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“Mr. Spring! Mr. Nelson!” Reva, the chipper hostess at the Chili’s at the Coral Ridge Mall sings out. “Here, let me get the door for you!”
Dressed in her black slacks and branded polo, the only outfit Nick and Charlie have ever seen her in, she speeds over to the front entryway to the restaurant. She’s about to graduate from high school and is looking forward to joining Grinnell’s track and field team in the fall, so she’s particularly quick on her feet.
Nick loves getting to know the waitstaff at all the places he and Charlie frequent.
“Oh, that’s ok, dear. Charlie here’s quite the gentleman,” Nick insists as he makes his way slowly through the threshold. His steps have become a bit more labored these days, but he smiles at his favorite employee with the same golden retriever energy as ever, even if he’s lost some of the golden coloring over the years. With a wink he adds, “A handsome one, to boot.”
Charlie rolls his eyes fondly and smiles widely at Reva so that both dimples appear under his ever-deepening wrinkles. “Such a charmer, he is,” he notes as he lets the glass door close gently behind him. He reaches out and rubs his love’s back, which is slightly hunched over and clad in a dapper pale green liberty print shirt. Black suspenders hold up the grey trousers that frame his 75-year-old ass quite nicely. Charlie admires the view.
“Unfortunately, there’s someone already seated at your usual spot, but I’ve got a lovely table over by the window?” Reva suggests.
“That’ll do just fine, dear,” Nick replies. When it first started happening at retirement age, Nick had resented the implication that he would have a usual table at a chain restaurant. But there is something to be said for predictability, as Charlie always says. As a bonus, his regular seat has an unobstructed view of the kitchen, so Nick can always see when their food is being plated.
“I’m surprised to see you two here on a Monday! But luckily we’re still a bit too early for the happy hour folks, and you’ve just missed the lunch crowd,” Reva explains as she guides them to a two-top nearest the hostess stand, overlooking the bustling mall parking lot. It's common knowledge at the Chili's that Charlie and Nick prefer avoiding crowds. The trio make their way through the wide walkways between chairs, grateful for ADA compliance as Nick is still getting used to using his walker full-time.
“Oh, that’s great, we just popped in for an impromptu treat before heading home,” Nick assures her. He’s always been amenable to disruptions in their routine, content though he usually is to allow Charlie to structure their days. Charlie sees it as one of Nick’s most admirable qualities, though he himself is still learning to roll with the punches.
With it being the mid afternoon, the restaurant is only about half full. There are a few families, including one with two toddlers in booster seats and a baby on one parent’s lap. The sweet scene reminds Nick and Charlie of when they had a young family of their own, once upon a time. The three kids even have shocks of luscious dark curls that remind the couple of their own babies, who have since grown up and had curly-haired babies of their own.
A handful of larger groups are scattered throughout the large room, filling the space with cheerful chatter and raucous laughter.
Several older couples are also seated, all presumably out for special date nights. As Nick and Charlie amble toward their table, the other couples all look up and smile genuinely at them; a few seem to be on the edge of emotion, and react to the sweet - but admittedly ancient - couple by bringing hands to hearts and tutting. One woman lets go of her partner’s hand to reach across the table and wipe away a tear that spills over her lash line. The two women wear matching pink bowties, looking more dapper than Nick and Charlie, although they appear to be much sprightlier, perhaps only in their mid-fifties.
Although the Chili’s on 2nd Street in Coralville tends to be a fun, easygoing place to grab a bite to eat for anyone who finds themselves at the mall, it is rarely a destination in and of itself, and more of a place one ends up out of convenience. The mood is always tame and unsurprising, just like the food and the service, at least during the hours Charlie and Nick are there.
The predictability was what drew Nick and Charlie into Chili’s at first, and it’s since become routine for them. The Coral Ridge Mall is the perfect place to stay active, so they walk the temperature-controlled building a few times a week, sometimes stopping in for a burger or some homestyle fries to share afterwards. The restaurant is also within easy walking distance to the cinema, close enough even for two men who have received the senior discount on tickets for decades already.
The feel in the restaurant today, however, is more celebratory than usual.
“We’re not too late for the early-bird special, are we?” Nick wonders aloud as Reva places two giant plastic menus on the table. Charlie rushes ahead - well, as much as an 74-year-old can rush, anyway - and smacks his shoulder playfully before pulling out Nick's chair for him. “What? You know I can’t resist a deal!”
Charlie shakes his head and beams at his love: still cringey and still an adorable, penny-pinching human garbage disposal after all these years. He still isn’t sure whether there really is special old-folks pricing at Chili’s, or if the staff just offers some dollars off to the couple subsisting on shoestring social security funds, out of the kindness of their hearts.
“Mr. Nelson! Mr. Spring! How wonderful to see you two out on a Monday!” their usual waitress, Ingrid, exclaims a few minutes later as she sets down two large glasses of water, no ice for Charlie and extra ice for Nick. It’s true that the couple rarely comes out on Dancing With The Stars nights, instead preferring boring days where there is nothing good on television to enjoy an afternoon out. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well, today’s a special day, Ingrid,” Nick beams up at the middle-aged mom of two, who’s lived in Coralville her entire life, and is working towards her bachelor’s in teaching, just like Nick had encouraged her to do years prior. He reaches across the table to grasp both of Charlie’s awaiting hands. “Please, call us Mr. and Mr. Nelson-Spring.”
Ingrid gasps. “Did you two-”
“We’re married!” Charlie announces loudly enough for the few occupied tables nearby to hear. The buzz around them grows, and soon, the entire restaurant is cheering. Charlie shifts his gaze from Ingrid to his husband, whose warm brown eyes sparkle under the blown glass pendant lamp overhead.
Together, they look around the room. It’s clear, now, why the mood of this Chili’s feels so celebratory. Everyone here is celebrating marriages, all likely on their way home from local courthouses on the first day that same-sex couples can officially wed in the state of Iowa. The young fathers are in street clothes, but both wear boutonnieres pinned to their t-shirts. A middle-aged couple wears full suits, pressed to perfection. The largest group, tipsy on blackberry margaritas, all wear various styles of seafoam-green dresses. Clearly, some Chili’s patrons were well-prepared for the day’s Iowa Supreme Court ruling, whereas others simply dropped everything and ran to the courthouse to make their common-law marriages legally binding.
Nick traces Charlie’s simple silver wedding band, smoothing over the metal that they had purchased many years prior, but had been saving to wear only once the archaic symbolism could officially be applied to their own cheesy love story. Charlie does the same, eyes crinkling at the knowledge of the matching engravement inside each of their rings, hidden from view and from knowledge of anyone but themselves. Their own personal secret, and a promise they’d made to one another so many years prior.
“Well, gentlemen, what an honor it is to serve you tonight. Anything you want, on the house,” Ingrid says as she pulls out her notepad to take their order.
Nick puts on his readers, which hang around his neck by a blue, pink, and purple lanyard one of their grandkids had crafted for him at summer camp. He peers at the menu for a moment, and his face lights up in that way Charlie knows he is up to something. “Thank you, dear. But I think we will just go for a Frosty Chocolate Shake tonight.” Charlie’s grin breaks into a full-on gleam as the implications wash over him.
“Just the one?”
“Just the one,” Charlie agrees. Just like old times. Just like their very first date at the soda fountain, when Nick had ordered himself some awful flavor of ice cream - strawberry, maybe? - then insisted that Charlie let him share his far superior chocolate malt.
Ingrid nods once affirmatively, and departs to submit their order.
“So, how should we announce it?” Charlie wonders after he takes a sip of his water. He sets it down on the table with a satisfied ahhh .
“Facebook?” Nick suggests. Their kids had made them a joint account so they could keep up with photos and goings-on of all the grandkids, granddogs, and of course the grandiguana. The pair have had fun reconnecting with long-lost buddies from days gone by, even discovering the profile of their old teammate Kieran, who had apparently grown up to become a very successful dentist.
“It’s a good suggestion. It would be quicker than calling everyone,” Charlie considers approvingly, then winces. “People are going to be upset, aren’t they…”
Nick sputters. “Char, they’re going to be upset no matter what! We got married without telling anyone!”
Charlie chuckles. “It’s not like we eloped, my love. I think most people saw this coming from miles away, or at least however far their eyesight allows.” He takes another long sip of water, the tepid liquid momentarily easing his dry mouth symptoms. “Should we have invited folks down to the courthouse?”
Nick still has a sixth sense for catching Charlie before he spirals. “Hon, we only had a few weeks to prepare! You know that Darcy would’ve insisted on throwing some elaborate party for us,” he pulses Charlie’s hands in his. “I just wanted to be married to you. That’s all that matters to me.”
Both men’s eyes get misty over the notion of just how long they’ve been waiting for this day; Nick proffers his pocket square, which matches his glasses chain. A life lived together, inextricably intertwined in every way, knit together with love and devotion means so much more than a piece of paper, but that doesn’t mean that paper isn’t also infused with everything the men had ever fought for. That it isn’t deeply sacred. Nick quirks his lips to the side as he gets an idea; he’s done this so often in his life that he only has a smile line on the one side of his face. “How about we invite everyone over to our house this weekend? We can celebrate, share photos, reminisce, and let Darcy give the toast they’ve been working on since we were teenagers.”
This puts Charlie’s worry to rest. He nods, thankful for having chosen such a level-headed person to spend his life with. Then, a thought crosses his mind, and his graying eyebrows shoot up to his salt and pepper curls, pressed gently to his forehead by his trusty newsboy cap that serves to cover his barely-noticeable bald spot. “Do you think Darcy and Tara got married today, too?”
“Char,” Nick snickers and shakes his head. “Remember? They got married in Massachusetts back in 2004. We were their groomsmen?”
“Oh, silly me,” Charlie smiles. His eyes glaze over as he tries to recall the couple’s nuptials, only able to draw up a foggy memory of sequined gowns. Or was that their daughter’s wedding?
After another moment of gazing into each other’s eyes like lovebirds, Nick extracts his phone. He places the newfangled touchscreen face-up on the table as a means of keeping it steady, his tremors having recently worsened. The kids had helped him download and arrange four apps: phone, text messenger, Facebook, and photos. They couldn’t get rid of the purple app, for something called podcasts, so Nick had them hide the icon elsewhere so he wouldn’t get confused. “Gosh, could they have made this thing any smaller?” he ponders cheekily, knowing full well how much it makes him sound like a grumpy old fart.
“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re old,” Charlie quips.
“Oi!” Nick tuts, peering over his readers at his beloved who has never for a second dropped the jokes about their age difference.
Nick finally locates the photo app, and Charlie removes his wire-framed spectacles to wipe off a smudge before leaning in to scroll through the images.
The first photograph is of the couple in line in the courthouse lobby. There is a mess of people: buttoned-up gay men, lesbians in dresses and suits, and plenty of people in jeans and sneakers as well. Some carry bouquets, others are empty-handed apart from their soon-to-be spouse’s hands. Charlie and Nick are situated between a young punk rock-looking couple wearing matching denim vests, and a family of two middle-aged moms in white sundresses with two small girls in white tutus. Nick and Charlie both beam at one another, a quiet moment amidst the triumphant chaos.
The next is an image of the two men holding hands in front of the judge. Charlie wears a cozy gray knitted cardigan and a prominent rainbow enamel pin; Nick stands as upright as he can, his puppydog eyes crystal clear even on the miniscule phone screen. The judge had kept the ceremony to only five minutes at the most, so she could accommodate officiating as many nuptials as possible on this first day. That same young couple who were covered in tattoos and facial piercings had offered to photograph the special moment for Nick and Charlie. The couple ended up acting as their witnesses, and Charlie and Nick returned the favor for them.
The third picture is of them on the courthouse steps, freshly married and posing with their hands clasped in front of a backdrop of supporters waving rainbow flags. There are news cameras off to the side, and a cheering crowd of people present to revel in the love. Nick stands a bit shorter than Charlie due to his bad back, and Charlie leans on him a bit to quell the persistent aching in his knee, but their eyes betray that the love they share has only grown stronger as their bones become brittle and their bodies weaken.
It’s unclear which of these momentous photographs they should select as their unofficial-official wedding announcement. As they flip between the three options again to compare, each one more beautiful than the last, the server arrives with their chocolate shake.
“I have an idea. Ingrid? Will you please take our photo?”
Shakily, Nick unwraps the two straws, and sticks each into the glass through the mountain of whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles on top.
“We are on a date,” Nick whispers with a wink.
“Is that the official rule of dating? Sharing drinks?” Charlie prods, grinning over their shared memory, which Charlie is so grateful that he can remember vividly.
“No, it’s the official rule of husbands.”
The word swirls through the air like flowers caught in the spring breeze. Tingles travel up both of their spines. Neither of them had ever dared to imagine they’d be able to use the word for themselves. After the legality of civil unions flip-flopped in various states, they’d resigned to being ‘life partners.’ Nick and Charlie had settled into the unfair reality that in the eyes of their government and the majority of voters in America, their relationship was invalid. Less than. Wrong.
They knew better than that, though.
They both sip through the straws, smiling brightly at the camera as Ingrid snaps a picture. They then instinctively turn to one another, and she takes another. Instantly, they’re transported back to ages 15 and 16, young, terrified, ecstatic, hopeful, and having not the slightest idea that they’d be sitting together at some banal chain restaurant in Iowa City sixty years later, as husbands.
Ingrid returns Nick’s phone, and leaves them to enjoy their dessert. Nick decides to figure out how to post the photo later, and returns to sipping the shake with Charlie. It’s a bit too much dairy and sugar for their tastes anymore, but they finish it anyway. Just as described on the menu, it is thick, frosty, creamy, and delicious. Nick lifts the glass to pour the last few sips of melted ice cream and whipped topping into his mouth, then places it back down on the table with a soft clink.
“So…” Nick purses his lips and raises a hand to the back of his neck to play with the patchy white hair there, the telltale sign that his thoughts have taken a turn. “It’s getting late, wouldn’t you say? What do you say we, uh, head home, husband?”
Charlie furrows his brow, deciding between making fun of Nick’s eight o’clock bedtime, or the fact that his husband - husband! - is still so insatiable. Charlie pulls his wallet out of his satchel and looks around the restaurant. “I have a better idea.”
He leaves a ten dollar bill on the table, enough to cover the milkshake, as well as repayment for the knowledge that Ingrid is about to gain, and will likely be scarred by: that two septuagenarians are about to get some in the wheelchair-accessible restroom at the Coralville Chili’s.