrew, and was ready for greater intimacy. And the evening was
certainly intimate. Our night felt passionate, but sweet. When we snuggled in
my toy-sized single bed (two bodies couldn’t fit on it without snuggling)
Andrew said the most adorable thing (and somehow he managed to say it so it
didn’t sound nearly as cloying as it looks on this page):

“This is how it’s supposed to feel, but never
has. Until now.”

ANDREW   
It was a lovely night.
But, I have to confess, I don’t remember saying that.

DOUG   
Men
.

Anyway, it eventually became clear to me that we
were bonding deeply in the way that attaches two people for good. Once I could
no longer imagine living without Andrew, it made emotional sense to talk about
getting married. We’d had the conversation at least a half-dozen times. The
first time was purely theoretical, as we’d only been dating a few months.
Andrew said he wouldn’t want to get married until he’d been with someone a very
long time, five years, maybe longer. Years later, and just six months before I
surprised Andrew with a ring, we were on the roof of our old apartment building
on Riverside Drive. We sat on the broad ledge, overlooking Joan of Arc park,
and the graceful curve of ‘Little Paris’, the pre-war blocks that stretch north
from the Soldier’s and Sailor’s Monument.

In this romantic setting, we were talking about
all the press that gay marriage was receiving.* Andrew tossed out casually -
“My mother asked again if we ever thought about getting married.”

True, we’d been talking about weddings, but this
was such a non sequitir.

“What did she say?”
I
asked, although I’d heard him perfectly well. It was enough of a surprise that
Roslyn had asked this question, but it appeared she had asked it
before
,
and I’d never even heard about it. I always admired her progressive attitude,
but I never dreamed Roslyn would be the first to pop the question.

When Andrew repeated Roslyn’s question, I asked
simply, if idiotically, “Well, what did you say? Were you surprised?”

            “It
must cost a ton to have it in a restaurant, or a hotel.”

            “It
depends on how you do it, and how many people you invite. My parents would
probably pay for part of it, at least.”

            “Really?”
The thought left me both awkward, and relieved. In June of ’94, my financial
picture was looking healthy, but not secure enough to seriously consider

*Garry
Trudeau’s Doonesbury cartoon had just gotten pulled from some papers for a
same-sex union story line. As it went, Mark, a newly out character says to the
dismay of a conservative listener: “[same-sex unions in medieval Europe] were
just like heterosexual ceremonies except that straight weddings, being about
property, were usually held outdoors. Gay rites, being about love, were held
INSIDE the church.”

covering
all the expenses for a real, full tilt wedding. On the other hand, I hadn’t
been on the receiving end of any financial support since high school, fifteen
years earlier, and I knew I’d never be comfortable talking to Sheldon or Roslyn
about money. Outside of business, I’d never learned how to talk about financial
matters at all.

“What makes you think they’d want to pay for
some of it?”

“They’d probably offer to pay for all of it. If
we did it reasonably, I don’t think the money would be an issue. They paid for
both my sisters’ weddings, and believe me, nothing we’d have would come
anywhere near to costing what theirs did.”

“How many people did they have?”

 “God, I don’t know. I think Bonnie’s was over
four hundred and fifty, Debbie’s was smaller, but still huge, around two
hundred fifty.”

“I’d have to pay for half at least.”

“You don’t know my father.”

“I can’t believe your mother asked about it.
She’s something.”

And it seemed Andrew was probably right. Not
just about the money - but about the
subtext
- that his parents were so
supportive, so remarkably even handed, that such an event was not only
possible
,
they might take it to their hearts as they would any other wedding. As
optimistic as that sounds now, that conclusion didn’t seem in the least naive
at the time.

Once that conversation was over, it didn’t feel
like a matter of
if
we’d tie the knot, but when, and how.

Six months later, we were sitting at Sign of the
Dove, and Andrew was wearing an engagement ring on his finger. After dinner we
held hands in the cab, but since we’d been engaged we still hadn’t exchanged a
single kiss. On the way home we passed Barnes & Noble at 81st and Broadway
and on the spur of the moment decided to start our research on the spot. We
bought several books on wedding planning and hopped another cab home.

When we finally stepped into our elevator, I
pressed my lips against his. It was an intense relief, and we got lost for a
moment, just the two of us finally, all the way up to the ninth floor.

When we got into bed it was colder than usual,
and I felt like we cuddled together a little closer than before.

The next morning, before we’d even gone into the
kitchen for breakfast, Andrew said he’d go and phone his parents. We rarely
made calls from the bedroom, so I knew that meant he’d make it from his phone
in the kitchen. I didn’t plan on telling my parents until later. Much later, it
turned out.

When Andrew left the bedroom, I stayed behind,
affecting indifference. While he was gone, I paced a lot around the bedroom,
which due to its Manhattan-sized proportions meant I covered the same ground
twenty times in two minutes. Then I edged into the living room, where I could
better hear the burble of conversation through the rickety glass doors. Then it
happened. I heard the click of the phone hitting Formica. The conversation was
over.

I walked through the doors.

ANDREW   
Since my mother had
already broached the subject, I wasn’t particularly concerned about calling my
parents. She had also told me that she already discussed the idea with Mark, a
gay co-worker of hers. Mark and my father get along famously, and he offered to
get on my father’s back if he didn’t O.K. the idea. So when I called my parents
the next day, not only was I unconcerned by their possible reaction, but as
surprising as it may sound to some people, I thought they’d be happy.

It’s
not that I expected each of them to respond in exactly the same way.
My father
will just deal with it
, I thought.
My mother will make him deal with it.
And that’s how it’ll be.