Free So Much for My Happy Ending by Kyra Davis Page B

more than I had before. That was a week ago and all the boxes were still there. I had gotten up this morning at five so that I could go back to my empty Castro apartment and clean it before the beginning of my closing shift in hopes of earning back my full security deposit. But just focusing my eyes seemed to take more energy than I had left.
    The train pulled to a stop at the Civic Station exit and I glared at the woman entering, who was eyeing the seat next to me. Let her sit with the fish eater; I needed the space.
    Stupidly I double-checked the mail to make sure I hadn’t missed a return-address label with the name Showers on it. The chance of that was pretty low considering no one from Tad’s family was invited. His decision, not mine. Any objections I had to the omission were silenced two weeks earlier. Just thinking about that day made me squirm in my plastic seat.
    Tad and I had been at the Beach Chalet enjoying a late-Sunday lunch. From our table we could see the restaurant parking lot and the waves crashing onto Ocean Beach across the highway. I remember thinking it was the perfect moment to broach the subject.
    â€œMaybe you should send your parents a note telling them about me—about us,” I had suggested. “Even if they refuse to come at least you will have given them the option.”
    Tad took a long sip of one of the restaurant’s original brews. “Trust me, it’s not an option they want, and I have no intention of sitting back and listening to them insult the woman I love.”
    â€œMaybe they won’t. Maybe your estrangement was the push they needed to see the world differently.”
    â€œRacists don’t change.” Tad seemed more concerned about the seagull perched on his car than our conversation.
    I used my fork to push the remnants of my salad around on my plate. “You loved them once, Tad.”
    â€œThat’s not the point now, is it?” I hated it when Tad became angry—he always got so…intense—
    â€œMaybe you should just call them. Tell them that you’re marrying a woman who…well, who appears to be black and is most definitely Jewish, and if they can accept that then you would really like it if some of those burnt bridges could be rebuilt. I mean, what could it hurt?”
    â€œJesus Christ, April, what the fuck is wrong with you? These are people who blame the Jews for everything from the death of Christ to the loose morals of Hollywood. They refer to Dr. King as an immoral troublemaker and they think César Chávez is some kind of specialty salad.”
    â€œYeah, I got that, but—”
    â€œDo you think this is easy for me? They’re my parents, for Christ’s sake! I loved them—part of me always will—but I can’t stand by and idly watch them act superior based on some accident of birth.”
    â€œAnd I totally respect that, but—”
    â€œAnd now I’m at a point in my life where I’ve finally accepted the situation for what it is and here you are dredging it all up again by questioning my judgment.”
    I had fallen back in my chair and stared at him as he stabbed his steak. At what point had my good intentions turned into an assault on his judgment? “Tad, you know I believe in you, and of course I trust your judgment…”
    â€œThen why do you have to question everything I fucking do? My God, do you really think so little of me? How could you think that I would turn my back on the people who raised me if I hadn’t exhausted every other avenue? I’ve spent every moment we’ve had together learning about you, trying to know you the way only a soul mate could, and now I find out that you haven’t bothered to get to know me at all. That’s great, April. That’s just fucking great.”
    The woman at the next table had looked at him pityingly and leaned over to whisper something to her friend as I slipped farther down in my