Page 77 of All Bets are Off

“Thank you. It was nice of you to fly here to see me.”

We talk for a few minutes as the last of the people leave, West escorting them out.

“So, uh, I’m guessing that kiss I saw wasn’t part of a bet,” Ivan says when we’re alone.

I shake my head. “I should have just told you, but I was caught off guard.”

“No business but your own,” Ivan says. He pats both my arm. When West returns, I suggest we catch a late dinner at a local restaurant.

“Were you guys together all along?” Ivan asks us after we’re seated and served.

“No. It’s a more recent thing,” West says.

“That’s crazy.” Ivan shakes his head. “Sorry, not crazy, but just…I don’t know. Different. Unexpected. I never would have thought, you know?”

I chuckle. “Neither would we.”

“I guess you want to keep this on the down-low,” Ivan says, cutting up his chicken.

I glance at West, and something passes between us. “No, we’re fine with everyone knowing,” I say.

Ivan looks up, surprised. “You sure? Some of the guys might not be as okay with it as I am.”

“We’re sure,” West says. “If they aren’t okay with it, they can stay away.”

“We have our support family. Glad you’re one of them,” I add. “Oh, by the way, did your brother leave his wife?”

Ivan takes a long drink of his beer before answering. “No. That’s the last time I try to do him a favor. Can you believe he’s mad at me about it?”

I can believe it. No one appreciates being given that type of news. We change the subject, and the rest of the meal is filled with laughter and reminiscing.

****

Two weeks after my mother’s death, we hold a memorial service in Atlanta, where most of Mom’s friends live. I’ve always hated funerals, but for the first time I realize how cathartic they can be. Maybe it’s because my mother had a long illness and everyone had time to prepare for her death, but the service and reception afterward is somewhat of a release. West stays by my side, and I noticed a few people watching us as though trying to figure something out. I’m too wrapped up in talking to people to pay much attention, though.

A young woman with piercings and a green mohawk approaches us. She looks familiar, but I can’t recall where I’ve seen her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“You came to Thanksgiving dinner at Gloria’s,” West says, and suddenly I remember. She was from the LGBTQ center where my mother volunteered.

The girl nods. “Stella,” she says. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother was so kind to me. Not just that Thanksgiving, but all the time. I was really sad to hear about her illness. It isn’t fair.”

There’s not really anything to say to that, so I go with, “Mom really loved volunteering at the center.”

Stella smiles. I remember her as coming off a bit tougher at Thanksgiving. She seems to have softened a little around the edges since then.

“Gloria inspired me to be a better person. I’ve moved out and have a good job. Now I volunteer at the center.”

“That’s great,” West says.

“Are you two…” Stella swishes her finger between me and West. “Sorry, but I just get a feeling.”

West puts his arm around me. “Your feeling is right.”

“That’s not why Mom volunteered,” I feel the need to say. “She actually didn’t know about us. We hadn’t figured it out back then.”

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