The photos, when she showed them to me on her camera's display, looked like something out of a wedding magazine. Two men in matching suits, standing close enough that our shoulders touched, looking at each other like?—
Like we were in love.
Am I going to just look at those photos when I feel lonely? When I think about Victor and he’s off on the west coast or some movie location with one of his celebrity clients? Am I going to go back to torturing myself late at night by watching his yoga videos on YouTube so I can drink my fill of him and hear his voice even if he’s not speaking directly to me?
For the past fifteen years, I’ve castigated myself for wanting Victor. For being too weak to either quit mooning over him and find someone else or be honest about what I feel for him. But being in Victor’s arms just now made me feel something new.
Safe. Like nothing could hurt me with him on my side.
Strong. Like I can handle anything as long as he’s with me.
Safe enough to handle the Church’s rejection?
Strong enough to admit to myself, to Victor, to Kelsey and Adrienne who I love?
I don’t know.
Maybe.
My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. I pull it out and see a text message from Kelsey.
Where are you, Dad?
On my way, sweetie.
I stuff my phone—and my existential crisis—back into my pocket and head off to the reception.
The reception is fairly low-key and surprisingly fun. We do the traditional father-daughter dances and there’s a beautiful wedding cake, but Kelsey and Adrienne opted out of what they called the “rest of the heteronormative bullshit.” Kelsey doesn’t throw her bouquet or a garter and they don’t feed each other cake, or smear it all over each other’s faces.
Victor and I both toast the newly-wedded couple, but by mutual, unstated agreement, we keep our speeches short. I catch Victor dabbing at the corner of an eye with his napkin at the end of mine, which I suppose is fair play, since I teared up a little during his wedding sermon.
The band is quite good. They seem to have a broad range and play a nice selection of love song standards and current hits. Victor, the girls, and the rest of the wedding guests dance and sing along with the band until the sun sets. Kelsey even manages to get me on the dance floor a few times.
I’m fetching myself another drink from the bar when the keyboardist starts playing a familiar tune and I hear my name called.
“Señor Perez, your daughter says you will sing for us, yes?” The vocalist holds her microphone out and I catch sight of Kelsey standing near the band, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief I haven’t seen since she was in her tweens.
“Oh, no,” I call back. I shake my head with a smile. It’s not that I get stage fright—well okay, I still do, every time I sing in public, which is ridiculous, considering that I sing in public every Sunday during Mass, not to mention at multiple concerts a year.
But this isn’t Saint Sebastian’s or any of the other concert venues I perform at. It’s Kelsey and Adrienne’s wedding reception and she hired this band that’s doing a great job. There’s no reason I should put myself in the spotlight here.
“Come on, Dad,” Kelsey says. She crosses the room and grabs my other hand just as I pick up the whiskey the bartender’s set on the bar for me. Kelsey tugs at my hand. “Please,” she wheedles.
The keyboardist vamps the opening bars of the song while Kelsey drags me toward the band. Victor appears at my side and takes my glass from me, after I take a large swallow. I’m not a hundred percent sober, but what the hell, it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with this song.
I take the microphone from the vocalist and she steps back in between the keyboardist and the drummer. She plugs a second microphone into the amplifying rig and gives me an encouraging smile. I clear my throat and raise the microphone to my mouth. “I started singing this song to Kelsey after her mom died,” I tell the small audience gathered in front of the band. “It was one of her mom’s favorites and, well, it made both of us feel like she was still with us.”
The keyboardist restarts at the top and I launch into Always Something There to Remind Me. Never mind that in the Naked Eyes music video, the singer is either watching his love marry someone else or he’s fantasizing about a wedding that never takes place.
The band’s vocalist backs me up and everyone in the bar sings along. It’s gratifying to see not just Kelsey and Victor, but Adrienne and all their friends, honoring the memory of a woman most of them have never met, especially at what’s supposed to be a party.
We finish the song and I take a moment to thank and chat with the band members, who then take a short break. Kelsey finds me first and hugs me. I wrap my arms around my daughter and rest my chin on the top of her head, careful not to mess up her coiffure.
When I hear a quiet sniffle, I whisper to her, “Your mom’s always with you, sweetie, you know that.”
She nods. “I know,” she says, her voice muffled in my shirtfront. When she lifts her head, her eyes are glistening but she’s smiling.
Then her expression changes and she grabs my hand and tows me along the bar to the far end. Victor stands with his back to the room, one hand squeezing the high back of a bar chair.
