Champagne and Mint

Casey bounced his leg through the entire ceremony, his mind on champagne. The wedding was so perfect it was almost tacky. Tears streamed down Aimee’s cheeks from the moment she appeared over the hill with their dad and his signature close-mouthed smile. He was practically holding her up as they promenaded down the grass aisle. Charlie stood in his tux under an altar that was so covered in white roses and baby’s breath it looked riddled with boils and cysts. Charlie didn’t crack a smile or shed a tear the whole ceremony, and only faltered once when reciting his vows that he had definitely found online. Or more likely, Aimee had found online for him. Aimee’s vows were written from the heart, with some assistance from the lyrical genius of Ms. Taylor Swift.

There was one moment, when Aimee was strangling on her own sobs, that it occurred to Casey that his little sister was getting married and that maybe meant something depressing about his own life. His older sister, Melanie, reached across her husband to place a forceful hand on his knee to stop its bouncing, and Casey remembered why he didn’t feel bad about being the last Shea sibling left unhitched. He was barely able to get through someone else’s wedding ceremony without feeling the urge to bolt.

From the moment he arrived at the hotel 48 hours ago, Casey had been counting the minutes until he was on the plane heading back to New York. His invitation had included a plus one, and when he’d seen this he knew exactly what kind of family occasion this was going to be. Any second that wasn’t spent doting on and fawning over Aimee would be spent judging and ridiculing Casey. His charming mother would finish her teatime extra dry martini and turn on him with her thin lips pursed, asking where his date was for this weekend? When was he planning to get his life in order? Must he always wear that rancid cologne? His obtuse father would cough out a puff of cigar smoke and wipe the spittle off his chin, allowing his insufferable mate to prattle on, having given up trying to reason with her decades ago. Melanie used to be an ally for these family reunions but these days she was too busy with her vanilla husband and (admittedly adorable) toddler, Jesse.

*

The reception was held in a refurbished barn on the wildly expensive property their parents had rented for the occasion. Melanie studied every detail, from the tartan name plates to the mason jars filled with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and wondered where her parents had been hiding the budget for this wedding. Hers had been half the size and held in her parents’ backyard. Had Charlie’s family pitched in for this elaborate display or did her baby sister just have more sway over their penny-pinching parents?

Melanie had ordered the fish without considering the fact that they were hundreds of miles from the ocean, and instantly regretted her choice when her plate landed on the table. The filet of salmon was doused in a pale yellow sauce, which was always a suspicious choice for seafood. Quality ingredients didn’t need to be drowned out. Limp asparagus spears rested across the fish at artful angles. Upscale adjacent.

Her husband, Matt, was poking at his chicken breast with his fork. Their eyes met across the floral centerpiece and grimaced to each other. Matt had Jesse on his lap to give Mel a chance to eat in peace, but now she wished Jesse would throw a fit so she had an excuse to leave her smothered fish.

Newlyweds Aimee and Charlie sat at a lone table at the front of the room, trying to fit in bites of food between the endless interruptions from doting friends and family. The irony of being a bride: toiling for months over every excruciating detail of a night that is supposed to be your “special day” but, when all is said and done, no one lets you enjoy any of it. Melanie hoped Aimee was having fun, but her little sister had always been hard to read. Aimee had inherited the perfect pageant smile from their mother, who had been Ms. Ohio in 1982. Aimee had refused their mother’s frequent attempts to recruit her to the pageant circuit, but tonight, behind those fake eyelashes and pounds of makeup, Aimee looked more like a contestant on “Toddlers in Tiaras” than an adult woman.

*

Casey couldn’t believe his very own flesh and blood had ostracized him to the singles table. Of course he knew why Aimee had put his place card next to her friend Kevin’s, a flamboyant twink who she often tried to get Casey to “befriend.” Her plot was obvious: set up her lonely gay brother with the literal only other gay guy she knew and congratulate herself for life for helping two lonely gays find love. Sheltered little Aimee had no idea there was more than one type of gay man. Casey preferred going home with the tattooed and scarred bartenders on the graveyard shift. The gays who never turned their lights on in their lofts long enough for him to see any detail of their life. Needless to say, those men were not Kevin.

Kevin was the kind of man who had lip injections before age thirty, who knew every word to the musical “Wicked,” and made straight men uncomfortable with his feminine affects and flirtatious arm-grazes. There was nothing wrong with any of this, but it wasn’t exactly right either. Casey’d always hated embodied stereotypes. He just couldn’t understand why anyone would want to play into the mainstream’s idea of what a marginalized community is supposed to look like. Why give them the satisfaction? Why allow straight people to believe they knew anything about the queer community?

Once the DJ started his set and the pulsing multicolored lights came on, Casey decided it was finally appropriate for him to escape. He had been politely chatting with Kevin for almost an hour and it was starting to liquify his brain. Kevin was telling him about his Dolly Parton poster collection, how he had paid $1,000 on Ebay for a limited edition blah blah blah. Casey could only smile and nod for so long. Before Kevin could beg him to dance, Casey excused himself and exited through the barn doors.

*

Melanie spotted her brother darting through the throngs of twenty-three year olds dancing to that terrible song by the Chainsmokers, the one that had been playing everywhere for over a year. She didn’t have much of a desire to talk to her sulky brother, but she had far less desire to watch Aimee and her friends grinding, so she hoisted Jesse up onto her hip and excused herself from the table. Matt gave her a fleeting glance, a telepathic everything okay? She responded with an a-ok finger salute.

Jesse squirmed a bit in her arms, trying to get back down to the ground and continue his toddler explorations of the underside of tables, but Mel just cooed and assured him he would be free again in a second. He grabbed a lock of her brown hair in his meaty fist and stuck it in his mouth, which seemed to her like a fitting punishment. At least he wasn’t spitting up anymore.

She found Casey sitting on a sawed-off tree stump out on the flagstone terrace, his blond hair glittering from the string lights overhead. He looked so handsome in his slimcut navy blue suit. When had he grown up? Part of her still saw him as the thirteen year old closet-case in Riptide T-Shirts and Y2K baggy jeans. The preteen who wore his hair in a shaggy mop that curtained his blue eyes, as if he were constructing a hidden vantage from which to scrutinize the world without having to participate.

“Did Aimee tell you about her friend Kevin?” Melanie asked, disentangling herself from her son and taking the seat next to Casey.

Casey rolled his eyes. “She’s mentioned him, yeah.”

“I think she was hoping you guys would hit it off tonight,” Mel said. “What do you think of him?”

From the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket, Casey pulled out a Juul and took a long hit. When he exhaled, Melanie could smell the intoxicating mint in the cloud of vapor.

“I think he’s nauseating,” Casey replied, tucking the Juul back into his pocket. “Besides, the last thing this family needs is another wedding.”

“Aimee looks beautiful,” Melanie said. “She almost looks like an adult.”

“Yeah.” Casey snorted. “And Charlie almost looks like he’s in love.”

Melanie glanced over at her brother, alarmed. “What does that mean?”

“He hasn’t smiled all day,” Casey said. “Like, not even for family pictures.”

Mel considered this. “Maybe he doesn’t like his smile?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

They had reunited formally the night before, at the cocktail party after the rehearsal dinner, so their conversation topics were in dire straits. Melanie had already asked about Casey’s freelance video editing work and Casey had already asked Mel how motherhood was going. Melanie had already pulled out her phone and showed Casey the several hundred pictures and videos of Jesse’s short life so far. They had already commiserated over how young Aimee was to be getting married, that at twenty-two she should be throwing up in alleys after a night of clubbing, not entertaining her fiance's elderly grandparents. They had even joked about their mother’s sixth gin and tonic refill and their father’s loud boasting about his model ships. The task of catching one another up on nearly a year of life events was enough to remain at the surface level, but now what?

“Did you know mom started going to therapy?” Melanie asked. “Because of something that you said?”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “What’d I say this time?”

“It was at Christmas. When you said she has a victim complex.”

Casey almost remembered the conversation. His mother was on her fourth glass of Merlot, he had been counting her drinks mostly for something to do, and she was monologuing about her book club woes. She had wanted to read Wuthering Heights, but Natalie Myers suggested Michelle Obama’s Becoming, and everyone agreed with Natalie and didn’t even listen to poor Marilyn Shea. Marilyn used to be in charge of choosing the books for the book club until young Natalie moved into the neighborhood and usurped her crown. Now no one ever listened to what Marilyn Shea wanted, no one ever appreciated her ideas or the tiny sandwiches she makes every week. Casey had just said what they were all thinking.

“That was enough to send her to therapy? Jesus, I wish I’d thought of that decades ago.”

Melanie laughed. Jesse lost balance and fell hard on his diapered backside, crying out in surprise and pain.

“Aren’t you going to comfort him or something?” Casey asked, taking out his Juul again.

“No,” Melanie answered. “We’re trying to let him work through his feelings on his own. He doesn’t need to be coddled.”

“Hardcore,” Casey said with a grin.

They were quiet as Jesse’s cries pitched to screams, then petered out as he realized he wouldn’t be getting any attention. Finally, he rolled forward onto his hands, pushed himself upright again, and went toddling on. Melanie felt a surge of pride for her little monster, grateful her hands off parenting technique had worked in front of Casey. She would have been mortified if Jesse had been really hurt and she had pretended not to care. It broke her heart to hear him cry, but the nonchalance was an act to show Jesse he would be alright. Besides, she didn’t want to be Helicopter Mom in front of Casey. He would hate that.

*

“Remember how Aimee kept running away in high school?” Casey asked, looking back through the large doors onto the dance floor of writhing bodies.

“Allegedly running away,” Melanie corrected. “She never made it very far.”

“True,” Casey agreed.

“What about it?”

“I was just wondering…” He trailed off, collecting his thoughts. His brain was cloudy from the champagne flutes, whiskey, and nicotine. “What she was running away from.”

Melanie hummed, considering this.

“It’s just funny,” Casey continued. “Out of the three of us, why was she the least happy at home? Well I don’t know, it’s not like we were living at home when she was in high school, but she always seemed the most conventional. The most like Mom and Dad. You were always way smarter than any of us. I was always too...gay. But Aimee was Daddy’s Little Girl. What the fuck did she have to run away from?”

“I never thought about it much,” Melanie confessed. “I just assumed every teenage girl has a reason to run.”

“I guess so.”

“In retrospect, you’re actually the only one who really did it.”

“Did what?”

“Run away.”

Jesse crawled back to his mother’s feet, and Melanie scooped him up and placed him on her lap. Jesse’s big blue eyes found Casey’s, and uncle and nephew just stared at each other for a while. Casey marveled at this little human. Jesse was now twice the age he had been the last time Casey had seen him. He always forgot how time moved faster for babies.

“I wish Jesse recognized you.”

Casey flinched. “Damn, Mel.”

“I’m sorry.” Melanie shifted Jesse onto her other knee so he was slightly closer to her brother. “You know, I think Aimee really misses you. She talks about you all the time. Every Sunday night dinner she shows Mom and Dad your Instagram and the videos you post.”

“That’s really good to know.” Casey smirked. “I guess I’ll take down my nudes then.”

Melanie punched Casey’s arm, a bit too hard to be playful.

“I’m just saying, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with us. You could try to be more present.”

“How can I be more present when I live a thousand miles away, Mel?”

“Modern technology exists, Case,” Melanie said. “You could pick up the phone when I call, maybe even FaceTime so Jesse can see your face, so you can watch him grow up. You don’t even reply to the family emails when I send pictures of him.”

“Look, Mel, I didn’t ask you to have a baby,” Casey said, tearing his eyes away from his nephew’s unflinching stare. “I mean, I love him and stuff, but I can’t be there all the time.”

“I’m not asking you to be around all the time,” Melanie said. “I’m just saying that he’s only a baby once. He only has so many firsts left. I guess I just thought you would care more.”

Melanie had been maintaining a measured tone, patient and calm, until the end when her voice finally broke. Casey turned back to look at her, holding her son. He wondered if she knew the fingers on her left hand were gently stroking Jesse’s plump cheek. It was such a tender movement, a subtle gesture of adoration.

“I don’t come home because I’m not welcome here,” Casey said, finally.

Melanie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“It’s Mom and Dad. They wish I was different. They wish I was the son they expected when the ultrasound nurse announced I had a penis, you know? They had all these expectations for me, for all of us, and I’m the one who failed. I’m the one who can’t give them the perfect family portrait, who won’t give them grandchildren and a legacy. Dad doesn’t even talk to me anymore, like he doesn’t know how to relate to me. Mom says some really shitty things when she’s drunk and she’s always drunk. Those things don’t just go away because you had a baby, Mel.”

“I know that,” Melanie said in a hushed voice. Soothing, like the voice you use to ease a child to sleep.

The thumping bass on the dance floor ebbed and transformed into soaring strings. A slow dance for the couples, just like prom. Jesse’s eyelids fluttered, considering closing for the night. On a whim, Casey reached out and felt his nephew’s other cheek. It was soft and fuzzy like a peach. Melanie smiled and kissed her son’s fair hair.

“Hey, do you remember when we used to play M.A.S.H?” Melanie asked. “You always wanted to get “Mansion” but always landed on “Apartment,” and I wanted “Apartment” but always landed on “Mansion?’”

“Oh, the irony,” Casey said, grinning. “Last I heard, you wanted to stay in New York. Why’d you move back to Shaker Heights?”

“Matt. He wanted the suburban life. I think he had this fantasy that living in a big house would somehow make fatherhood feel more feasible. So we moved here because, at the end of the day, he cared more than I did.”

“Did it make fatherhood more feasible?” Casey asked. He hit his Juul again. Jesse watched the minty cloud with wonder.

“I don’t know,” Melanie said. “But it turns out…it’s good to be home again.”

All three pairs of blue eyes watched the vapor dissipate into the July night. Somewhere inside, Matt finished his beer and stood up to find his long missing wife and child, Marilyn Shea gripped her husband’s lapels and swayed off beat to the sickly sweet love song, and Aimee spun in her white dress, holding hands with her new husband who looked at his wife and cracked a smile for the first time that day.