Naptown 24 - A Blizzard in Iowa - 3. My Parents Meet my Fiancé

A Blizzard in Iowa

A Naptown Tale by Altimexis

My Parents Meet my Fiancé

“What time are your parents arriving?” he asked.

“Brian, for the twelfth time, they’re arriving at three o’clock,” I answered. “Relax, love, we have plenty of time. It’s not like we have to worry about schlepping all the way out to O’Hare,” I reminded him.

“Yes, but even Midway can be fraught with delays. We need to leave extra early. I don’t want to be late,” he said. “Remember what happened with my parents?”

“How could I forget?” I agreed, “and we are leaving extra early, just in case. We won’t be late.”

Brian was being such a baby, but I could understand how he felt. I had felt the same way when I had been about to meet his parents just two weeks earlier, and now it was his turn to meet mine. The fact that my parents were flying in on their corporate jet wasn’t helping matters any, either. Although it might be more convenient and saving them time compared to a commercial flight, it was costing them a fortune, and that itself was only fueling Brian’s nervousness. I had to explain that my parents would combine their visit with company business and write the trip off as a business expense, but Brian was still hung up on the fact that my parents were spending so much money, just to meet him.

“My parents may fly around the country on their private jet, but they’re still just farmers,” I pointed out.

“Farmers with, what, six, houses and condominiums around the country?” Brian noted, “and that doesn’t even take into account the time shares outside the U.S.”

“OK, so they aren’t your typical farmers,” I admitted.

“Aren’t your typical farmers,” Brian mimicked me. “That’s like saying Obama isn’t your typical civil servant. I bet your parents haven’t touched a handful of dirt in their entire lives.”

“Brian, that’s not true,” I countered. “Yes, it’s true they have Harvard MBAs, but my grandparents made sure my father had real world experience working on farms growing up, so he’d appreciate what was involved in growing crops when he took over the family business. My mother came from a farm family, too. My parents made sure I had experience working on a farm as a teenager, as well.”

“Really!” Brian said with surprise. “Wow, I can just picture you working out in the sun, the sweat beading up and running down your shirtless chest. The mere thought of it is an incredible turn-on.”

We were both dressed in only our boxers and the effect this vision of me as a teenager was having on Brian was immediately apparent. Seeing him tent up like that was turning me on, too.

“Much as I’d like to make mad, passionate love to you, Brian,” I said, “we will be late picking up my parents if we don’t finish getting ready.”

“Dammit, Will. It’s just that you’re so sexy, but you’re right,” he said as he started to get dressed.

Yeah, Brian looked his finest by the time we were ready to go pick up my parents. Now we could have taken the ‘L’ to the airport and procured a limo from there to take my parents to their own condo on Lakeshore Drive, but limos hired at the airport were always a hit or miss proposition, so I’d made arrangements through the corporation to hire a car. That way, I knew we would be getting reliable, luxury transportation with a trustworthy driver. It was, after all, my parents’ dime, and we might as well take advantage of it.

True to their word, the limo arrived exactly at the time requested. Brian was clearly taken aback by the degree of luxury, however. He was clearly out of his element from the moment we stepped inside. The vehicle was a stretch Lincoln Continental with four over-stuffed leather-clad passenger seats - two of them facing forward and two of them facing rearward, so that the occupants could converse with each other while being whisked around the city in style. A personal entertainment system that was built into the armrest of each seat was more worthy of something that might be seen on the Starship Enterprise, allowing occupants to watch television or movies of their choice. A well-stocked mini-bar on the side opposite the entry door provided passengers with whatever they might wish in the way of refreshments.

Sensing my boyfriend’s unease, I said, “Brian, my parent’s have modest roots. They built an organic farming empire from a family farming operation, largely by luck, a bit of hard work, and frankly by cutting more than a few corners. I’ve told you that before. Some of the things they’ve done to get where they are today . . . the political favors . . . the political action committee money and worse . . . you don’t want to know about.

“You, on the other hand, have every reason to be proud of your parents. They’re professionals who got where they are by a lot of hard work and by being the best they could be in their fields of work. Your mother is one of the finest transplant surgeons in the world, and your father is a curator and art restorer at one of the greatest art museums in America. More importantly, they’re great people. You’re lucky to have them as your parents. They sure were around a hell of a lot more than mine were. As soon as I was old enough, I was sent to boarding school in Chicago, but even before then, I hardly ever saw my parents. I was raised by my nanny. You don’t know how lucky you were.”

“I’m sorry, Will,” Brian said. “You’re right. I’m acting like an ass. It’s just that I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be, sweetheart,” I said as I placed my hand on top of Brian’s. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” I reassured him. “My parents’ll love you, just like I love you. There’s nothing to worry about. Just relax and enjoy the weekend.”

I tried to make idle conversation with my boyfriend on the way to the airport, but he was just so nervous, so I suggested he try out the entertainment system. It was so funny, watching him flip through the channels. I think he managed to flip through some three hundred channels in under five minutes before he was once again just sitting there with nothing to do. I couldn’t help it when I started laughing hysterically. Pretty soon, we were both laughing as if there were no tomorrow. It helped, and Brian did seem to unwind a bit after that.

Finally, we pulled up at the airport, but we still had more than an hour to spare before my parents were supposed to land. At least with private aircraft, rules for security were a bit less restrictive than for commercial aircraft, but we still couldn’t wander around the terminal with abandon. There was a nicely appointed lounge available for our use, and I made sure to steer Brian to it and to take advantage of the computer facilities located there to keep him occupied. At least he was able to keep himself busy with some of his class assignments while waiting for my parents to arrive.

At about five minutes before three o’clock, Brian disappeared to make use of the restroom facilities. When he returned, I noticed that his pants were unzipped. The poor guy was so nervous, he’d obviously forgotten to zip himself back up. I discretely whispered in his ear to let him know, and he went back to the men’s room to take care of the problem. When he didn’t emerge right away, I went to see what the problem was. Inside, I found a very distraught Brian, practically in tears.

“The zipper’s broken, Will,” he cried. “That’s why it was open. Your parents will be here any second! What are we going to do?”

“Ah, a zipper emergency,” I said. “Murphy’s Law at work, here,” I lamented. “Don’t worry about it, Brian. These lounges are usually well supplied. Let me see if I can scrounge up some safety pins,” as I ran for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

It was touch and go, but we did manage to get Brian closed up just in time to be there to meet my parents as they disembarked their plane, but barely. As far as my parents could tell, we’d been standing there at the gate the whole time.

“Hello, Brian,” my mother said as she drew him into a tight hug - something he clearly wasn’t expecting. “You look just like the pictures Will sent us of you. Will has always been a good judge of character,” she said, “so you must really be someone special to have swept him off his feet the way you did.” Brian couldn’t help but blush, and then get a huge grin on his face.

My father extended his hand to Brian and shook his hand firmly as he said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Brian. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better over the next couple of days.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Mr. Kramer,” Brian replied.

As we made our way into the terminal, my father asked, “So, Brian, I understand you’re interested in studying Art History.”

Seemingly embarrassed, Brian answered, “Yeah, I’m kind of following in my father’s footsteps.”

I knew exactly what Brian’s response would do to my father, and so I wasn’t the least bit surprised by my father’s reaction, but Brian was incredibly flustered when my father stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed hold of Brian’s arm.

“Brian, why are you acting as if there’s something wrong with that?” he exclaimed, “Your father is curator at a top art museum. He’s very well respected in art circles throughout the world. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud of your father’s accomplishments, and pleased to be following in his footsteps.”

Regaining his composure, Brian finally said, “Believe me, Mr. Kramer, I am pleased. I think my father’s awesome and I love my parents very much. It’s just that I’ll never make much money in Art History, either as a university professor or as a museum curator. Not that money’s ever been that important to me, but compared to what you’ve accomplished, Mr. Kramer . . . well, how can I compare what I’m going to be doing with my life to what you’ve done?”

“Brian,” my father said as he put his hand on my boyfriend’s shoulder, “we’ll talk more in the car, but Will has more than enough money in trust to live well for the rest of his life. He didn’t tell you about that, did he?” my father said as he saw the look of shock on Brian’s face. I knew I’d be getting hell from Brian for keeping that little bit of information from him, but that was something I wanted to approach when the time was right, which wasn’t yet. “Money should be the least of your worries in any case,” my father continued. “Sometimes I think it was too much of a focus in our family. The main thing is that you pursue your dreams. I didn’t build our family agribusiness into one of the world’s largest purveyors of organic produce because I wanted to make a lot of money. Don’t get me wrong . . . the money’s nice, but I followed my dream. Thanks to that dream, more Americans have access to wholesome, organic products than ever before.”

Once we were all seated comfortably in the limo - my parents sitting forward and Brian and I sitting backwards of course - I could tell that Brian had a lot on his mind that he wanted to say, but was just being too polite. Over the past few weeks I’d seen this behavior many times and if I didn’t do something, he’d just simmer for hours until he suddenly blew up, wreaking all sorts of havoc. I couldn’t let that happen with my parents in town for the weekend.

“Honey,” I said, “there’s a good reason why I didn’t talk to you about the trust funds my parents set up for me. I didn’t want you to think I was in any way trying to buy your love . . .”

“We’ll talk about it later, Will,” Brian said, “in private, when your parents aren’t around. They shouldn’t have to hear us air our ‘dirty laundry’,” he suggested. “It has nothing to do with any of that, Will. I just think you shouldn’t have tried to keep it from me at all, you know? After all, if we’re gonna spend our lives together, that’s something I should know about, but like I said, we’ll talk about it later, in private. I really don’t care how much, or how little money we have, as long as we have each other.”

“I feel the same way, Brian,” I agreed, “which is why I didn’t feel it was important enough to bring up in the first place. After all, we’ve only known each other three weeks and there hasn’t exactly been much time to discuss it yet.”

“Later, Will,” Brian said with a steely cold glare in his eyes.

Calming down a bit, but only a bit, Brian turned to my father and asked, “Mr. Kramer, I understand how proud you must be about the business you’ve built, but Will’s told me about some of the ‘compromises’ you’ve had to make along the way, including some things that had to be done for political expediency in the interests of the corporation. An ‘ends justifies the means’ sort of thing, I guess. Doesn’t that kind of taint your sense of accomplishment?”

Wow, I couldn’t believe Brian actually asked that, and from my father’s body language, it was evident that neither could he. Hopefully, he realized just as I did that Brian was scared out of his mind to ask such a loaded question.

“Brian,” my father started to say, “I’m not suggesting your father would ever do anything illegal, but I know for a fact that museums often find themselves pitted against each other and against private collectors in bidding wars when it comes to obtaining famous works of art. I also know for a fact that many well-known pieces have been lost to unscrupulous collectors and outright art thieves and smugglers in recent years. Sometimes a little extra money in just the right places can make all the difference in making sure a particular piece ends up on one’s own collection, or in procuring a blockbuster exhibit that can bring thousands of visitors and swell the ranks of the museum membership. The money spent in making sure it happens is just the cost of doing business, and museums are a business. These days, it’s very much a matter of survival.

“Now Brian,” my father continued, “if your father had an opportunity to procure, for example, the world’s most extensive collection of Faberge eggs . . . a collection that heretofore was not even known to exist . . . of course he would do everything he could to do so. The collection could bring millions of visitors to the museum ultimately . . . they could redefine the museum and what it stands for, so naturally, he would want to add them to the museum’s collection.

“But lets say the collection is in the hands of a private family in the city of St. Petersburg. Getting the collection for the museum would not only mean out-bidding other museums from around the world, but also getting the collection out of the Russian Federation and into the United States, and in this day and age, that usually involves bribing the right officials. Without those bribes, the proper exit permits cannot be obtained and the collection will remain in Russia. It’s a small price to pay for procuring a world-class collection for the museum,” my father said, “but bribes are bribes.”

Taking a deep breath, my father looked my boyfriend right in the eyes and asked, “So tell me, Brian, do you think your father is above stooping to the practice of bribing public officials if necessary in a scenario such as this one, and if so, does it taint the sense of pride he has in the collection.”

Looking at the floor, my boyfriend answered, “Dad has talked about this sort of thing happening on several occasions in the past. He doesn’t like it . . . but sometimes it’s the only way to get things done. There’s a lot of corruption in the Art world, particularly in Third World countries and in the former Soviet Block. ‘That’s just the way it is,’ as he says.”

Looking back up at my father, Brian continued, “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for that sort of thing, but I’ve heard the politics of academia can be pretty cutthroat, too . . .”

“Something you and Will would both be well-advised to keep in mind, I might add,” my father interrupted.

“I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not going to be the one to judge people based on things I know nothing about,” Brian looked down at the floor, and then back up into my father’s eyes before continuing, “and I’m very sorry for asking you that in the first place. It really wasn’t an appropriate question. I was displacing my anger at Will having kept knowledge of his trust funds from me . . . and although I still wish he’d have told me,” he said as he glanced back at me, “I’m beginning to understand why he might have reasons for wanting to have waited until I’d had a chance to meet you first.”

“Brian,” I interrupted, “that’s exactly the reason why I held off telling you. Trust me . . . it’s the only reason I held off telling you. There’s no way you could have ever understood the complexities involved without having met my parents, first.”

“I think I can see that, now,” Brian said. “No offense, Mr. Kramer, Ms. Kramer, but nothing Will told me about you could have ever prepared me for the reality of what you’re like, and I truly mean that as a compliment.”

“We take that as a compliment,” my father answered. “We’re not the cutthroat business tycoons you were expecting, are we?”

“Will told me what to expect,” Brian answered, “but still, seeing is believing.”

Finally, we reached my parents’ condo building on Lakeshore Drive, which was at the north end of The Loop in a much more luxurious building than the one I lived in, but not nearly as convenient to the University as the one my condo occupied. The elevator opened directly to my parents’ penthouse apartment, which occupied the entire top floor. The view as we stepped off the elevator was absolutely breathtaking, revealing an unobstructed panorama of the lakefront and the Chicago skyline to the south.

“Oh my GOD,” were the first words out of Brian’s mouth as we got off the elevator. He made a beeline for the living room windows and exclaimed, “I’ve been up in the Sears Tower, but it doesn’t have anything over this view.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far, Brian,” my mother said, “but with our corporate headquarters being here and with all the board meetings we attend, and with Will having gone to school here since he was ten, we’ve enjoyed having a place we can truly call home when we’re in town. No matter how many times we visit, I never tire of this view. It’s never the same, either,” she continued. “It changes with the weather, and the seasons, and even in the most inclement weather, it’s still beautiful.

“I could almost see us living here full-time,” she added, getting a gasp from me. “The operative word being, ‘almost’.” She looked at me and winked. “There’s just something about the gently rolling hills and the wide open spaces of Iowa that’s forever in our blood. Deep down, I’m still a farmer’s daughter,” she sighed. “Now when it came to Will’s education, Iowa couldn’t offer what Chicago could in terms of its private schools, which is why we chose a boarding school when he was old enough, and the University of Chicago is renowned.”

“There are some things that were more important to me than a first-rate education, Mother,” I countered. “I would have given anything for more time with my parents, but that wouldn’t have happened, even if I’d stayed in Iowa,” I sighed. “But if you really gave a shit about me, why didn’t we just move to Chicago in the first place? That would have given us the best of both worlds . . . access to the best schools and time together as a family. There’s no reason you couldn’t have run the whole fucking company from here, either. The corporate headquarters are here, after all, and you long ago turned the day-to-day operations of the farm over to others to run. It’s not like you actually had to be there.

“And as for juggling your busy careers with the responsibilities of family life,” I continued my harangue, “Brian’s mother’s schedule as a famous transplant surgeon is busier than either of yours, and Brian’s father is always jetting off to some distant corner of the world in search of a new acquisition, and yet they’ve always found a way to make time for their three children while you couldn’t even find the time for me!”

“Enough, Will!” my father shouted back at me. “You’re absolutely right. You were a trophy child . . . something to show off, like our latest toys. We should have probably never had children in the first place . . . and the fact that you turned out so well was no thanks to us. But know this, Will . . . We couldn’t be more proud of you. You have turned out to be one hell of a young man, and we love you.”

I was stunned. My father never said he loved me aloud.

Continuing, my father said, “It may be early too say this, but you seem to have found a fine young man with whom to share your life. I already like Brian . . . a lot, and I can see why you’re so taken with him. Not only is he good looking,” which caused Brian to turn a deep shade of red, “but he has an inner strength . . . he’s a man of integrity and so are you. I can see that the two of you will stand by each other, come hell or high water.”

“I love him, Dad. Yes, he means the world to me,” I stated emphatically.

Turning to my lover, my father said, “Brian, if you hurt my son . . .”

“Not possible,” Brian interrupted. “Will is the center of my universe. I’d go without food and water . . . even oxygen before I’d hurt him.”

“I can see that,” my father acknowledged. “But if the two of you have children, whatever you do, don’t treat them the way we treated Will. Promise me that.”

“We’ve barely begun to talk about children,” Brian spoke with trepidation, wondering if the subject was something we should even be discussing in front of our parents. I had a sense that he wanted children very much, but was worried that I might not, given the terrible upbringing I’d had. Oh, how I wanted to assuage his fears!

“Right now,” I said, “since we’re both still in school and will be for a number of years, having children is the farthest thing from our minds, but once we’re established in our careers, yes, I think adopting some kids and raising a family would be a wonderful thing to do, but I’d never take on that kind of responsibility unless I could give them the kind of love a child needs.”

The look on Brian’s face was priceless. He looked like he’d won the lottery. “You . . . you want kids?” he exclaimed. “Man, I’ve been so afraid to bring the subject up. Oh man, I want to raise a family in the worst way. In fact, the issue of possibly not having kids really bummed me out when I realized I was gay.”

“Over the summer,” I related, “the four gay teens who got caught up in that scandal in Washington told me a story about a couple they know who got married over the Fourth of July weekend. Their names are Randy and Altaf. Randy is a Jewish American boy and Altaf escaped from Pakistan with his mother when he was caught in bed with his best friend. Technically, he still has a fatwa hanging over his head. His best friend, former lover, was stoned to death.” Everyone in the room gasped when they heard that.

“Altaf mourned the loss of his friend, whom he truly loved,” I continued, “but eventually he fell in love with Randy, and after dating for two years, they married after they graduated high school as co-valedictorians. They both just started their Pre-Med studies at Yale this year.”

“That’s quite a story,” my mother acknowledged. “Imagine, a Muslim and a Jew. It’s as if it were meant to be.”

“They really are the sweetest people you could ever meet, from what I’m told, but that’s not the end of the story,” I added. “As part of their wedding vows, they vowed to help gay kids who’ve been rejected by their own parents. They’re going to take as many of these kids as they can into their own home, once they have the means to do so. Can you imagine that?”

“That’s . . . that’s beautiful,” Brian said. “What an incredible thing to do. Dealing with teenagers can be difficult enough, and gay teenagers who are going through the trauma of rejection by their own family can be a real handful. I can’t imagine anything more noble. Helping kids in need in general is a real calling.

“Is that what you want to do, Will?” my boyfriend asked.

“Kind of . . . yeah,” I answered. “There are far too many people who spend tens of thousands of dollars in fertility clinics, bringing children into this overpopulated world when there are thousands upon thousands of unwanted, older children begging for a little affection. Why not give them a home . . . especially the gay ones? Who better to pull them out of their sorrow than a couple of guys who understand a little of what they’re going through?”

Brian was up and out of his chair in a flash. He pulled me up into his arms and hugged the living daylights out of me. “I love you so much, Will. I can’t believe a man like you even exists. When we met in that coffee shop and you said I was the man you were going to marry, somehow I knew it to be the truth, but with each passing day, I can feel it more and more. We’re just made for each other. We may not have known each other long, but I know, deep in my heart, that you’re the one for me. I can’t wait for the day we’re married, and joined together in an unbreakable bond of love.”

I couldn’t help but cry. What Brian said was so beautiful. I felt the same way about him. As we continued to hold each other in our arms and cry on each other’s shoulders, I replied, “Brian, if that was a proposal, you don’t need to propose. I think I already proposed the day I met you. The only question is not if, but when we should get married, and as far as I’m concerned, the sooner we do it, the better.”

“Well, Thanksgiving might be a nice time. Our families will be gathering anyway, and it’s a family time to get together in general, and it’s a time when we have a break from school . . .” Brian suggested.

“Thanksgiving!” I shouted. “Are you out of your mind? That’s only three weeks away!”

Brian started laughing hysterically and then said, “I meant Thanksgiving a year from now, honey. Man, you should have seen the look on your face. That was priceless. As much as I’d love to just elope and get it over and done with, there’s no way we could pull a wedding off in only three weeks. Weddings take at least a year to plan.”

We both started laughing and I looked at my mother and said, “I bet Brian just about gave you heart failure.”

My mother had a very serious look on her face. She wasn’t laughing at all. “HA,” she exclaimed, “and what makes you think I can’t pull a wedding off in three weeks?”

“Mom,” I said, “get serious. No one can pull a wedding off in three weeks. You have to reserve the church, and there’s the reception hall, and the minister, and the band, and the caterer, and the invitations, the formalwear . . . should I go on?”

“Will, don’t be silly, you know I’ve arranged much more lavish affairs than a simple wedding in much less time than three weeks,” she challenged me, and on serious thought, I had to admit to myself that she had, sometimes at the drop of a hat. “But tell me,” she continued, is there any reason the two of you would want to wait until next year to marry, rather than getting married this Thanksgiving? As Brian said, it really is the perfect time for a wedding. You have the time off, and our families already have plans to get together . . . we just have to divert those plans to Iowa, where gay marriage is legal. So tell me, Will . . . Brian . . . are you ready to get married?”

It was funny, but we both said at the exact same time, “Absolutely,” and then giggled when we realized we had. We followed that with a kiss.

“I’ll tell you what,” my father started to suggest. “We have dinner reservations at Soiree at seven for the four of us. Why don’t I see if we can extend the reservation to six people, and we can invite your parents, Brian? Then we can celebrate your formal engagement and discuss plans for your wedding. I can tell from the look on your face you’re still in a state of shock, but when my Ellie gets something in her mind, there’s no stopping her. You might as well get used to it. The two of you are getting married this Thanksgiving holiday.”

Dad did manage to change the dinner reservation to include Brian’s parents and his parents were delighted to attend. It was very fortunate indeed that they were both in town, and that Jenny was off duty. We all agreed to wait until dinner to explain why they were being invited at the last minute. Little did they know that in three weeks, there would be a blizzard in Iowa. My mother was a force of nature to be reckoned with, but if she couldn’t pull it all together, no one could.

I’m sure they must have wondered about being invited to Soiree, a very high-priced French bar and bistro, in the first place. It’s quite delightful, actually, but perhaps a bit pretentious for my in-laws’ taste. It’s also a popular high-end dance club after ten o’clock, and I had little doubt that we’d be there long enough to witness the arrival of the dance scene. Although the clubbing would be in the back of the establishment, the music would likely infuse the entire place, making conversation difficult. Perhaps that might be a good thing, however.

My parents arranged for a limo to take us to Brian’s parents’ house to pick them up there, although it was way out of the way to the restaurant. It was, however, the polite thing to do. Jenny and Danny insisted on inviting us all in and showing off their Frank Lloyd Wright House to my parents, who were very impressed.

“I’ve always been a fan of the more classic painters, but I must say, your selection of artwork is absolutely breathtaking,” my father said in admiration as he studied the oil and watercolor paintings on their walls. “We never gave Will much of a choice in decorating his condo, and something tells me with Brian living there now, they’re going to want to make changes, especially in the art we selected for the place.”

“Actually, Dad, Brian and I have decided we pretty much want to redecorate the place from scratch,” I piped up.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked. “We’ll talk later, but I’m sure we can arrange for something after the wedding.”

Jenny, who’d been talking it up with my mother from the moment we arrived, perked right up on hearing my father’s comment.

“Ah, so that’s what this is all about!” Jenny exclaimed. “I had a feeling these two would want to tie the knot sooner rather than later. Although we haven’t known him long, we adore Will as much as Brian does.”

Wow! Did she really say that?

“So when’s the wedding going to be?” she asked. “Most people would take their time and spend a good year planning a wedding, but something tells me this dinner tonight is to drop a bombshell on us, am I right?” Getting nothing more than stunned silence from any of us, Jenny continued, “Ellie, I’ve worked with many high-powered career women in my day, and I’ve a lot of experience with people at the University who are used to planning events for tens of thousands of people at the drop of a hat. For them, planning a last-minute wedding would be a piece of cake, no pun intended.

“I’m tempted to think you’d plan the wedding around the Winter Holiday, but a lot of people have major plans around that time . . . ski vacations out West, trips to Hawaii, or cruises in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean . . . and not everybody has the whole week off. No, the Winter break would not be the best time for a wedding. It would be a great time for your honeymoon, however,” she said as she winked at me.

“I think the best time for a wedding might be Thanksgiving. Am I right? Most people are getting together with their families for Thanksgiving anyway, but their plans are usually flexible. Given enough money, it would be a simple matter to divert entire families to Iowa, where gay marriage just happens to be legal.”

“I’m glad you see it the way I do, Jenny,” my mother said as she grabbed Brian’s mother’s arm. “It really is the perfect time for a wedding, and I know just the man to officiate, too. He’s a family friend who has absolutely no problem with marrying two men. A Lutheran minister . . . I hope you don’t mind, but we can discuss all the details at dinner. We really need to get going . . .”

It was really scary, the way my mother and Brian’s mother hit it off so well, but they acted like old friends from the moment they were introduced to each other. Perhaps it was because of all the years Brian’s mom had spent as a faculty member at the University of Chicago, dealing with rich snobs, but they genuinely seemed to like each other.

Dinner was a very enjoyable affair after all. The food of course was superb as I expected it to be, but it was actually fun planning our wedding. At first, Mom thought it might be nice to hold the ceremony and reception on an authentic Mississippi riverboat, but that could have been problematic for two major reasons. For one thing, the way the river has shifted course over the centuries, the state line actually meanders quite a bit relative to the channel, and one could never be sure of it’s precise location without paying close attention to the charts. Unless we dropped anchor, we couldn’t guarantee we’d be in Iowa and not Illinois when we took our vows. Secondly, the weather can be quite treacherous that time of year, and the last thing we needed was to be caught on the river in the midst of a blizzard.

We decided that we’d hold the wedding and reception at our ancestral home in Burlington, Iowa, a quaint town on the banks of the Mississippi. With that decided, we got down to planning the specifics of how big the wedding would be and whom to invite as guests. It was a tough choice, but I decided that Jeremy Kimball would be my best man. Jeremy was like a twin brother to me. Truthfully, however, all three of the other boys I’d met over the summer - David Reynolds, Trevor Austin and Kurt DeWitt - had played equally important roles in redefining who I was today, but in different ways. I’d have to find some way to work each of them into the wedding ceremony in a meaningful way.

At one point, Brian and my father got up at the same time to go to the restroom, and when they returned, they were both laughing hysterically. When I asked Brian what was so funny, he explained that he was still wearing the same pants that he had worn to the airport - the pants with the broken zipper that had to be repaired with safety pins. In going to the restroom with my father, Brian accidentally stabbed his thumb with one of the safety pins, causing him to bleed all over the place. When my dad asked what was going on, Brian ended up confessing to what had happened earlier in the day. They both ended up getting a good laugh out of it, and it had turned into a father/son-in-law bonding moment.

When 10:00 rolled around and the club scene started showing up as a hard-hitting mix of current top forty and 80’s rock started to pump its way through the place, I noticed that both sets of parents were starting to sway to the beat of the music. What the fuck?

When the Bee Gees’ More Than a Woman played, Dad led Mom to the back, to the Dance Club, and Danny did the same with Jenny. Sitting there in the restaurant with Brian, I was left dumbfounded.

“Don’t look so shocked, Will,” my boyfriend said. “This music was all the rage when our parents were dating back in their college days.”

“Of course I know that,” I agreed. “On an intellectual level, it makes perfect sense, but somehow, I just never pictured my parents being into the disco scene. The thought of them ‘clubbing’ is just too much.”

“So what do you say we join them?” Brian asked.

“What? Are you crazy?” I shouted above the music.

“You’re too uptight, Will,” Brian said as he practically dragged me out of my chair. “We just got formally engaged. We’re getting married. We have reason to celebrate! Do you think anyone here cares that we’re gay? We’re not the only ones, you know.” My eyes practically bugged out when he said that, but a quick scan of the restaurant, much to my surprise, told me he was right. And there were even more like us in back. . . .

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