Chapter 80: Nobody Gets Out Alive

“She’s an interesting one, that MM. Like I said, I Googled her. Did you know that she’s the sole heiress to the Kinney Shoe fortune. Get it ‘sole heiress?’”

            I suppressed a groan. “How long have you been working on that one?

            “Since somewhere over Denver.”

            “Yes. I knew that. It’s one of the first things MM let you know when you met her back in the day. She didn’t lead with that in her phone call did she?”

            “Actually, she didn’t mention  it at all. Her selling point to get me to come was you.”

            “How do you mean?” I wasn’t following. I had enjoyed a martini and a glass of wine with my burger at the Boar’s Head Inn. It had been a long, emotionally-charged day.

            “Well, she explained about losing her daughter, her interest in furthering support for the LBGBT community.”

            “LGBTQ+ community.”

            “Right. And she explained she had several large corporate backers. What she needed was a board. She doesn’t want figureheads, you know. She was adamant about this. I guess you’ve figured that out. She wants live, walking, talking, role models.”           

“Yeah. Talk about feeling more and more like an imposter.” I stared at the ceiling, alternately mortified and intrigued at what I had agreed to.

            “Imposter? Oh, hell no,” John insisted. “Last time I checked you were red-blooded, all-American, 100% gay. And trust me, I’ve checked it all out. I know.” John laughed “C’mon, Drew. Can’t you just enjoy this one? It’s not just the gay thing, you know.”

            “Yeah? Well, it seems to be a consideration.”

            “Of course it does. LGBTQ+, remember? That and you’re an alumnus of the University.”

            “Seems like the cost of entry.”

            “You’re a therapist, for god’s sake. Part of the mission is building supports—psychological supports—for kids who need it. Don’t tell me you’re not really a therapist?”

            “Ok. Point made.”

            “You know what I think this is really about?” John sat on the bed beside me. “It’s about all that ‘normal’ baggage you’ve been carrying around since you got your first hard-on. Seriously. I’m no shrink, but isn’t there a lot of truth to all that, Drew. You dated women for what, ten, fifteen years? Coming out to yourself took another three or four.  When you finally told your parents, who didn’t—by the way—throw you out and disown you, you loosened up a little. Started to figure out who you wanted to be. Other kids, kids today, might benefit from your story, Drew.”

            “World’s latest bloomer.”

            “Yeah, but my late bloomer.”

            “Yes. Absolutely.”

            I slipped under the covers and found my place tucked under John’s right arm. “You still didn’t tell me how MM got you to agree to come, to the lunch I mean.”

            “It was simple. She wasn’t sure you’d come. But she talked with Jim Hale—the hunky guy you had a crush on—he is cute by the way.”

            I nudged John’s ribs. “Focus.”

            “Anyway, she felt like you might come after talking with Jim. She said she needed you.”

            It began to sink in. MM had been carrying her own version of herself all these years: the spoiled, scared, rich girl. She didn’t like it but she found it effective: she could either buy your friendship or bully it into being. Neither were sustainable or satisfactory over time. Losing her daughter almost destroyed what was left of her. Over time, she discovered that, in losing Tayloe, she found herself. And her reason for getting out of bed every morning.

I paused and settled, and slid my arm behind John’s neck.

“And the whole thing with MM and the mystery lunch? All the cloak and dagger shit? Did you know about all that?”

“I knew she had worked very hard to bring you all to the table. Put your therapy hat back on for just a moment. The woman was scared. You guys were here first choice. You each have the history, the background, you’ve wrestled with similar demons, you’re assertive, and you’re achievers. And she’s up against the clock on this thing.”

“Hell, we’re all getting up there. You’d think she’d want a younger board.”

“It’s not exactly that, Drew.”

“What do you mean?”

“She played one last card to get me here, although by that time, it wasn’t necessary. I had already decided to come. She really wants you on this board. She needs you, and the rest of you.”

John paused and put his arm around my shoulder. “She’s dying, Drew. ‘Garden variety uterine cancer’ she called it. They caught it too late, but they’ve apparently been able to slow it down.”

“I’m so sorry.” I fell back on the words I used when I had no words.

“She’s actually optimistic. She’s hoping for two years. Maybe two and a half. She’s getting treatment at the UVa Cancer Center, and they’re coordinating care with the Cleveland Clinic. For all she’s been through, she seems to be dealing with it pretty well. She joked about the hair loss, the chemo, and said she spends a lot of time every morning covering her blotchy skin and adjusting her various hairpieces. ‘My new normal’ she called it.”

“Normal.”

“What?” John said quietly.

“Normal. I fought so hard for it. I held out so long. And for what? In the end, ‘normal’ turns out to have all the same hideous features of ‘not normal.’”

I thought about Judith’s failed marriage. Christopher’s sobriety and Amelia’s years of disappointment. Mallory’s discovery of her husband’s secret life. Andrea’s emotionally barren marriage to Burt. Jim’s derailed future. MM’s grief.

I assumed that all these years they’d been living the lives I idolized.

            “Until I found you, it feels like I missed the boat.”

            “Yeah.” John pulled the covers tight. “Well, remember what Sydney J. Harris says.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Never take life too seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.”

            “You really are the last of the romantics.”

            “Yeah, but I’m your romantic.”

“Goodnight, John. I love you.”

“Me too.”