Author's Note: Aaaaand we're back! Sorry for the delay. College life is quite the adjustment. But I'd like to thank all of you for your continued support!

Happy reading :)

XXXXX

Dad knows how to keep a secret.

xXx

"I hate that we have to stay dressed for dinner. I look stupid in this."

"I don't think you look stupid. And before you say it, you don't look fat, either. You could…you'd never look…fat," I said, looking down when I said it. Why the hell did I say that? I'm so stupid. The girl was a string bean.

"How'd you know I'd say that?" Mary asked, and I peeked back up at her and her tiny frame. She sounded kinda amused.

"Cuz…I dunno, I guess that's just what girls say on TV?"

Mary laughed out loud and shoved my shoulder. Even though the whole family probably knew the deal by now, and even though I'd tried not to, I'd still found myself hanging out with Mary after church. Couldn't help it. "Is that where you learned all you know about girls?" she teased. "From television?"

I groaned. "That, and my dad," I said, smearing my hands down my face. "God, after he found out…he sat me down and gave me this whole talk like I didn't even know any of it…I mean, he keeps skin mags in his closet. You think I learned everything just from television?" Mary blushed. "Yeah. Exactly. But it was more than that."

She raised an eyebrow. "What else did he say?"

I shifted on the porch swing. We were sitting together, our knees almost touching, and our pinkies just barely so. No one else was even paying attention to us, our brothers and sisters playing with all the other kids. Mary and I, we're the oldest. "Well…" I drawled softly, "I mean, it wasn't exactly a sex talk, ya know? It was…it was the whole 'you live here, she lives hundreds of miles away…' that thing. He thinks we're bein' stupid."

Mary seemed to let that sink in, and I thought about it some more myself. I realize that finding us in the Sunday school room kissing probably wasn't the best sight to our dads, but it was the only private place, and I couldn't wait any longer. Hormones, and all that. As we were sitting there, I wanted to do it again, but thought better of it. Mary looked glum. "Yeah. My dad thinks we are, too."

"Well, at least we're bein' stupid together," I grumbled, but Mary still smiled and nudged her knee with mine.

"Are they right?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"I dunno. My mom hasn't really said anything about it. Has yours?"

"Not much," she said. "I don't…I don't think she really cares as much as they do. But our dads are right, ya know. About the distance thing."

I sighed miserably. "I know."

That was the worst part. They were right. We knew it. But what were we supposed to do about it? Live only for the brief periods in time that we saw each other? The next time wouldn't be until the summer, when they always came down to Tulsa for a couple weeks so we could all be together. And as the summers keep going by, we're going to get older and we're going to meet other people and eventually we'll go to college and maybe she won't always come back. Eventually, we'll just…grow up. I may only be in high school, but I've seen enough movies and TV shows to know how this is gonna end. I'm not stupid.

"So," she sighed.

"So."

"I guess we'll just…there's nothing to do about it, I guess."

"I guess. I mean, I'll still like you."

Mary smirked. "You don't know that."

"Sure I do."

But she was right - neither of us knew for sure. But when Aunt Evie called us in to eat, we let all the other kids run in first, and then I kissed her cheek, hoping she'd get the message.

xXx

Dad didn't laugh at me like my sisters had when I told him the truth. At least, not at first. I mean, Dad won't shy away from laughing in your face if you do something seriously humiliating, especially if you could have avoided the whole situation in the first place. Believe me, I've been on the receiving end of such treatment plenty of times, and I usually deserve it, but this time felt really different. Because getting married is a big life decision. Ya know? And I hadn't decided that I wanted to get married.

I had decided that I wanted to get a dog.

I think the universe is out to get me for something, and I think I know what for.

xXx

"Did you know that they turned ABBA's greatest hits into a musical?"

"Huh?"

"Didja?"

I sometimes think that Joan is a little too old to still be acting like a little kid. ("Didja? DIDJA?") Well, maybe not like a little kid, but where the hell does she get all this perk from? Lately, I've felt about as spry as a ninety-year-old man with a goddamn brain tumor, and probably definitely also an erectile dysfunction.

"It's called Mamma Mia," she went on.

"That's…cool, I guess."

"It's really cool," Martha tagged on. She was sitting across the table from us. Mom and Dad always sat opposite each other, so I guess Martha was on her own over there tonight.

Mom sometimes gets us all together – the five of us, just the five of us – for family dinner night. She had a wide repertoire of mostly southern classics, Tex-Mex, and Cajun dishes. The Moms wouldn't eat that shit when they got together, though. They turned their noses right up at it, and drank girly drinks and ate tiny, girly foods like…I don't know, cucumbers and cream cheese on bread or whatever. Dad would probably file for divorce if Mom tried that crap with him, but tonight was country fried steak and potatoes, so their marriage lived to survive another night.

Food is important, I'll tell ya.

"Who the hell asked for an ABBA musical?" Dad grumbled as he aggressively buttered a roll. "Especially when no one asked for them in the first place."

"Wow," Joan shook her head. "Imagine being so incredibly wrong. Daddy, you're so wrong about Mamma Mia, that I think it's going to affect your whole life from this point forward 'til ya die! You are missing out on somethin' spectacular! And for what? Monday Night Football? Why have meatloaf when you can have steak?"

Okay, that little speech was directed at me.

xXx

They say honesty is the best policy, ya know. I sometimes live by it.

xXx

Mom always says that letter writing is a lost art. I think that's why she and the other moms do it so often between each other, to keep that little bit of antiquity alive. Every little thing they send to each other has a letter included. I've never had the chance to read any of those letters, but I'm sure they're urbane and witty and probably signed with x's and o's. Unfortunately, I'm not so great with the written word. I can sometimes barely manage the spoken word, as you've probably figured out by now. I don't think it's exactly an issue of being stupid or anything – not to sound like I'm bragging – but I did make good grades in school. I'm just fucking awkward, okay? Which I've mostly learned how to live with, but now it's really fucked me over.

Anyways.

So I'm not a very good writer, but I tried to write everything down. Maybe it was a letter, maybe it was for my own records – like a bank statement or something, just so I could keep track – but I started this little project a few weeks before the wedding, and I'd sit at my kitchen table under the yellow dangling light and try to figure out what exactly I needed to do, and how the fuck I got here in the first place. (And yes, I know how, but I don't know how. So shut up.) The conclusion I came to was that I've been doomed since I was born, and that my parents are completely to blame, and I should probably sue them or something.

No, that's stupid. Also, mean because I love my parents and I can't blame them for anything except for the premarital sex they had that eventually resulted in my birth. And I'm probably the one who owes them money, so.

xXx

You're probably wondering about the phone call, aren't you?

xXx

It was after Valentine's Day.

So that means it was after I had already gotten engaged, but pretty early on – early enough that I was still actively looking for a way out. And I was the one who called her, not the other way around. It isn't like she had bad timing or something, no. No, I reached out to her. (Okay, but put the whole thing about me loving her aside: is it true what they say in When Harry Met Sally? Can men and women really not be friends? Are they always attracted to each other? But…but what about gay people?) I guess I have a death wish because if Melissa caught me talking to another woman, no matter how long we've known each other, she'd have a zillion questions, which in this case, she'd be right to have them. Would I have lied to her? If she had caught on, would I have answered her questions honestly? Hell, maybe I was trying to get caught. Then I'd have an out.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window. No snow today, just slush. I wasn't really expecting her to pick up, but I felt lighter the instant I heard her voice. Let me preface all this by saying that Mary Mathews has a fucking great voice. I could listen to this girl talk all day. She has the voice of a Hollywood starlet, all sultry smooth with a bit of a rasp. And it was New Yorker tough, even though she'd been raised in a nice Long Island neighborhood – so, to my ears it sounded tough. Maybe no-nonsense is a better way to describe it. Regardless, I don't know where the hell she got it from, but it was sexy.

"'Lo?"

That was enough for me. I smiled into the phone. "I know you ain't a smoker, so how in the hell does your voice sound like that?"

She'd gotten this question from me too many times before, and I could practically hear her roll her eyes on the other side of the country. "Getting over a cold?" She tried. I huffed a sarcastic laugh.

"Nice try, Lamar."

Phone calls with her were easy. I wasn't great on the phone. Mary apparently couldn't get off the phone when she was a kid. I'd heard Uncle Two-Bit complain plenty of times about how between her and Aunt Bee, their phone bill was through the roof. Though, if you ask me, he probably had as much to do with that as they did. But she would sarcastically ask me what I was wearing, and I would shoot back with, "Leopard print G-string and whipped cream on my tits, you?"

"Suspenders. Like Urkel. Cherry on top?"

"On top of the whipped cream on my tits?"

"Yes."

"And chocolate sauce."

She also had a great laugh. My lines weren't all that great, so I chalked her laughter up to it being late and her probably having a long day, but it was this boisterous cackle that just made me smile. She had the radio on in the background, and I could hear the deejay, him and I and her each other's company for the evening. How are people already nostalgic for the eighties? I could hear Dead Or Alive in the background ("You spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record baby, right round, round round…") and wondered why the fuck anyone would want to replay that. Then again, I'm not exactly sure you should listen to an Oklahoman's opinion on music. I ain't got no culture.

"So. I wanted to tell you something."

"Shoot."

The talk then turned serious as she told me about this senator son that was after her affections, and I felt my heart sink. I wanted to tell her about my sham of an engagement right then, but I didn't know how. I told her that I was sorta seeing someone because, well, I was hoping that I'd have the guts to give her the boot soon enough and that it wouldn't ever become a problem. I wondered what the fuck was stopping me from flying out there right that moment. And then I remembered my mother.

You're going to think I'm stupid for saying this, but I happen to believe that the universe gives us signs. Melissa's happiness, my mother's happiness, my hesitation, and now this senator-son yuppie after Mary made me feel as if this is what God and/or the universe had planned for me. I was supposed to suffer silently. I guess? Maybe "suffer" isn't the right word. Okay, try this: I think this was a test. (God, if my old man heard me talkin' like this, he'd kick my ass, and hell, I'd let him.) Que sera, sera, and all that good shit.

"…somethin's stopping us, Mare, and whatever it is…well, you know what they say. If it's s'posed to happen, it'll happen. Somehow."

"I want it to happen now."

I started crying. I did. Fucking started crying, right there. I bit my lip to keep myself from making any embarrassing sounds that would give me away, but dammit…just…goddammit! I am the stupidest sonuvabitch alive, no doubt about that. I kept stopping and starting, trying to stop myself from telling her the truth for whatever fucked up reason. "Mary." I sighed, once I'd gotten back some control of myself. All I knew to say was what I knew to be true. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes, Mary."

"I do, too."

I bit the inside of my cheek. God. We said goodbye and I stared out the window 'til the sun came up.

xXx

Yeah, you should all fucking hate me. That's…that's actually the correct reaction.

xXx

"You know they're all comin' down here next week. Lee, the wedding is next week."

"I know," I sighed, sounding like a whiny little bitch, and if there's anything my old man hates more than ABBA, it's whiny little bitches.

We were hiding in the closet after dinner, he and I, surrounded by old board games and decks of cards and the pull-string from the light was dangling between us. Dad has about an inch on me. I sometimes wonder if I could take him. I'm a lot younger, played football for longer, still worked out, but so did he, and there's something about him that tells me he could probably kick my ass – and should. "It really isn't too late," he said gently, more gently than he usually speaks. Dad is many things, but he is not gentle. I didn't run to him with scraped knees and first heartbreak; I mean, he saw my first concussion as a badge of honor. He was old-fashioned. Baby-boomers – they're somethin' else. "Lee, you can be honest with Melissa, you can be honest with your mother, and we can call this whole thing off."

"That would kill Mom," I muttered. "She'd never forgive me."

I could feel Dad's eyes boring holes into my head. "It might, but she would forgive you. She wants you to be happy, and she wants you to be with who makes you happy. I guess she's under the impression right now that person is…"

"Right," I sighed. "How the fuck did I let this happen?" I asked miserably.

"You shoulda just broken her heart when it happened. It woulda been embarrassing, but then you wouldn't be in this mess."

Fair point. I should've realized on that night, the moments in which this whole mess started, that what I was really doing was depriving both Melissa and I from ever actually being happy. I should've cleared the whole mess up at the restaurant and booked it to DC. I wish I had a time machine. (Although, it's become clear to me that in both situations, I don't end up with a dog.) "What do you think?" I asked. Dad rolled his eyes, exasperation his most common emotion.

"You know what I think!" He hissed.

"Right," I drawled. "Dad, what would…how would you feel if…"

"If you ended up with Mary?"

"…yeah."

Dad fought back a smile. "It's kinda a strange thought for me," he admitted. "But on the plus side - I'd like the in-laws."

xXx

Something came to me in a dream.

Not to sound all stupid and shit, like some medicine man or whatever, but it totally felt like a message from the universe, and it happened the night before the rest of the family came to town for the wedding. It started out as a memory, then it got all distorted. The memory part was from when we were kids, little kids. Our Mothers, prancing around in high-waisted cigarette pants with – yes – cigarettes in hand and singing along to the music they liked. I saw baby siblings on hips; a bandana rolled into a headband around Aunt Evie's head; Aunt Rose's perm; Aunt Bee's big sweater and black leggings – always a fashion chameleon – and then my own mother, with her big diamond earrings and pearls and the smile that never left her face. Our Moms were showmen, Vaudevillians, making up for our fathers' absence at our get-togethers by making spectacles of themselves.

"Like a tribe of gypsies," Evie had dramatically whispered, winking.

"'Gypsies' is already plural," Aunt Rose had said. "We're already a tribe." Aunt Evie stuck her tongue out at her.

Aunt Bee pressed a big, wet kiss to baby Lisa's face. "What do you call gypsy babies?" She asked, and she and Mom entered into a heated debate about the term, which is not a thing, there is no term for gypsy babies. That's the term – gypsy babies.

We were like a little tribe back then, though. Our Moms were moon goddesses, protectors, givers of life; our Fathers were – to us boys – mysterious and what we were aspiring to become. Our Fathers did not dance in the moonlight on the porch. They did not make us etouffee and giant pans of brownies for dessert. They did not treat their sons the same way they treated their daughters – they didn't kiss the tops of their sons' heads. They told us we were becoming good men.

Mary's in the dream. Of course she is. At first, I can only see the back of her curly head, blending in with the darkness of the sky, dancing with her mother and my sisters. We didn't care much for each other when we were kids. Boys and girls aren't friends when they're kids, it's like some universal law. Then she turns her head, and the scene changes, and it's no longer a memory but instead us in the here and now. Now it's just us, and our mothers and siblings are gone. It's still night. She's staring at me, and I'm staring back. She's close, and she's far. I reach out to touch her, but either I stop or she's too far away. I'm not sure which. And then I pour my heart out to her.

"You know I didn't mean it, right? I didn't mean to ask her to marry me. I didn't mean any of it, ya know," I told her. And then she has the audacity to say,

"Maybe you did."

I woke up.

xXx

Right. The something that came to me in the dream. I keep leaving parts out. I'm kinda all over the place right now, ya know?

Anyway, I think what Dream Mary was trying to tell me after I told her the whole situation (which I don't think real Mary knows, but I think when you dream of someone it means they're thinking of you, and I'm pretty sure Mary was out in Washington cursing me every which way), was that maybe I was doing this on purpose? Maybe I was trying to come up with excuses. Maybe I was.

But I still didn't know why.

xXx

"Hey, you're weird – you know anything 'bout dreams?"

Joan raised an eyebrow. This was turning into the longest evening of my life. We were sitting around watching a ball game – well, I was, she was mostly flipping through a magazine – after dinner, and I guess I just didn't want to go home yet. Martha and Joan were home. They were staying with our parents for the wedding. "What'd ya dream about, Lee?" She asked me tiredly.

So I told her about my dream. I told her about the memory and about what Mary said, and Joan nodded along, asking questions like, Was Dad there? Was Melissa there? The answer was always no. Joan just nodded and hummed thoughtfully like she was some sort of dream expert, and when I was done, she said, "Well, I'm no expert, but ya know they say that when you dream about somebody, it means they're thinkin' of you."

I rolled my eyes. "I already knew that," I grumbled.

"Ya know, Lee, you're really in a funny little predicament here. You've told Dad, haven't you? I could tell. You guys kept lookin' at each other funny during dinner." I nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Why keep Mom in the dark?"

"You know why."

Joan nodded sagely. She did know why. I think we all knew why, and it was bigger than just pleasing a southern mother. "You really don't need to worry about that anymore. She's here. There's so much time, Lee. You have time to ditch this whole thing and just…take your time!" Joan was grinning widely, leaning on the arm of Dad's chair and just grinning at me. "You're twenty-six. You don't need to be gettin' married. What you need to do – if you're really as in love with her as you say – "

"I am," I whispered. Joan's demeanor took a step back. "I think I'm waiting to see if I can feel that way about Melissa."

Joan's enthusiasm had all but melted away. "Oh."

"She's a good person," I muttered, and she was, she is. "And I keep thinkin' that if I just…wait…I'll be able to love her in the way she deserves."

"That's not fair to either of you, Lee. And it's just ridiculous. She deserves someone who's honest with her." There's that honesty thing again. Forget what I said earlier – I'm pretty much the biggest liar I know. And I'm going straight to Hell, do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars.

"Dad said if I…with Mary, he'd like the in-laws better."

Joan snorted. "I bet he would. Her dad's his best friend, and we're not hillbillies, ya can't marry one of our cousins. Say, you think Two-Bit knows about all this?"

Oh – you bet your ass he did. And the moment he saw me was the moment I started fearing for my life.

XXXXX

AN: The amazing thing about writing this story is that the ending has essentially already been written, so getting there is quite the challenge. Ruining lives is hard work, but that's what I guess I do to these characters! So, basically, we're figuring out Lee and Mary's story together :)

Thanks for reading!