My Sister’s Wife

Two pairs of lips: one full and pouty with a pink, frosty coating. The other, medium-full, painted Persian red by Avon. Even the four-piece string section can’t soothe the overwhelming restlessness among invited guests when these four colorful lips press together for one sensuous, shocking moment. When the lips part, the people they belong to, look more like a couple, if only because their lipstick matches perfectly.

“Did you ever think in a million years that your sister would marry a woman? It’s obscene.”

“No, Aunt Lou, I would not have guessed it in two million years,” I said, reminding myself that she meant well.

To me, obscene was watching my Aunt Louise and late Uncle Donald kiss, the way their whiskers intertwined.

“How will she ever have babies? Babies need fathers. Who will do the bills? (She reaches into her beaded purse for a tissue to blot the moisture between her chins.) Who will kill the spiders in the house? I could never kill anything. (Some might say she killed my uncle.) Writing out checks gives me such awful cramps in my hand.” She patted my rear end like she did when I was five.

 “Some day you’ll meet a nice girl and settle down. You’re quite a catch, Charles.”

What exactly does that mean? I wanted to ask. The three-foot sand shark Uncle Donald caught one year in Florida came to mind and I saw him smiling, like he might be smiling ever since the good Lord granted him freedom from his dysfunctional place on earth.

Aunt Lou was so short that I could completely miss her coming unless I was looking straight down. Though I loved her dearly, because of how she used to make my favorite homemade fettuccini noodles on Easter and play the harmonica to put me to sleep when my parents were out for the evening, I saw her differently from an adult male point of view. I couldn’t figure out what Uncle Donald saw in her, even when she was thin and wore heels.