Jennifer Johnson Is Sick of Being Married by Heather McElhatton Read Free Book Online

That’s what he said, a statement I found both bizarre and heartwarming. Imagine me as a queen.
    The Queen of Keller’s.
    I get ready quickly, throwing on my trusty black dress and my “no problem” black pumps, which I can walk a mile in and not get a blister. I know because I walked a mile in them once, when Christopher and I went to a club downtown and his car broke down on the way home. Christopher’s my best friend, my little gay bee who goes buzz-buzz-buzz all around me. He works at Keller’s Department Store, in visual display.
    He dresses the mannequins and does the store windows, and I’ll never understand why a bigger store hasn’t whisked him away yet. We’ve known each other since high school. Without him they would’ve found me hanging from the aluminum bleachers on the football field. The secret to surviving a religious high school or any war zone is to find your people. Even if it’s only one people.
    One is enough.
    I meet Christopher for lunch before the pep rally. He hasn’t seen me in weeks, not since the wedding, and the first thing he says to me isn’t “Hello” or “Welcome home” or “Gee, you look terrific!” It’s “Seriously, Jennifer? I thought we decided you weren’t wearing black anymore.”
    He hates it when I wear black, but I look good in black. Half my wardrobe is black. It’s the gold standard for girls with body issues. He says I’m just addicted to being boring.
    â€œSo I don’t understand,” he says. “Brad’s parents just gave you a house?”
    â€œYep! The house right next door. Hideous. Like a Ramada Inn crossed with a ski chalet.”
    â€œStill, it’s right on the water. Must’ve cost—”
    â€œThree point two million.” I nod.
    â€œHuh. A bargain! Still, how delightfully manipulative. So Disney evil queen. I love Mother Keller, she’s like a . . . Christian Cruella de Vil.”
    â€œIt’s true.” I shrug. “You’ve always loved evil queens. Ever since your first boyfriend.”
    â€œCome on,” he says. “You have to admit, it’s the perfect trap. It’s a gift you can’t refuse, it makes them look ultra-generous, and Mother Keller gets to keep her baby Brad tied nice and tight to her apron strings.”
    â€œChristopher, please stop calling him a baby.”
    â€œSorry! I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”
    I glumly sip my water.
    â€œSo how was the honeymoon?” he asks me, taking a bite of scampi. “Was it filled with condoms and horses galloping down the beach?”
    â€œNo. It was sponsored by a three-legged dog and Imodium A-D. I’m exhausted. The wedding was brutal, but the honeymoon was from hell.”
    â€œI’m not allowed to have a wedding.”
    â€œConsider yourself lucky.”
    â€œI consider myself discriminated against.”
    â€œWell, that too.”
    â€œStill, a girl can dream. The senate’s voting on the Family Equity Act soon.”
    â€œI forgot about that.”
    He sips his water. “I have our whole wedding completely planned out, just in case the bill passes. I want to be the first married gay bee in Minnesota.”
    â€œDoes Jeremy?”
    Christopher shrugs. “Jeremy doesn’t care what party he goes to, as long as there’s dancing.”
    â€œIt’s not a party . . . it’s a binding legal union.”
    â€œWith a party at the end. Besides, marriage was meant for gays. The pageantry! The drama! The dresses! Why do you straighties even care about who gets to have one?”
    â€œIt’s not that we want it, we just don’t want anyone else to have it. Are you registered?”
    â€œAt Williams-Sonoma, Ralph Lauren, and Discount Sex Barn.”
    â€œDidn’t you register at Keller’s?”
    â€œWhy? Do I want crappy wedding gifts?”
    â€œDon’t talk to