The Marriage Pact (8 page)

“Oh, sure, laugh. It’s fine for you. You’re not the one taking time off from work because Mom keeps going in and out of the closet!”

“I know, J. I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s a
little
funny.”

“Maybe if you were the one dealing with it, you wouldn’t find it so amusing,” he replied tersely.

Even over the phone, a thousand miles away, I could imagine him sitting with his brow furrowed and his mouth puckered, the way he always looked when he was annoyed. “I’m sorry I’m not there to help out more. I wish—”

“No, Shana, forget it. I didn’t call to make you feel guilty. I just needed to vent.”

“I know,” I replied softly. He always tried to reassure me and I knew he was doing his best. The truth was, I was beginning to wonder if all this might not be a bit out of his league. “Hey, why vent to me? What about that cute cocktail waitress I met at the Christmas party? Cindy?”

“Wendy. And we’re not… she… we took a break.”

“Ah,” I remarked neutrally. Jonas and I had an unspoken agreement: he didn’t criticize my love life and I didn’t question his.

“Listen, I’ve got to run, but we’ll talk soon.”

“Next week?”

“It’s a date. Love ya, sis.”

I’d made smooching noises through the phone, which I always did to annoy my little brother and he responded in the way he always did, by promptly hanging up. I hit the off button and plopped onto the loveseat with a sigh. Jonas always told me not to worry about it—it was his way of being a good, supportive brother—but I always did. With each new incident that he relayed, I could hear the strain growing, reaching out to me across six states, begging for the help he’d never let himself ask for.

I knew that, even though we were both dancing around it, one day he’d bring up the dreaded
n
word, as in nursing home. It was inevitable. And even knowing that, I still couldn’t bear the thought. My mother didn’t belong in a place like that, especially when she had two successful, able-bodied kids.

I’d looked down at the wedding invitation in my hand, tapping it thoughtfully as the cogs in my head whirled. The truth was, I’d never thought of Minnesota as home, even after all these years. It was too cold, too busy, too impersonal a state for me. My heart would always be in Georgia, it seemed. It wasn’t like I had anybody special holding me back… Which was why I’d decided to start submitting my resume to the hospitals near my hometown. I’d gotten a couple of nibbles right away, which had made it safe to turn in my resignation. I expected to feel a little sad, or panicky at the very least—I’d been working every single day since med school. But I felt nothing but relief, which only bolstered my decision that it was time for a change.

In our last conversation before I’d bought my plane ticket, Jonas had said everything he could think of to try and talk me out of it. He’d insisted there was no need for me to come home, that he was fine on his own. He’d gone so far as to demand I go to the hospital and ask for my job back. I’d never known what a good lawyer he was until that moment, but the stubborn gene that made him a natural at his job ran in the family. I’d stayed firm until he’d given in—and was that a bit of relief I heard in his voice?—and I’d immediately started packing. It was strange how little I’d accumulated in all the time I’d lived in Minnesota.

I’d scheduled a flight back home on a one-way ticket and now, here I was, sitting across the table from my mom, sipping coffee like nothing had ever changed. God, she looked so much better than I’d imagined. The phone conversations with Jonas had led me to believe that she was an old, frail woman, but to me, she looked much like she always had. Like the mother I’d always known and loved. Maybe she had a few more lines around her mouth, a bit more gray in her soft, coppery brown hair, but otherwise, she was the same. It warmed my heart to be sitting with her, looking into her familiar blue eyes and sunny smile.

“How’s the coffee, dear?”

“It’s great, Mom. Thanks. You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“Coffee’s no trouble, dear, no trouble at all. The day I can’t make coffee is the day I’ve
really
lost it.”

My mouth dropped open a bit before I had the presence of mind to close it. I couldn’t believe she’d so casually mentioned her debilitating illness, in a light, easy tone, accompanied by a chuckle. Suddenly, I realized I was staring and I looked away. “Well, there’s always that, I guess.”

“Oh, don’t look so morose, Shana!” she teased. “We all get old eventually. Why, your father always used to say, you’re either old, or you’re…” She trailed off, her eyes clouding with the memory.

Or you’re dead
, I finished silently, closing my eyes and sending up a quick prayer for Dad. I thought of him often and missed him terribly. But no one could miss him as much as my mother did—he had been the love of her life, and that was something you didn’t just get over.

“How do you take your coffee, Shana?”

I blinked in surprise. She’d already fixed me a cup, the very one that I was holding. “I—”

“Cream and sugar, right? Now, where’s that sugar bowl?” She stood up and began to pace the kitchen, looking through cabinet after cabinet, opening every drawer as I watched. My mouth had dropped open and I watched in a state of shock, unable to stop her, unable to tell her that the sugar bowl had been sitting only two inches in front of her.

* * *

Even as I was driving to meet up with Becky’s bridal party for the first time, I still couldn’t get Mom out of my thoughts. Her frantic search had escalated to the point of screaming hysteria, which only worsened when I pointed out where the sugar bowl was sitting. By that point, it didn’t seem like she could even remember what she’d been looking for—all she knew was that she’d forgotten something and it seemed to terrify her. I couldn’t get her wide-eyed, crazed look of hysteria out of my mind, hard as I tried. Now I knew exactly what Jonas had meant; it changed her face completely.

“Hey!” A chorus of loud squeals greeted me when I entered the bridal boutique.

“Hi.” I waved warily, eyes searching for Becky. Her bridal party had staged chairs in a circle in front of two large full-length mirrors and Becky had planted herself right in the middle.

She leapt to her feet the instant our eyes met, beaming as she raced toward me. “You’re home!” she squealed, grabbing me in a hug and twirling me around. “Shana,” she leaned forward to whisper in my ear excitedly, “I’m getting
married
!”

I grinned at her wild enthusiasm, something I’d never thought to see from the most cynical, anti-romantic I knew. “I know!” I squeezed her hand.

“Thank you for coming. I—”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I scoffed. “Like you could get married without me. Who else is going to be able to hold it together when you get cold feet?” My smile dimmed a bit as I felt the eyes of her bridal party observing us with rapt attention. I leaned forward, miming kissing her cheek as I whispered, “So, who’s the entourage?”

“Oh, God,” she groaned back. “My mother made me ask
everyone,
even crazy Cindy Lou. Jesus, this is going to be a nightmare. I
told
her I just wanted you, but she’s paying and I have to do what she wants. I thought I was a grown woman, for Christ’s sake!”

“Shh!” I admonished with a giggle. “Keep it down!”

“Oh, like I care?” she fired back, but she lowered her voice just the same. We turned back toward the wedding party and walked toward the other girls, arm in arm.

“Sit with me,” she begged.

I noticed Cousin Emily looked affronted and quickly guessed that she’d hoped for the coveted maid of honor title.

“OK, girls!” Becky clapped her hands and every eye turned to her. Being engaged suited her; standing there, she looked like a queen about to address her subjects, confident and radiant all at once. “It’s time for you to hit the racks! Remember, the color is pastel green.”

“Becky, did you think about—”

“No, Patrice,” she snapped, cutting her eyes at the youngest cousin. “I am not changing my color to something that you feel would better suit your coloring. Get your own engagement ring and then
you
can call the shots.” That pronouncement, along with the steely-eyed glare she turned on her bridesmaids, quickly shut down any further debate and everyone scrambled to their feet.

I watched in awe at the mad scramble to hit the racks—I wasn’t sure they were so much interested in finding a dress as getting away from Becky’s bad mood. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d morphed into a bridezilla,” I teased fondly. “But I know getting married has only enhanced your naturally
loving
personality.”

“Bite me.”

I couldn’t help but giggle; we fought like sisters and loved each other like the best of friends. “Remind me why you’re picking dresses now when your wedding is in three weeks?”

“Mom insisted everyone had to be here to offer input.” She screwed up her face, making me laugh. “Do you seriously think she let her bridesmaids pick their dresses when she married my dad?”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

“Exactly. Well, six of the seamstresses she works with volunteered to put in overtime to get the dresses done.”

“You mean she volunteered them.”

“Most likely, knowing Mom. She’s a steamroller.”

I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t offer any comment on the apple not falling far from the tree.

“And anyway, she’s right, it will look better than anything we could get off the rack.”

“So you’re going to do what? Buy one?”

“Unnecessary,” she said, holding up her iPhone 5 with a grin.

“Got it. Well, I guess I should—” I was turning to go when Becky grabbed my arm.

“Uh-uh. You stay with me.”

“What? Don’t I need to find a—”

“No, you do not.”

“Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Why do you think, doof? Because I, the best of friends who has ever lived, have already picked one for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yes. You are the friend others aspire to be.”

“Thank you,” she replied primly. “Now, sit.”

With a shake of my head, I did just that. “So, how many are there?”

“Eight,” she replied with a wince. “Cindy Lou, Janice, Laura, Emily, Patrice, you… oh, hell, I can’t even
remember
the other two.”

“Tsk, tsk. Seriously, though, I don’t get your mom. Do you even
see
these people more than once a year?”

“Hardly. But you know Mom thinks she’s Emily Post—you can
not
argue with her about wedding etiquette. Not if you want her to foot the bill, anyway.”

Just then, Emily came ambling back with three dresses in hand. “Hey, Becky,” she gasped, clearly out of breath.

“Hey yourself. Whatcha got for me?” Emily held them out, one after another for inspection, but each time Becky shook her head. “Say it with me:
pastel
green.”

With a dejected sigh, Emily did an about-face and ambled off.

“That last one wasn’t bad,” I commented.

My friend grinned evilly. “I know, but if they have to be in my wedding, I’m going to make the puppets dance.”

“You’re terrible!”

Cindy Lou was the next girl to come back and she’d taken the liberty of going to the changing room first. “Well?” she asked expectantly, turning from side to side as though she was walking a model runway. “What do you think?” Before Becky could reply, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. “Wait, does this make my butt look big?”

“
Everything
makes your butt look big!” Janice snickered as she approached.

Cindy cut her a dirty look and stomped off toward the changing room. On and on it went. Finally, nearly three hours later we had narrowed it down. Not that that meant everyone was in agreement—not by a long shot. In fact, the last twenty minutes had consisted of a catfight that grew louder by the minute.

Becky had finally pulled out her trump card—I’d wondered why she’d waited so long to use it in the first place—shouting, “Shut up, idiots! I’m the bride!”

There was some grumbling after that, but slowly, the crowd started to thin as the girls filed out to get into their cars. Becky sure knew how to handle a crowd.

“Family reunions must be
fun
,” I observed drily.

“Tell me about it. Right now I just want to elope.”

“What about those three-hundred-dollar shoes they’ve already bought?”

She grinned, that same maniacal grin. “Oops!”

“You are prime evil, girl.”

Her grin only widened. “Save the compliments for when you see your dress.”

I cut my eyes at her, suddenly feeling a little nauseous; in all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten! “Where is it?”

“They’re holding it.”

“Well, I should go ahead and get in line to—”

“Relax, worrywart. I already took care of it.”

“What do you mean you already took care of it? Becky, you’re not supposed to be buying my dress, I—”

“Chill, Shan, seriously. You can make it up to me with an a-
mazing
wedding gift.”

“Take me to the dress,” I demanded. I was getting a bad feeling about this, which only grew when Becky looked like the cat who’d caught the canary. We walked to the back of the store where a dress was hanging and when she paused in front of it, I felt my heart hit the floor. I had been right to be worried.

“So, what do you think?”

I whirled on her with wide, shocked eyes. “What do I
think
? What do
I—
Becky! You know I’d never, in a million years
wear
—” I groaned as realization dawned. At least now I knew why she’d bought the dress.

“It’s pretty,” she defended her choice.

Turning back to it, I sighed. “Yes, OK, it looks great on the mannequin!” I studied the slim waist of the gown that flared out at the bottom, hugging every curve along the way. “But it’ll look awful on me!”

“Not true,” she objected. “Shan, trust me for a sec, please? I’d never put you into something you’d look bad in!”