I Kind of Want to Get Married (cgw - Chapter 1)

Establishing shots of two men in the city going about their day: a montage cut scene. In the background, Come On Over, Baby (All I Want Is You) - Radio Edit by Christina Aguilera matches the upbeat energy, and dooms this to be a dreaded Millennial Story. 

One man, a doctor, who despite being movie-star handsome, looks exhausted and/or overworked, which is clearly an attempt to make him seem like a regular joe, but he’s totally a famous movie star. The other guy works in some kind of advertising company or whatever doing office work and the such like.

Title Card: Cute Gay Wedding in large block letters, warm and grainy like from a VHS tape: so a Millennial Story, confirmed.

***

Don't let their ideas about how the world works, get in the way of your experience of it.

It’s a thought I’ve been returning to lately, like someone put a signpost in my head or something. Don’t let them tell you how to live your life.

I’m not an impulsive person because impulsiveness is so brutally punished nowadays. But… sometimes… sometimes I get an itch for something I can't quite explain and it's suddenly like I'm following a script, a script so old it might as well be a myth. And just as inescapable.

“I kind of want to get married,” I said to my boyfriend of exactly three weeks.

And that’s why I’ve been solo for so long—because I just blurt out whatever random thing pops into my head. 

Eddie took it in stride, not even looking up from his phone. “Eh?” He knows I can have diarrhea of the mouth. It’s only been three weeks and he already knows. He’s also pretty exhausted from his rounds so his reaction time was a little slow.

“Just like, you know, before they take it away.”

“They aren’t going to take away gay marriage.” He glanced at me, then went back to his phone. His slightly disheveled mousy hair meant he was really checked out for the evening. He prided himself on being put together, even when it was just the two of us. Maybe especially when it’s just the two of us?

We were sitting on the couch in his house watching The Office reruns. I was too stressed to enjoy it, or look at my phone. Or do anything productive. His couch was a little too bachelor-pad functional to really sink into.

I'd been scrolling all afternoon and needed to vent.

“I didn’t think they would either, but I read the transcripts of the arguments before the Supreme Court today—” Okay, so I read summaries from some really smart Court Watchers who do this sort of thing for a living. “—and it seems like there are four votes to overturn it just based on the questioning, and two Justices are up in the air.”

“So you have a crystal ball?”

“No, I read the opinion-havers, and there seems to be uncertainty about how Barrett and the Chief Justice will vote. If Barrett goes against, the Chief Justice will follow and make it 6–3 and an overturning.” Like seemingly every earth-shattering diktat.

He set down his phone. “So you want to get married?”

I shrugged. “It would be nice. I’d like to be married once. I kind of always thought it would happen eventually, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He looked at me kind of funny, grey-blue eyes weighed down. “So is this your way of proposing to me?”

I blushed hard. “No.” I should be laughing. “Not unless you want it to be…” Did he want it to be? That was supposed to be a joke. Why didn’t it sound like a joke?

He grinned. “You need to relax. A joke is just a joke. Do we need to go for a walk?”

That was our code for putting down our phones and doing something, anything, to not think about world events for a while.  Being with Eddie was nice for that reason: he got stressed out too, and we dealt with it together. We went rock climbing our first week of dating and it was so good that I kept coming back for more of the boyfriend experience.

He’s good at it. Being a boyfriend.

I'm not.

“I think we really just need to talk. This feels real in a way the other stuff didn’t. Like it all—” I rolled my hands in front of my body. “—affects us in a general way, but this is a big one. If they take this away…”

“They won’t take it away!” He gripped my knee. “They can’t.”

They obviously could. 

They’d call it free speech. Hateful people shouldn’t have to say the words ‘I now pronounce you husband and husband’ so now no one can. The government must not force me to say those words! That’s how they’ve turned over so many other civil liberties recently—as a perversion of free speech. By decree.

And if it was overturned, the state Constitution meant we'd have zero legal protections or recognition.

There was no use arguing about that.

“It’s not a reason for you to worry about getting married—”

“We live in a state where it is constitutionally illegal to get married, or have a union, or even live together!”

“Ah,” he scoffed. “They’re going to come to our apartment and, do what exactly? We’ll be able to live with—”

Did he even hear himself? Skipping over the first indignities to defend the bare minimum? Saying just because something was made illegal, that there was no way for them to enforce it!

“Domestic partnerships. It says we can’t even have a domestic partnership, whatever that means. Like if we’re together forever and one of us gets sick, it’ll be like the nineties again.”

“You weren’t even alive in the nineties.”

“Yes I was.”

“Barely.”

“And you were a kid.” He was ten years older than me. Maybe more, I wasn’t sure. I'd been with guys older than him before. All of them better looking or with more money, or that one with a perfect personality. But then I settled down into my job and that part of my twenties was over. The pandemic kind of made sure of that, although I did rebound pretty hard when things opened up after that God-awful year.

He shouldn’t remind me of the age-gap. It led me to wonder why I was with him in the first place. He was comfortable, I guess. Safe. The age-gap had never been a thing before, before it was in front of me like this: being married to an older man. I hadn’t ever even thought of his age, just him. Guess I thought… I don’t know, that I’d marry someone younger? That I'd be the established one? The one with more money. This had to be some kind of hetero-normative something-something coloring my thoughts. And I'm not that.

“I know enough about history. AIDS and all that.” Boy, did that make me sound like a brat.

“I'm not that old,” Eddie said with a laugh. “I was a kid in the nineties. I didn’t know I was gay until way after college.”

“What?” I never believed those people existed. How couldn’t you know? How could I not have known Eddie was one of those guys?

“During college I dated women.” He shrugged. “It felt normal. It was all I knew.”

“How couldn’t you know you were attracted to guys? I knew, like, in middle school. We had this dreamboat of a phys ed teacher.” I pulled out my phone, a little too eager to see if my memory aligned with reality. Eddie kept talking about dating women.

Oh, he wasn’t good looking at all. Like at all! Mr. Schmidt. How did baby Kurt ever think that guy was dreamy?

“—and I always believed sex was for after marriage.” He paused. “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You get some bad news? About the Supreme Court?

What is he talking about? “What?”

“The Supreme Court. Is it worse than you thought?”

Oh. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“What are you reading then?” He looked over my shoulder and I flinched, turning my screen away. That’s the kiss of death, isn’t it. Made me look guilty.

“Who is that?”

“Nobody.”

“An ex?”

Ew. “No.”

“Someone I should be worried about? Your future hubby?”

“Ew! What?”

“You were the one talking about getting married.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is—” I hesitated. “It’s my old gym teacher. I thought he was a total hottie, but look at him.”

“He is a hottie.”

“Oh God, he is not.” Don’t be gross. “I always thought he was so much older.”

“He’s probably younger in that picture than you are right now.”

I tossed my head back and grunted. Eddie liked getting these involuntary reactions out of me. It was a sport to him.

He laughed. “It’s true!” He laughed again. “A bit young for a mid-life crisis!”

“Stop laughing.” I smiled. He liked to laugh, and he liked to make me laugh. It was sweet. He had a good sense of humor, if at times a bit off color. The first few dates he’d kept it under wraps. I don’t know how, because now he’s always inserting commentary into every conversation like a stand-up comedian.

He kissed me on the cheek, like a gentleman. Then I moved it to the mouth, like a slut.

He’d also improved on his kissing technique over the past few weeks. I'll give him an A for effort on that one.

“So he’s not your future hubby.”

“No. Please don’t be gross. He’s probably in his forties now.”

“Age is just a number.”

Was Eddie over forty? I'd never asked and it felt rude to bring up. Especially, um, now… with me and my big mouth. I know there was a greater than ten year difference between us. Probably. It’s weird that I didn’t notice it at all until I wondered what his age actually was. I hope he’s not in his forties. That’s kind of a psychologically big number. That would be thirteen years between us, or greater. Is that so much different than ten?

“You sure we don’t need a walk?”

“I'm good.” He was stressed from work. He’d said something about that at dinner, but I’d already forgotten. He was always stressed. So was I.

Eddie didn’t get out much. If I’m being honest, I think that’s one of the reasons he likes being in a relationship. It got him out of his patterns.

Guess it got me out of mine, too. Funny how you just chug along on your tracks and settle into your life, then someone comes along and suddenly things are open for negotiation. New things are possible all over the place. Even marriage, apparently.

He’s a dependable guy.

“Do you need to take a walk?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You just don’t seem like yourself tonight. We’ll have to do something tomorrow. Something exciting.”

Exciting for Eddie was like a four on a scale of ten.

“Sure.” I paused. “I did date a guy for over a year once.”

“What?”

I was staring into the middle distance, not really even aware of Eddie for a minute. “Just a guy I dated. He was a pretty big jerk.” I shrugged.

“Why would you bring that up?” He was suddenly offended, his tone sharp.

I came back to myself a bit. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just…” There was no excuse.

“Were you thinking of marrying him?”

“What?” Not at the time.

“Right now. Were you thinking of looking him up and getting married?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was exactly correct.

“You can’t even lie.”

“I wasn’t thinking of him that way.” I totally was. For one moment.

He clearly wasn’t believing me. “You looked up your old gym teacher on a random thought. You’re clearly preoccupied with this Supreme Court stuff. I guess I’m not good enough for you. And—”

“I never said that!”

“If you’re thinking of marrying some other guy while dating me—”

“Stop.” I started laughing. This had to be a bit. He could pull off this serious side, so he could be legitimately pissed off right now, but after a few weeks… I don’t know… I could kind of tell that this was a bit.

“You want me to be a cuckold!”

“Oh God.” Okay, this was definitely a bit. Right? “I don’t want you to be a cuckold. We are exclusive.”

He broke character for a moment. “Are we?” He stared straight into my soul. Like all the other faux-anger and stress and everything meant nothing. This was the question that mattered.

“Yes. Absolutely.” I was happy it was true. There was a guy I met last week: cute. Real cute. Great face, great body. The chemistry was there. And that’s all it was, a little flirtatious energy. I was still exclusive with Eddie. And I don’t think I could have gotten away with a half-truth on that one.

He settled, somehow. I think he was surprised? Or happy? He went back into character.

“I still don’t like being treated like a body to keep your bed warm at night. A fucking bedwarmer.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said with a lazy smile.

“You shouldn’t be shopping for new boyfriends, at least not right in front of me. It’s like you’re asking for my consent.”

“Can you please drop this bit.”

“It’s not a bit.”

“You know that’s not what I'm doing.”

“So you weren’t dreaming up how you and your ex could get back together and get married, like on a fast track?”

“No.” It was a moment of weakness!

“So much for exclusive,” he muttered.

“Hey! I was serious about that!”

“Haha!” he yelled instantly. “Serious about exclusive… in comparison to WHAT?!”

Come on, man. Why are you so competitive.

“In comparison to what!”

I sighed.

“Kurt.” He waited. “Kurt… Kurt. Earth to Kurt.”

Nothing about this was fun anymore. In fact, it was like pulling teeth.

“In comparison to what, Kurt?”

“Will you let this go?”

“Never.”

I think he was absolutely honest about that, gotta admire his stubbornness. “Fine. I did imagine—for a second—my ex and me getting married. But then I remembered how he’s a jerk.”

“And that you’re dating me,” Eddie prompted.

Of course. “That too.” Was that too snarky?

“So I’m just in the chair when the music stopped playing?”

“I mean, I guess I never thought of it that way.” I started smiling.

“Wonderful. So romantic. I’m overwhelmed.”

I laughed. “It’s not about romance. It’d be—it would be—a marriage of convenience. We come to an arrangement, we get married for however long that lasts, and then I can say I was married for once in my life before they took it away.” This was getting silly, I was feeling slap-happy.

“You’re serious? And I get what out of this arrangement, exactly?”

Wait, was he serious. The bubble popped.

“I don’t know. Only if you’re serious. I mean, I did kind of picture myself married, like when I’m older. Maybe not now.” I'm still in my twenties. Eddie is in his thirties… I think. I don’t think he’s forty yet. That’s the perfect time for marriage… for him.

“Mhm.”

“I thought we were being funny…”

“I was. I like seeing you laugh. You have a beautiful smile.”

“Thanks.” This was throwing me off my guard. I think he wanted to kiss me, or maybe I wanted to be kissed. But we were kidding, right? And having a playful fight. We hadn’t argued about a thing, that’s how new our relationship was. There were things that annoyed me about him, so it’s not like I was seeing him through rose-colored glasses.

We went back to watching TV on his uncomfortable, fashionable couch. It felt weird. I lasted about thirty more minutes before it was time to bolt.

He followed me to the door. “You don't have to leave.”

“I killed the vibe,” I explained. “It feels awkward now.”

“Right. It's not awkward for me.” 

No, because he wanted to get laid by a guy in his twenties. Why is the age thing bothering me!

“Does this mean I'm not going to see you again? Now that you're too embarrassed to show your face?”

“It's not that. I'm not embarrassed.” It was exactly that.

“Were you serious about wanting to get married?”

“I don't know,” I whispered honestly. Something about his goofy nature was disarming, like I could tell him just about anything and we’d find a way to see the bright side. To laugh at the absurdity. “Maybe before they take it away. Before they start debating whether or not I'm even allowed.”

“I think I could do that,” he said with a shrug, like it was nothing, like we were talking about the weather.

“Yeah. You would just… marry me?” We’re still kidding. Definitely.

“I would. But so we're clear, this is pure convenience. We don't fall in love. When I fall, I fall hard.” He looked at me skeptically. “I'm serious about that. Just a piece of paper. Just checking a box. I don’t want to fall hard.”

Not again, he seemed to be implying.

“No need to worry about that,” I assured him breezily without thinking through the implications. “I mean...”

“What, you think you're too good for me?”

Great! I activated his competitive streak. Again. If we get married, this is going to be my life, isn't it? “That's not what I meant.” I hated his competitive streak. I'd known him three weeks and it already annoyed me.

“I think that's exactly what you meant.”

I exhaled and closed my eyes. Okay, in my imagination when I had this perfect marriage, it wouldn't be to someone so vanilla. Eddie is not a very exciting guy, but he's dependable and tries hard. And that's worth something, but not like I can say that to him.

“Well, good. So we both know where we stand,” I said. 

“We'll be spending time together. We're doing this to tick off a box on our bucket list. I don't know about you, but this is kind of a deep conversation to have so early in a relationship. I've been in a few deep relationships and was almost married once. With a man, by the way, since we’re so worried about coming out as gay later in life—”

“I'm not worried about that at all! I didn’t mean to offend you.” I knew he was into dudes. It’s pretty obvious.

“—So if we go through with this, I don't have to worry about wondering if we're going to make it or not. Because we’re not worried about the bigger picture. It’s just for now. I think that's a good place to be.”

“Yeah? Till boredom do we part?”

“I think so. We come with an expiration date. And we know going in. We’ll deal with it when it comes and then go our separate ways. No problem.”

“No problemo,” I echoed. “As if you aren't already in love with me.”

He chuckled like I said something childish. “You're a bit too full of yourself for my taste, since we're being so brutally honest. But I always imagined myself as being married, too. But always when I'm a little older.”

I gave him a half-smile because he deserved it for that callback. “Shake on it?” I asked.

He took my hand and we shook.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said, turning towards the door.

“See you,” he said, faltering for the next word. “Fiancé, I guess.”

I turned back to him. “Fiancé, I guess.”

We shared a smile, and maybe I did get in the mood a little bit because I stepped towards him as the silence lengthened, and gazed into his grey-blue eyes that were deepened by the shadows. Provocatively? Can I seduce him with my eyes? He has beautiful eyes. In the daylight you could see a little golden starburst around the iris, like a sunflower against a blue grey sky. Not so much in the incandescent light, but I knew it was there. I always wished I had blue eyes. 

Maybe it was too much eye contact. My friends called me a tease. He stared at me, completely tongue-tied.

It was cute.

He was totally in love with me.

What had he been complaining about at dinner? Having a long day in the hospital, and feeling super frustrated? I took a step towards him, leaned about ten percent in his direction, and paused. The tension filled, and I lifted a hand to gently stroke his chest over his dress shirt. “So you had a rough day,” I teased, my hands hovering over his body, touching briefly, like butterflies. “All this pent-up frustration.” I had coyly turned my eyes downward to watch my hands, then flipped them up at him, piercing him with my dark gaze. “Sounds like something a fiancé should help with?”

He stared, breathing hard. We stayed like that, motionless, for a moment. Then I leaned forward and applied pressure to his chest, drawing his face towards me with my gaze and my excitement, but pushing against him with my hands.

He swallowed hard. I totally had him.

They did call me a tease back in college. And high school. And at my job. I'm a flirt. So what? I'm open to new things, to new people. To all people. To being alive. I like expressing myself when someone makes me happy.

I think it makes me easy to please, and eager to be pleased. And eager to return the favor.

Eddie might be vanilla, but he could definitely do that.

Contents