Page 21 of Single-Minded
J.D. nods to Michael, who ignores my death stare and awkwardly taps away at the screen of his phone.
Suddenly, the music changes, and the room is filled with a vaguely familiar, bouncy pop song, heavy on the synth, low in originality. Which is when J.D. inexplicably jumps into the center of my living room, and starts breaking out the dance moves. And not just anI’m suddenly so inspired by the music and can’t stop my body from movingtype of dance. No, it’s a full-on, choreographed elbow-shuffling, lasso-thrusting, running-man, boy-band bonanza.
And then, absurdly, J.D. is singing. Darcy, always the quickest person in the room, snorts with laughter, and everyone is suddenly fixed on whatever J.D. is doing in the middle of my seagrass rug.
What is he…? Oh gawd, I recognize the song…
“Can you believe it? J.D. was in BOYS4U. Remember how much you loved them?” gushes Michael. He holds up his palm for a high-five. “Soul mate!”
“Oh my God,” I say.
J.D. is pointing at me from across the room, as though he’s singing specifically to me. I’m completely mortified.
“Youloved BOYS4U,” I hiss at Michael. “Not me.You! And we were, like, eleven.”
And suddenly J.D. isrightnext to me, singing soulfully while looking intensely into my eyes. Just like they used to do it in the music videos, in front of thousands of screaming, weeping, preteen fans. I want to blink so bad it practically hurts, if only to escape his unyielding gaze for a millisecond. He is unbearably close, his broccoli-scented breath steaming my face.
Girl, he didn’t treat u right
But I’ll be right here
Lovin’ on u all night
I won’t let him hurt u no more
I’m your nirvana
Out on the dance floor
Breakitdown…
I feel my skin turning twenty-six shades of crimson, and gulping down my champagne does nothing to extinguish the burn. J.D. mercifully scoots back, moonwalking-style, to the center of the room, for another exhibition of cheesy dance moves to the perky, up-tempo chorus. Now he’s thrusting, which was, you know, playfully risquéwhen synchronized with a group of four other twenty-something guys. But all alone in the middle of my living room, it’s just unbelievably creepy.
“Isn’t he great?” whispers Michael. “You owe me big-time, baby.”
“You are out of your freaking mind,” I say. J.D. begins a sort of frenzied finale, shaking his hips wildly and throwing his arms up in the air. Darcy and Sam are snickering in the corner, but the rest of the party has begun to clap in time to the music. They have no idea that an over-the-hill boy-bander isn’t just part of the standard gay divorce party entertainment package, but an ill-conceived fix-up by my now ex-husband.
After what seems like forever, the music ends, and J.D. takes a bow, and then another, and another, even though the clapping has stopped. He heads toward where I’m standing with my mouth gaping open.
“Get rid of him,” I say under my breath. Michael seems genuinely surprised.
“I was singing just to you,” says J.D.
“That was so, um… special,” I say. “Thank you for that.” Darcy swoops in to save the day.
“Hey, Alex, you’d better come quick. I think one of the drag queens got a pashmina stuck in the garbage disposal,” she interjects. Best. Friend. Ever.
“Oh, gosh…,” I say. “I’d better go take care of that. Please excuse me.” Sam trails behind Darcy and me, and we can barely contain our giggles as we make our escape to the kitchen.
“I’m your nirvana.Out on the dance floor,”Sam sings cornily. “Very catchy.”
“Ha ha. So funny,” I say.
And that’s how it goes. A couple of hours into the party, Michael raises his glass for a toast—he grabs my hand, and I try to force a more genuine smile.
“Although most of you already know this, Alex and I wanted to formally announce that we’ve ended our marriage today. We still love each other, we’re still best friends, but it turns out, I’m gay.”
The crowd laughs supportively, and I think about how we’d announced our engagement to most of this same group of friends. I never thought we’d end this way. I never thought we’d end at all. Feeling tears form in my eyes, I force myself to smile a little wider and think about Voldemort, in the way that guys think about baseball or puppies when they’re trying to distract themselves. Something about that ghastly, snake-like face, hard eyes, bald head, and the fashion show of scary robes keeps me from breaking down when I’m about to lose it. It’s weird, but it works.
