Read Then Comes Marriage for Free Online Page B

social convention, so we had our share of heated conversations in those early years. And when we clashed, Rachel wanted to discuss it, to talk about our feelings and where they came from and why. Since feelings were messy, sometimes painful, and often not subject to rational control, I did not always want to go there. There were days when I wanted to let things go. But with every discussion and argument we had, I was learning not to repress myself so much. And over the years as I have changed, those around me have changed and grown as well, including Rachel, who is now more patient with people who may have different views.
    Even so, there was no escaping the complicated feelings we both had about taking our relationship to the next level: becoming domestic partners.
    Marriage still was not available to gay Americans in 2002. Rachel and I had decided to become domestic partners, in large part for health insurance reasons, so it was a practical as much as a romantic endeavor. Unexpectedly, I found myself beset by a complicated array of feelings about the whole thing as we drove down to the New York City Clerk’s Office to complete the paperwork. We had to stop at a bank to get some forms notarized, and I was overcome by a mixture of anxiety and frustration.
    As lesbians growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, Rachel and I had no out and open role models to follow in creating a committed relationship or to support us as a couple. Of course, we knew older lesbian and gay couples, but often those relationships were an open secret at best. And their relationships were never seen as equivalent to those of straight married couples—significant, perhaps, but not equal. One of the great benefits of marriage is that it gives couples the opportunity to experience their community rallying around them, to feel the support of loved ones who pledge to celebrate the joyous moments but also to be there for them during the dark times as well. Gay people were never allowed to have that community support, and I think it wounded many of us in many ways. Because we had always been excluded from marriage, many of us had never fully understood what is at the core of the marriage experience—that it is not simply a relationship between two people, but also a relationship between a couple and their larger community. I think I felt in my bones the limits of what domestic partnership would grant to us in those moments before we registered. It bothered me that we were denied a right that any random straight couple had. The fact that two drunk heterosexual strangers could get hitched in ten minutes in Vegas, while committed gay couples were denied that right in every state, created a lot of deep-seated resentment and sadness for many gay people, even if we did not always consciously realize it.
    So when we had to make an extra stop to get the papers notarized, all my irritation came to the forefront. “What is the point of this?” I asked Rachel. “I mean, it’s not like we’re getting married .”
    Rachel turned around to look at me, her eyes blazing. “Well, just forget about it, then!” she said. She, too, had conflicted feelings but felt hurt that I was being dismissive of what was in fact an important step for our relationship. So it was no surprise that my casually glib dismissal set her off.
    â€œNo, no,” I said. “We’re already here, let’s just get it done.” This was hardly a romantic or soothing gesture on my part, and Rachel, understandably, remained hurt. We both were seething by then, but we got the paperwork notarized.
    We became domestic partners that day, although we were barely speaking to each other by the end of the process. As we left the City Clerk’s Office, we saw that there was some sort of political protest taking place on the nearby steps of City Hall. Rachel, of course, knew the people who were protesting, and when we told them why we were there, they erupted in