A few of the regulars are perched on stools at the counter. We are seated at our usual booth in the corner. The traffic whizzes by up Sixth Avenue; taxis like schools of fish jockey for space.
Daisy, the sixty year old waitress poured a round of steaming coffee. Her face looked like the Sahara. She’d been through an awful lot through the years, had a heart of gold. We ate at the Moondance Diner every Sunday. I loved their corn beef hash and Jack always got the same omelet: the Denver without grilled onions.
“I can’t do it,” I said.
My partner, Jack, sat opposite. His new haircut made his cowlick stick straight up. “So, that’s it then?”
“I can’t get the time off from work,” I said. “You know the fall is our busiest season.”
“But this is a huge event, Ronny. We’ve known these two for how many years?”
We’d all met at the University of Utah. Yeah, good Mormon boys, freshly home from that all-important mission. Nick was my boyfriend first, we’d been assigned the same dorm. Within a month, he’d met Stu. It hurt then, but Jack was a better fit for me.
Now Nick and Stu were getting married on the steps of the Salt Lake City downtown temple. The one that looks like Disneyworld on acid. It would be a huge media event, with gay marriage hanging in the lurch in nearly forty other states in America.
“Why don’t they just go to Cancun and we can all fly there?” I asked Jack. I fidgeted, crossed my feet under the table. Uncrossed them.
“Cancun? You have enough time in your work schedule to fly to Mexico, but not Salt Lake?” Jack squinted his eyes and I knew he was onto me.
Truth be told, I could take a Friday off for a three day weekend. But what might be the consequences if my parents saw me on television?