I can only imagine how nervous Marge must have been. We’d been raised in a church that believed homosexuality was a sin, and my parents marched to the beat of that very same drummer; maybe even more so, because they were from a different generation. My dad ended up meeting with the pastor, a real fire-and-brimstone kind of guy. The pastor told my dad that Marge was choosing a life of sin if she surrendered to her nature, and that they should bring her in to pray, in the hope of finding God’s grace.

My dad was a lot of things – hard at times, gruff, profane – but he also loved his kids. He believed in his kids, and when Marge told him that she hadn’t chosen a lifestyle – that she’d been born that way – he nodded once, told her that he loved her, and from that day onward, our family stopped attending services.

There are a lot of people in the world, I think, who could learn a lot from my dad.

“You look like crap,” Marge said to me. We’d retreated to the back porch with a couple of cupcakes while Mom, Liz, and London continued to bake another batch. My dad was in the family room, enjoying the cupcakes while watching the Atlanta Braves, no doubt waiting for London to join him. She always called him Papa, which I thought was sort of cute.

“You always know just what to say to make a guy feel great.”

“I’m being honest. You’re pasty.”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh,” she said. “My mistake. It’s not like I know you, and can tell when you’re lying. You’re stressed.”

“A little.”

“New business not going well?”

I shifted in my seat. “I guess I thought it would be a little easier to get clients. Or at least one client.”

“They’ll come. You just need to give it time.” When I didn’t respond, she went on. “How’s Vivian handling it?”

“We don’t really talk about it much.”

“Why not? She’s your wife.”

“I don’t want her to worry. I figure I’ll talk to her when there’s something good to tell her.”

“See? That’s where you’re wrong. Vivian should be the one person you can talk to about anything.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You two really need to work on your communication skills. See a counselor or whatever.”

“Maybe we should schedule an appointment with Liz. Being that she’s a therapist, I mean.”

“You couldn’t afford her. You’re not making any money.”

“That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Would you rather I blow smoke up the old back door?”

“As delightful as that sounds, I’ll pass.”

She laughed. “The point is, I’ve seen it happen over and over.”

“Seen what happen?”

“The same mistakes people make when starting a business,” she said, taking another bite. “Too much optimism on the revenue front and not enough pessimism when it comes to either business or household expenses. In your case, credit cards.”

“How would you know that?”

“Hello? Vivian and her errands? The bill arriving in the middle of the month? This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“The balance was a little high,” I finally admitted.

“Then take some advice from your sister with the CPA. Cancel it. Or at least put a limit on it.”

“I can’t.

“Why not?”

“Because I told her that her life wasn’t going to change.”

“Why on earth would you say something like that?”

“Because there’s no reason she should have to suffer.”

“You know how crazy that sounds, right? Shopping less is not equivalent to suffering. And besides, you’re supposed to be partners, both of you on the same team, especially when things get tough.”

“We are on the same team. And I love her.”

“I know you love her. If anything, you love her too much.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Yeah, well… I’m just saying that she’s not always the easiest person to be married to.”

“That’s because she’s a woman.”

“Do I have to remind you whom you’re talking to?”

I hesitated. “Do you think I made a mistake? By going out on my own?”

“Don’t start second-guessing yourself now. Unless you were willing to move halfway across the country, you didn’t have a choice. And besides, I have the feeling that it’s all going to work out for the better.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear. And yet as she said it, I couldn’t help wishing that Vivian had said it, not my sister.

“I take it the cooking classes are still going well?” I said to Liz half an hour later. For Christmas last year, I’d bought her a couple of classes at a place called the Chef’s Dream, but she’d enjoyed it so much, she had continued on her own. By then, I was on my second cupcake. “These are great.”

“Those are more your mom’s doing. We don’t really do a lot of baking. Right now, we’re learning French cuisine.”

“Like snails and frog legs?”

“Among other things.”

“And you eat it?”

“They’re better than the cupcakes, believe it or not.”

“Have you talked Marge into going yet?”