“Who even areyou?” Nathan says. “Staring at my best friend all moony-eyed when you used to give him shit your whole life.”
“Moon-eyed,” Katie corrects him.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, a person can be all moony and dreamy because they’re infatuated with someone, but it’smoon-eyed, likewide-eyed,” she explains. “Why are you still questioning anything I say when you know I’m right about everything?”
“I don’t—I think you’re just confused because you’re so moony for me.”
I watch them banter good-naturedly, smiling and touching each other. It’s so obvious they’re in love. Are people really looking at me and Johnny and thinking we’re a real couple? Do I really look at him all moon-eyed? Or does my brother justnot recognize the expression on my face when I want to mount someone?
The dining portion of the event gets underway. John is busy chatting with guests, and I chat with my new best friend Katie and my fake boyfriend’s best friend for most of the night. I enjoy one and a half glasses of wine.
The local event organizer comes to get Johnny, and I don’t even get a chance to straighten his tie again before he’s ushered up to the small stage. There’s applause. Nathan, Katie, and I hoot and holler. John tries not to crack up, and he’s pretty smooth as he thanks everyone for coming and starts using words likeinclusionanddiversityandcommunityandlifting up. And I’m so proud of him. Not just because he’s so handsome and has such a fantastic penis, but because he really does want to make the world a better place.
He’s a really good public speaker—I know that from watching his TED Talk—but in person, he really seems like a natural.
I love him.
Shit.
Ilovehim.
I’m crying.
Shit.
I use my cloth napkin to dab at the corners of my eyes. After a few seconds, I realize John’s gone silent. I glance up and see him staring at me, looking concerned. I smile at him, trying to look cheerful and supportive and not like a confused woman who can’t seem to tell him that she loves him and is quickly losing her mind.
Shit.
John looks flustered. He fumbles around for words. He adjusts his glasses. He has lost his train of thought, so he just introduces one of the young women who’s studying computer engineering at the state university and gets off the stage.
He returns to the table and takes my hand. “Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head and gives the woman on stage his full attention while rubbing my back.
After the speeches are over, John’s parents come by our table. They look at him like they have to console him or something. His father pats him on the shoulder. “Well, that was… Hopefully you’ll get some nice donations tonight. We were talking to the mayor earlier, and he seemed very supportive of the foundation before your speech, so… Good thing you don’t have to give speeches for a living.” He laughs. No one laughs with him.
He sees my brother and introduces himself—I guess because my brother looks like someone important. “I’m Calvin Brandt, John’s father. This is my wife, Sofia.”
“I’m Nathan Montgomery,” my brother says, standing to shake their hands. “Monty. John’s my best friend.”
“Oh, Monty!” Mrs. Brandt says warmly. “I didn’t recognize you.”
He introduces Katie, and then Mr. Brandt says, “Well, it’s too bad your parents couldn’t come tonight. It would have been nice to have met them for once, since all we ever did was wave at them from a distance. But the puppy thing sounds important.”
And that’s it.
I look over at John, who’s wincing, and I just can’t keep quiet. “You know what?” I turn in my chair and look up at John’s father. “My parents were there for Johnny throughout his entire childhood. Where wereyouwhen he won the math competitions? You know where my parents were? They were there. You know where John spent every single one of his birthdays and Thanksgiving dinners? Our house. Because my mom didn’t want him to be alone,” I say. “I hope you’re happyyou chose to spend all that time working over spending time with your only son. If I had to choose between my career or being with this impossible, beautiful man, I would choose Johnny. Every time.”
The words escape my lips before my brain has a chance to process them.
Is that true? Would I choose Johnny over ballet? Over the career I’ve spent my entire life working toward? That can’t be true. It can’t.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone when I say, “Excuse me.” I get up from the table and go outside to get some fresh air and pace around.
