Just outside the green gate, the white Golf was parked on the side of the road, the engine still running, and I saw Lisa in the driver’s seat. The back door popped open as I approached.

“Hello,” Mel said.

I climbed in as Steph took the passenger seat. My feet bumped into a giant purse and an empty soda can.

“Sorry about that; you can move it out of your way,” Lisa said, turning down the stereo. I didn’t recognize the music; it was sort of country, sung by a woman with a raspy voice.

“That’s okay.” I nudged the bag over and pulled the door closed.

As Lisa began to turn the car around on the narrow road, a phone chimed. “That’s mine,” Lisa said. “Can someone get my phone out of my bag?”

“Here,” I said, picking up the bulging bag and gingerly stuffing it through the gap between the two front seats.

“Who is it?” Mel asked. “Is Joey bailing?”

“Actually, yeah,” Steph said.

“I knew it,” Mel said.

“I told her it was important to you,” Lisa said. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“She’s bailing because there’s something happening in the Castro,” Steph said. “There’s a street party because of the decision.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Lisa murmured.

Steph turned toward her. “Do you want to go?”

“We have your open mic, baby. I don’t want you to miss it.” Lisa put her hand on Steph’s thigh.

I looked at Mel and asked, “What happened? What decision?”

“The Supreme Court overturned Proposition Eight,” Mel said. “Gay marriage is legal in California now.”

I didn’t know much about gay marriage, but I remembered when it had been legalized in Massachusetts because my dad and I had gone to a lesbian wedding in Cape Cod. They were grad-school friends of my dad’s, and it was the first wedding I’d ever attended. I was nine years old. Both brides wore long white gowns, and when they kissed at the end of the ceremony, it was like seeing one woman reflected in a mirror.

“That’s great news,” I said now.

Mel wrinkled her nose. “Marriage is a tool of the patriarchy and gays getting married just buys into the system.”

I had no idea what to say to that.

“Tell us how you really feel,” Steph joked.

“Just because you hate marriage doesn’t mean everybody does,” Lisa said.

“I don’t hate marriage,” Mel said. “I just think it’s not for everyone.”

Mel’s phone chimed and she pulled it out of her shorts pocket. I realized the tattoos on her forearms weren’t flowers; they looked more like cabbages.

“Roxy says hi,” Mel said as she typed a text message.

“You two talking again?” Steph asked.

“Yeah.” Mel glanced at me. “Roxy’s my ex.”