Page 8 of Two Friends in Marriage
They’re surprised by the news of our relationship and impending marriage.Except for Lana, who says she always knew there was something between us.
Evan and I have a laugh about that afterward.
I feel like a proper adult, now that I’m planning a wedding and preparing to look for a house.It’s silly, of course—I’ve been an adult for a long time, and nobody needs to get married and own property to be an adult.But still.
One Saturday in late January, Evan picks me up at Finch Station—I don’t have a car—and drives me to his parents’ house.In my lap, I clutch a tin of cookies that Evan said would be an appropriate gift.
“Are you nervous?”he asks.
I nod, and when we’re at a stoplight, he reaches over and touches my knee.
We’ve been touching each other more lately—in a nonsexual way—and it’s nice.I used to be rather touch starved.Not that I would have admitted it out loud, but I was.
“Have you ever met a partner’s family before?”he asks.
“Yes, though the first time, it didn’t go well.His parents asked me some weird questions because I’m Asian.”
“Right.I remember that now.”
“The other time…they were lovely.”
That’s why I stayed in the relationship a little longer than I should have.The pain of losing a family that accepted me so easily?It was worse than the pain of losing someone whose vision for the future was clearly incompatible with mine.
“I hope you think mine are lovely, too,” he says, and that’s when I realize he’s nervous about whatIthink of them.“I’m sure they’ll like you, though.They liked you when they met you for Thanksgiving—”
“It’s different when I’m a friend versus a fiancée.”
“True.But remember, I’ve brought a bunch of people home to meet my family before.I know how they react to these things.”
“I bet I’ll like them,” I assure him.
Because from what I know of them, I already do.
When I met Evan, back when we were teenagers, he was the first Asian person I knew who was out.I’d assumed that was just at school, but it soon became clear that his parents also knew, and they were fine with it.And the Thanksgiving that I attended, all those years ago, was pleasant.
Though Evan has tried to reassure me, I’m glad he didn’t simply tell menotto be nervous.I’d find that decidedly unhelpful.
“The only thing that concerns me,” he says, “is that they’re still unsure what to make of the quick engagement.So just, um, try to act like we’re in love.”
“Right.”
Evan parks on the street, and we walk up to the house.After ringing the doorbell, he reaches for my gloved hand and squeezes it; my other hand grips the cookie tin.
Evan’s father answers, his hair much whiter now.He greets his son with a hug, then hesitates.“Jane, yes?You look just as I remembered.Welcome.You should call me Howie.”
“It’s nice to meet you again,” I say, handing him the cookies.
Evan’s mother appears and says, “Ah, you shouldn’t have,” but she seems pleased.
After we take off our outdoor clothes, my fiancé ushers me to the living room, where one of his brothers and a woman are seated on the couch.On the coffee table, there’s a platter of cut-up fruit.
“My older brother, Max,” Evan says, “as you may remember, and his girlfriend, Kim.”His hand is on my back.“This is Jane.”
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Kim says.
“Thank you,” I reply.
Her gaze lowers.I think she’s trying to see if I have a ring to admire.
