My Mormon sister was engaged to a normal human, and it seemed he was helping her to slowly snap out of the spell the Mormons had put her under. Sloane's wedding was being held at our summerhouse in Martha's Vineyard. Though I had recently been out a couple times with a guy I liked, I didn't want to embarrass myself on our third date by asking him to fly across the country for my sister's wedding.

Since my gay friend Nathan had included me in many of his family events and vacations, it seemed like time for a little reciprocity. My father had never met a gay man in person before and I thought that this could be a time of great revelation. Once again, I was sorely mistaken.

For the record, Nathan is not your typical gay man. He's not as blatant a homosexual as Harvey Fierstein, but if you have any gaydar at all-which I don't-then it wouldn't take you more than a couple of nights out with Nathan to catch on.

I didn't realize he was gay for a long time, attributing most of his effeminacy and idiosyncratic ways to the fact that he was Jewish. He is tall and handsome, a sports fanatic, and a man's man in many ways-except when having a verbal disagreement, in which case he turns into an eight-year-old girl.

Nathan and I have been friends for many years. I met Nathan when I was nineteen years old and landed my first job waiting tables at Morton's, a restaurant in Los Angeles. He trained me on my first day, and when I spilled a glass of red wine on some woman who had more eye liner on than Liza Minnelli, he assured me that big things were in the cards for me.

Bringing Nathan home, however, was not quite the stroke of genius I had anticipated. Minutes after introducing Nathan to my mother, he sat down at our kitchen table and told my mom how famished he was from the trip. "What can I make you, sweetheart?" she asked. "We've got cold cuts, potato salad, I can heat up some chili…"

"I'll take four eggs over medium, absolutely no oil or butter. I'll also take a turkey sandwich on multigrain with some mustard- Dijon if you have it."

I wasn't sure what to make of Nathan's behavior but felt that I needed to defend my mother.

"Is that all, or would you also like her to whip you up a brisket with some gravy?" I said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so hungry I can't even think."

" Chelsea," my mother said in a disapproving tone. "Don't be silly, it's my pleasure," she lied.

My brother Greg walked into the living area still in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. That's when our dog Whitefoot and my father, who was wearing a Sean John track suit and Uggs, came in through the sliding glass door that leads to the back deck. That's also when Nathan began to squeal like a pig.

"Oh, my goodness, look at this beautiful creature," he said, running over toward Whitefoot. He dropped to both knees and began petting him uncontrollably. "Yes, yes, you like that, you big beast of a doggie dog dog, don't you? Do you like it? Yes you do, you do do do do do! I love you already, yes I do, yes I do. Do you love me? I think you do!" Whitefoot's tail was wagging and he was maniacally licking Nathan, whose mouth was also open. It didn't take much to get Whitefoot aroused and I knew that his miniature ding-a-ling was at full throttle.

"What a gorgeous creature!" Nathan cooed, in a voice that a mother would use to talk to an infant. Whitefoot's your basic mutt, with the ability to sit when commanded-a sweet dog but nothing to go crazy over. Nathan was not a flamboyant guy and I had never seen him act like this before.

My father eyed this exchange with disgust. Then he loudly cleared his throat. We were not off to a good start. Greg, meanwhile, looked on with a huge smile on his face. He loved watching our dad's reaction to anyone left of center. After allowing Whitefoot to face-rape him for another ten seconds, Nathan stood up and approached my father with open arms. My father took a step back and put out his hand instead.

Greg had met Nathan before on a visit to Los Angeles and gave him a bear hug.

"This is gonna be fantastic," Greg said to me on his way into the kitchen.

Once Nathan had finished eating the small feast my mother had prepared for him, he asked which room was his and then promptly changed into his running clothes. It was early afternoon and everyone was at the beach, so our normally chaotic house filled with my five siblings, their significant others, and their half a dozen kids was empty and unusually quiet.

I gave Nathan directions on where to go on his run, opting to stay home to do some damage control.

As the front door shut and Nathan took off on his run, my father looked up from reading the newspaper. He glared at me, his reading glasses resting low on his nose.

"Well, looks like Chelsea brought home another loose cannon," he said to my mother.

I needed to change the subject quickly for fear my father's already tenuous good mood would get worse, so I asked him if the gardener was done preparing the lawn for the wedding.

"Yeah, he's done," my father said, disinterested. "I told him to take one of those linden trees as his payment."

"What?" my mother asked.

"Those linden trees. We've got two of them and they're normally found in Germany. Very rare."

"Melvin," my mother said, "how is he supposed to take one of our trees?"

"Simple," my father said. "All he has to do is cut it down and load it into a truck. It's not a big deal."

Greg's face lit up. He took major delight in all of my father's business maneuvers. He is of the thought that my father is wildly insane and operates on a completely different plane of existence.

"Why would the gardener want one of our trees?" Greg asked innocently.

"Those trees are very valuable, Greg. They're worth about fifteen hundred dollars. Who wouldn't want one is my question."

"Right," Greg said, "but is our gardener in the tree-selling business? A tree's not something you just take out into the marketplace and sell."

"Not sure," my father said and then went back to his newspaper.

"Well, when is he going to cut down the tree?" my mother asked.

"I don't know, he's gotta get some guys and rent a truck," he said.

"Well, not before the wedding, I hope," she said.

"Maybe if we're lucky he'll saw it down right in the middle of the wedding," Greg said.

"Nah, he wouldn't do that," my dad replied, as if my brother were serious.

"I wonder if there'll be a bidding war on eBay," Greg said.

"If he wants to sell it on eBay, let him sell it on eBay, what do I care? All I know is this guy's making out like a bandit!" my father said.

I went to my room, changed, and came downstairs to find my sister and her fiance. They had been visiting some friends who were in town for the wedding.

"Look at that figure," my father said, upon seeing me in a bathing suit. "Hot stuff tonight!"

Then he nudged my sister and said, "Look at that hourglass figure. She's a heartbreaker, this one."

Sloane reacted with disgust, as she always did. "That's your daughter, Dad. You're not supposed to be complimenting her figure."

I disagreed. I like compliments and don't care who they come from. Besides, my dad was always singing our praises to the point of embarrassment, only to turn around the next minute and say something like, "Some women don't get married until they're in their forties."

"Dad's got a crush on you, and I think it's disgusting," Sloane said.

"I love all my daughters equally," he announced. "Each one is more beautiful than the next!"

"Yeah? Where am I in that lineup?" Sloane asked.

"At the beginning," I told her.

My dad turned to me. "You got a lot of chutzpah, love. Men aren't always going to respond to that. You're one of those girls who could do it all by yourself. Make a fortune, have a couple kids… build a house."