Cut from the Same Cloth
A story for the True Fiction Project podcast by Michael Kobzik
My name is Clara Johnson, and I’m in a relationship with a man I love.
On a balmy evening in New York City, I waited with my boyfriend Anthony McFadden.
We were going to meet my parents at Don Flamingo, a four-star Mediterranean restaurant.
“Have you ever been to this restaurant?” I asked Anthony.
“No,” Anthony said. “I just read they have a good steak.”
“You know I’m a vegan,” I said with a frown.
“So am I,” Anthony said with a smile. “Just one of the many things we have in common.”
As we waited, we flicked through our Instagram feeds, not quite together, yet not quite separately.
My feed was full of women in summer colors, in exotic locations I wished I could be. Yet here I was, in the middle of my sophomore year at the fashion institute.
“Blue is back in style, I see,” said Anthony, peeking his head over.
“For girls, sure,” I said. “For guys it’s red and orange.”
“I hate both colors,” Anthony sighed. “For me, it’s always — ”
“Mauve and maroon.”
He turned to face me and kissed me on the lips.
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Just then, my parents arrived. We settled in at our table in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by people in clothes that were totally inappropriate for the venue. I wrinkled my nose at a man dressed in a polo and sneakers at a nearby table.
“What’s wrong?” asked Dad.
“Oh, nothing, just being judgmental,” I said with a snort.
“The guy over there,” Anthony pointed, “is wearing a necktie t-shirt.”
The two of us laughed together.
Mom and Dad glanced at each other but didn’t laugh.
“Your father has said exactly that…in exactly those words…so many times!” Mom remarked. “You two seem well-coordinated,”
“Of course,” I said with a smile. “I came up with it.”
“We like all the same colors,” Anthony said. “Mauve, maroon, you name it.”
“Wisteria was the color of Clara’s bedroom,” Mom said.
“That’s a color only a painter would know.” Anthony responded.
“She happens to be one,” Dad interjected. “Classically trained.”
Anthony rolled his eyes.
“Nobody in my family knows anything about painting,” he said. “Only cows, sheep, and good leather boots.”
“Wyoming, huh,” Dad said, rubbing his chin. “That’s…quite far from New York.”
I noticed that Dad had become shifty-eyed, avoiding my eyes and staring at Anthony’s. I pretended not to notice and just focus on the food, but it became too hard to ignore.
Anthony chewed on his kale, meeting Dad’s stare at least once.
“Is something wrong, sir?” he asked.
“No.” Dad said. “Yes. You seem…familiar.”
I winced at Dad before looking back at Anthony.
“It feels like we’re kindred spirits,” I said with a smile, trying to restore the mood of the table. “Like we could’ve been friends growing up. But we found each other now, and that’s what’s important.”
“And what’s really important is this,” Anthony said, bringing out his cell phone. He showed the table a classy-looking logo with loopy typography.
“Andy and Clara,” he said. “It’s our new business venture. Guys and girls formal wear. Classy but with a modern twist, you know?”
Mom rolled her eyes as Dad remained silent.
“It’s…something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” Clara said. “And now, I found the perfect person to do it with!”
“If I may ask,” Dad interjected, “Are you an only child, Anthony?”
“Yeah,” Anthony said, holding his breath. “Why?”
“You have the same eye color as my Clara. You said you were from Wyoming. Would it happen to be…Ball?”
Anthony’s eyes widened.
“Yeah…yeah, I’m from there.”
“The one with the little laundromat on the corner? The one that looks like it’s from the 70s?”
Anthony didn’t respond. The silence hung in the air for a moment. I gulped, not sure what to say.
“Yeah,” Anthony laughed. “Ball is real old-fashioned.”
“Ain’t that the laundromat with the sperm bank next door?” Dad asked.
I stared at my father with Anthony.
“Look,” Anthony said, “Ball is a nice place, but I’m glad to be here with Clara.”
He leaned over to kiss me.
Just then, Dad smashed his plate on the table.
“NO,” he shouted.
“What are you doing?” I said, laughing nervously. “Don’t be so old-school, Dad. PDA is fine.”
“You don’t understand,” Dad said, shaking his head.
More awkward silence. This dinner was getting less appetizing by the second. I was annoyed now.
“What the heck is happening, Dad?”
“I used to live in Ball a few months after I met your mother,” Dad said, folding his hands. “Things weren’t as easy for me back then, working at the little insurance company there. I really needed the rent and I was saving up for our wedding…so I made a donation to that local bank.”
“What?” I shouted.
“What?” Anthony echoed.
I got up from the table, staring at my parents and Anthony.
Mom’s lip trembled as she stared at Anthony.
“ You are not saying what I think you are saying?” Mom said, her forehead crumpled into the biggest front I had ever seen.
Dad just shrugged.
“Wait…are you saying Anthony’s my brother?!” I gasped.
“I’m saying…. he might be…” Dad replied, his voice shrinking.
“Ewww!” I screamed!
Anthony sat frozen in shock.
“I thought you only did that once,” Mom said, suddenly incensed.
“Yes! Once a month….for three months…to save up for our wedding!”
“SO you made it a habit!”
“Nancy — ”
Mom tossed her glass of water into Dad’s face.
Sopping wet, my father got up and stared into Anthony’s eyes.
“Don’t you lay another hand on my daughter,” he said with a grave voice.
“Yeah..whatever…Dad!” Anthony replied, confused.
I didn’t remember much of the next couple of minutes. I remember wine on my dress, glass shattering, and lots of shouting and finger pointing. Soon, I found myself outside of the restaurant, sitting on the steps.
“Claire,” Anthony said, sitting down with me.
“Go away,” I said, burying my face in my hands.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” I sobbed. “This makes me feel so…awful.”
“I…admit I didn’t expect it, either,” Anthony sighed. “But c’mon, this isn’t the Clara I know! We can make the best out of this.”
“We can’t keep dating! That’s weird!”
“Not what I meant,” Anthony said, nervously chuckling. “I meant we can still work together. Even if your parents think it’s weird.”
I looked up at Anthony and straight into his eyes. I saw months of courtship, laughter, and time spent together with him.
He extended his hand to me.
“Instead of lovers…why not stay partners? Let’s make the most of it.”
I sniffled, wiping my tears from my face.
“As long as we keep it vegan,” I said. “Deal?”
Anthony smiled at me.
“Deal,” he said.
My name is Clara Johnson, and I’m still in a relationship with a man I love.
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