How I thought about the day when an invitation would finally come. It would be from my father's third cousin-once removed, who, though present at my christening, had been absent from my life since. Sorry, no can do, I'd write on my response card. I'm Gay, I don't attend weddings. And then, after having taken the moral high ground with a complete stranger I could forget about this political position of mine.
And then the day arrived when an invitation came--not from my hoped for stranger. But from one of my closest friends. I'll call her Davy, since that's her real name. Davy's not my oldest friend, but she was one of the first people that my partner, Marcus, and I met together. She was the first friend to be given the label "Our Friend". And now "Our Friend" was getting married.
"Maybe we should make an exception." Marcus said it, though I was thinking it as well. But there was no need to make an exception. Davy was aware of our stance before she even had a boyfriend. This was all going to be fine.
Except then suddenly it wasn't.
We kept suggesting that maybe we'd come. If not to the wedding, well... We briefly toyed with a let's-just-go-to-the-rehearsal-dinner loophole. We were wishy-washy and filled with doubts. Because, after all, what is the impact of a two person wedding boycott? And this person whose event we're boycotting is a beloved, she is not a third cousin (once removed).
And so we stalled. We stammered. We avoided. And then one night over dinner I just blurted out, "We're not coming." It was a horribly awkward moment, but Davy assured us she understood.
A week or so later, Marcus and I hosted a screening of our (she used to be just mine when I was single) friend, Jennifer Westfeldt's film Ira and Abby. In the film, the characters marry and divorce multiple times. After the movie was over, Davy asked me how I could be so supportive of a film about marriage. She was clearly hurt. I had no idea what to say. I worried our friendship would be irreparably damaged.
In the weeks that followed we had several talks. I tried to explain what I was trying to accomplish by not going. This was difficult, because I wasn't really sure what I wanted to accomplish. I just knew the ache I felt inside. My own longing to be wed. My desire for change.
The week of the wedding Davy said she was having a pre-wedding, pre-rehearsal, cocktail party. Davy was originally from LA and she was marrying a French man, so there were lots of out-of-towners in Manhattan. As a result she was hosting events all week long.
We decided to go for drinks. It wasn't the wedding. But it was a way to be supportive. When we arrived, Davy hugged me, we both got a little emotional. I knew everything was fine with us. I felt she was really okay with the choice we'd made. I didn't understand what had caused the shift. But I was relieved.
At the party, I chatted with a woman who I had come to know through Davy. As we parted to move on to other conversations she said, "See you Saturday."
"No. I won't be there."
She laughed. Slapped my arm, playfully. "Yeah, right. See you Saturday."
As we were about to leave, I saw a woman I did not know pushing her way through the crowd to speak to us. It was Davy's father's girlfriend we quickly learned--a television writer and producer from LA. She introduced herself and said, "I just want you to know that I totally support what you're doing We were all talking about this last night at dinner. My writing partner is gay. He's my dear friend. We bought burial plots together, that's how close we are..."
She said more lovely things, but I can't recall them because I kept thinking it's the first family dinner of the wedding week and every one is talking about two gay guys not going to the wedding. I imagined the various opinions--pro and con. And in an instant I knew I had made the right choice.
All this conversation took place. This debating. This anger. This understanding. All of this thought was happening about this subject, because I wasn't going. None of it would have happened if I'd just gone.
Later I learned from mutual friends who had been there, that the conversation continued at the reception. As more friends inquired as to our absence.
I believe those conversations are vital. And I believe they only happen when with all respect I very sadly send my regrets.
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