A Thanksgiving Beard

   Dean and I have only been friends for about five years now, but he is definitely my closest friend. We met at work. He the successful experienced real estate agent, and I the new receptionist. We hit it off right away and would always make each other laugh in and out of the office. Oftentimes I would hear the other male agents mocking him for his flamboyant style, even coming close to blows one afternoon. Luckily, he came in the break room and guided me out to the lobby by my arm. “Now, Amber, don’t let those bitches get on your nerves. I’ve heard it all before and am totally over all of it. I sell way more of the high ends than they ever could, and they’re just jealous.” He flipped his head and laughed. “That, and they all want me, but know they couldn’t handle it!” We both giggled and I calmed down a bit. “They’re so… ignorant, it just drives me crazy to hear them carrying on like that!” “Oh, sweetie, I know. But you must embrace the duck.” “The what now?” I ask, quite puzzled. “The duck. You know, as in let their words roll off your back like water rolling off a duck’s back. You’ve never heard that one?” “No, Dean, can’t say I ever have. Not all of us grew up on a farm. It’s Friday, are y’all doing anything tonight?” He sighed and perched on the edge of my desk, examining his perfectly manicured nails. “No, Trevor and I are over. Said he wanted to try to work things out with his girlfriend. Coward,” he replied rolling his lovely hazel eyes. “Well, that sucks, I’m sorry. Wanna come over and have a girl’s night in? Pedis, margaritas, talk about boys. Maybe a Katherine Heigl movie or two? Sounds fun, no?” He sighs and jumps down. “Sounds fun, yes. But alas, dear Amber, I must respectfully decline. This weekend I’m devoting to deep cleaning the house. Would you like to lend a hand?” “Hmm, let me check my schedule…” I open an imaginary planner and mime turning the pages and running my fingers down the hourly blocks. “Looks like I’m free this weekend, and I can’t think of an excuse just now, so I guess… yes, I’d love to help. Let me run home after work to change and I’ll come over then.”

    Walking home that night, the more I thought about our conversation, the more confused I became. I’m not sure why he even needed help cleaning. His place is always immaculate, as he had a maid come in to clean every other day. Something was up, and as I racked my brain trying to think of some hints he might have dropped recently, I almost walked right past my apartment building. Luckily, my across-the-hall neighbor was going in as well and intercepted me. “Hello? Amber, dear? Are you alright?” I stopped and looked around, a little confused. “No… I… I mean, yes, I’m fine. Just lost in thought. Thank you, Mrs. Rosenberg.” “Well, must have been some thought. Come on up. You can help me carry in the rest of my groceries.” I picked up a couple of the bags and was taken aback at how heavy they were. “Geez, Mrs. R., you carried these all the way from Anderson’s? That’s like a mile away!” She shook her head and chuckled. “No, dear, I got a ride from that nice young Indian fellow, what’s his name? Taj or something?” She finally unlocks her door and we set the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Forget it, Mrs. R., Ranbir is far too young! And why didn’t he carry these up for you?” She started unloading the bags as she replied, “well he couldn’t, as his father was in the car with him. They were on their way to the optometrist’s. Such a good boy to take care of his father like that. Put that turkey in the fridge please. I cleared a space for it already on the bottom shelf.” I did as she asked, getting lost in thought again as she unpacked the rest of the food. Turkey? Sweet potatoes, carrots, green beans, gravy, stuffing… wait, what day is it? I looked up at the calendar and saw that Thanksgiving is next week. Already? I looked over at Mrs. Rosenberg and I realize that she had grown unusually quiet. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She patted my hand and smiled. “I asked if you were alright? Would you like some tea or water? Maybe something a bit stronger?” “Sorry... no... thank you. I should be going. I’m meeting Dean tonight and still need to change. Is that calendar right? Is Thanksgiving really next week?” She looked over to the wall and nodded. “It is indeed. If you don’t have plans, you know you are always welcome here. Taj… rather, Ranbir and his father are coming. Same with the couple next to me, the Kent’s, and of course their adorable baby. There will be plenty of food, so you won’t need to bring a thing.” “Uhm, yeah, I’ll think about it. Dean usually has a big party at his place, but maybe I’ll swing by here first. Thank you. I really ought to be get going, though.” I give her a brief hug and quickly leave. Back in my own apartment, I send Dean a text letting him know that I’m going to grab a nap and a shower before heading to his place.

    “Alright, Dean, spill it. Your place has never seen so much as a dust bunny, so why did you invite me over to clean?” I asked as soon as I closed his front door behind me. “Well, hello to you too, darling. Come in, sit, we’ll have wine and some lovely hors d’oeuvres from Gerard’s. Come, come,” he pulled my hand to the living room and gestured to sit. There was a plate of… well, I’m not sure what exactly, and two glasses already filled with wine. I sit and take a long sip of the wine. “Fruity, isn’t it?” Dean said, cracking up at his own joke. “Did you know that Thanksgiving is next week?” I ask, helping myself to a mushroom stuffed with… “It’s couscous, dear, calm down. You know, there is more to appetizers than wings and nachos. And yes, I am fully aware of the upcoming holiday. That is why I asked you here tonight.” He set down his wine glass, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “Every year, my married siblings host the rest of the family at their respective houses. This year, unfortunately, falls on me. I usually come up with a work-related excuse or some vague illness to get out of hosting, which as you know, goes against my very core. But this year, the siblings are demanding it be held here.” I shrug and grab another mushroom. “So, what’s the problem? You throw the best parties. If you’re worried about the others, don’t be, we can reschedule for Friday night. We’ve done it before. I bet you can even get Marcus to do a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, turkey and all the trimmings.” He leaned over and patted my hand. “You’re so naïve, Amber. Did you know that? It’s endearing, but at the same time a little exasperating. My family… my ultra-religious, ultra-conservative family doesn’t know I’m gay. I might just give my father a heart attack if he knew that his bouncing baby boy prefers the boys. I hid it well enough growing up and moved out the week after graduation to get away from them. I’m the middle child out of five kids so I pretty much got lost in the mix more often than not. I did bring home the occasional beard when they started getting too nosy; that’s when a straight person poses as the significant other, so we appear to be a heterosexual couple to hide the truth. And I’m hoping that you will fill that role for me next week. It’ll only be for Thursday and Friday. Then they’ll leave and we can go about our regular lives. What do you say? Will you be my pretend girlfriend for a weekend?” I pour some more wine and pretend to ponder the question for a moment. “Yeah, sure, what the hell? Parents love me, think I’m the “good girl,” or whatever. Still think that you ought to tell them, though. They might just surprise you.” “Yeah, right. There is one more teeny tiny detail that I should tell you before you say a definite yes. There is a ginormous mega-church about five miles from here, Holy Blood of the Slaughtered Lamb or something ridiculous like that. The family is insisting on going there first thing Thursday morning. I need you to be there as well to make sure I don’t like, burst into flames or whatever.” I’m not one for going to church but have a tremendously hard time saying no to Dean. “Only if I can come over Wednesday night and swim in the pool.”

    Church wasn’t as big a disaster as I was anticipating. Lots of singing, hand shaking, smiling and nodding politely. Afterwards, we had a small caravan heading back to Dean’s house. We spent most of Wednesday decorating it and getting the tables put together. I lost count of how many nieces and nephews he has, but we managed to put together a few card tables for them. Our catering friend Marcus had delivered a dinner worthy of a Norman Rockwell set up before we came back from church. As Dean stood, glasses raised for a toast, I went through the mental checklist. Decorations, check. Feast, check. Spare bedrooms ready, check. Pool cleaned, check. Literature, movies, Pride flag, and anything else that could be considered “gay” tucked away in the basement, check. What are we forgetting? I know there’s something… Then the doorbell rang. Dean and I locked eyes in a panic. We forgot to reschedule the party! Several of our friends sashayed in the house. “Happy Turkey Day, bitches! Let the drunken frivolities begin!”