Through the Heart (28 page)

She stared at me like I’d just brayed like a donkey.

“Did I say something funny?” she asked.

I didn’t even bother to answer. “No, I’m not pregnant,” I told her.

“Then how did you manage to get him to ask you to marry him? I was certain that Timothy would never let himself get trapped like this.”

I heard the words she used—“caught,” “trapped”—and I thought that she and my mother seemed to have the same idea of marriage.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Then how did you get him to ask you?”

“I didn’t. He just asked.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I think I see.”

I had no idea what she “saw.”

“The subtlest of traps,” she said.

“What?” I was completely confused.

“The woman who doesn’t care.”

“But I do care,” I said.

“Of course you do,” she said, as if that closed the case—in her favor.

I felt a little dizzy. This woman would skewer you with a question thrown at you like a spear, and then start talking in circles.

The next question was another spear lobbed at me.

“So how do you feel about the fact that you’re about to be very rich?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

It was true. I hadn’t thought about it at all. In fact, there were times in the past month when, purely out of reflex, I had the thought, “I have to pay the bills.” Then a split second later I would remember that Timothy had paid off all my debt. I can’t describe the relief that would wash over me. But as for how much money I would have by marrying Timothy, that thought never occurred to me. In my head it was his money.

Apparently, that also was the thought his mother was having, because she said, “You do know you’ll have to sign a prenuptial agreement, don’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought of it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. You don’t have a choice,” she said.

I wanted to argue with her just so I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of agreeing, until I realized that my arguing with her would give her more satisfaction than anything. So I said, truthfully, “I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Just because you have my son fooled with some innocent Midwestern act doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for it,” she said tartly.

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

“I wanted you to know that,” she said.

“All right.”

“And that I know this won’t last more than six months. I know my son. As soon as he gets you, he won’t want you anymore.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?”

“You could be, but if that’s the case, that’s what divorce lawyers are for.”

“Are you being flip with me?” she demanded.

“A little,” I said.

“Well, I don’t like people being flip with me in my own home. I think we’re done here.”

And that had been it.

I left without even getting tea.

Timothy’s mother called him while I was still in the cab, so he knew all about it—her version at least—by the time I came in the door. He made me tell the whole thing over again, from my side, and as far as I could tell, he loved every minute of it.

He kissed me and said, “I would have been really worried if she actually liked you. Hearing how much she didn’t like you reassures me immensely.”

Now I was on the way to meet my mother at the airport, and I was dreading it. I knew the first thing she would say when she got off the plane and saw my hair. I still remembered her reaction when I was eight and I decided to cut myself some bangs. I was so proud of my new haircut, so I went to show her, and she took one look at me and slapped me across the face, dragged me to a mirror, and said, “Look at what you did. I’m ashamed to be seen with you looking like that.” That’s how I remembered it anyway. My memory from when I was eight might be a little suspect, but I knew the sort of reaction my mother was capable of. Though, honestly, even without having cut off my hair, I would still dread seeing her.

Sure enough, my mother stepped off the plane, took one look at me, and said, “Oh, Nora. Oh, what did you
do
? What were you thinking?”

I’m sure she would have gone on and it would have gotten much worse, but my sister came to my rescue—just like she used to when I was little.

“I think it looks amazing,” she said. “
You
look amazing.”

I had sent her fifteen thousand out of the fifty that Timothy gave me, so that might have been part of the reason why she was being so nice. But I could tell she also genuinely meant it. In fact, she was looking at me like she’d never seen me before. Then I realized she had never seen me in makeup like this or in the new wardrobe I’d gotten in New York. I had to smile when I thought that, to her, I must look exactly like all the other New Yorkers looked to me when I first arrived.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Jeez, I need to find myself a rich banker,” she said. “It seems to really be the way to go. And now you’re going to be set for life.

“What do you mean?” my mother said. “You think life is some fairy tale? Rich men do whatever they want. He’ll get bored with her and leave her in a year.”

At least my own mother gave me six months more than Timothy’s mother, I thought wryly.

“Well, at least she’ll still get some money,” my sister said.

“Do you think, on the day before my wedding, we could maybe not talk about my getting divorced?” I asked. “I have to manage to get married before I can get divorced.”

“Is he having second thoughts already?” my mother demanded. “Did we fly all the way out here for nothing?”

“No, he’s not having second thoughts, not that I know of. Anyway, Mom, are you feeling okay? How are you doing? You’re not too tired, are you?” I looked at her more closely, and I had to admit to myself that she didn’t look so good. She’d been so sick for so long, but she never actually looked sick. Now it finally seemed to be catching up with her. She had dark circles under her eyes, and it looked like she had lost weight.

“Oh, I’m . . .” and I saw my mother glance over at my sister, and my sister shake her head ever so slightly. “I’m fine. Doing fine.”

I glanced at Deirdre.

“She’s fine,” Deirdre said. “Really.”

The more they talked, the less I believed them.

And then my sister very deliberately changed the subject. “So, is his parents’ house amazing? What’s his family like?”

“I don’t know them very well,” I said.

On the ride back, I told them who was who in his family so they would know who everyone was at the rehearsal dinner. Then I heard about the twins and how Boyd had only seen the kids once in the past two months. Somehow the drive from the airport passed, and finally we arrived at the B&B.

We all dispersed to our rooms to get ready. I took a shower (I loved that all I had to do to my hair now was rub a towel over it and put some gel in it). I got dressed and was putting on my makeup in the dresser mirror when I heard a voice call out from the hall, “Yo, I’m here. Where the hell are you, Nora?”

“Here,” I called.

A second later, Tammy burst into my room.

She still had her coat on, and she was lugging her bag with her—she hadn’t even gone to her room.

“You won’t believe what—” she started, then she saw me. “Holy crap! Your hair!”

“What about it?” I said.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you did that!” She paused and looked again. “It looks good. It looks really good. Has your mom seen it? Oh my God, she must have had a fit.”

“It wasn’t that bad, actually.”

“Fuck me, I think I’m about to start believing in miracles. You cut off your hair, your mom’s not acting crazy, and you’re getting married tomorrow. I think the world might be coming to an end.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling. “How’s everything back home?”

I felt a little guilty as I asked the question. I hadn’t really kept in touch since I’d left. We’d exchanged some e-mails, but Tammy’s usually went something like, “Have the funniest story to tell you. But have to dash now. Write more later.” And of course later never came. Though I can’t say my e-mails were a lot more descriptive.

“You won’t believe it.” Tammy pulled off her coat, tossed it on the bed, and flopped down on top of it. “I’ve got the best gossip ever.”

“What?”

“Jeanette has got a man.”

I have to admit I was a little disappointed. “That’s the best gossip ever?”

“Wait a second, missy. You don’t know who the man is.” She was smiling like the proverbial cat.

I searched my mind for the man that would put a smile on her face like that. I came up with the person I thought might be the least likely. “Neil?” I guessed.

“No. Neil’s got a terrible crush on me. Don’t you know that?”

“Yes, but I thought he might have figured out that you’d never give him the time of day.”

“You never know.” She shrugged.

“Do you have something else to tell me?” I demanded.

“No. That would only be if I got desperate. Guess again.”

“I don’t know. I give up. Tell me.”

And she did.

“Dan.”

“No,” I said. “No way.”

“Yes way. Dan’s leaving Stacey for her best friend.”

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. “Dan and Jeanette,” I said. “Seems like you and Jeanette have the same taste in men.”

“Lord help me,” I agreed. “Well, I wish them the best.”

“Oh, don’t lie. You just love it that you know he’s going into an even worse disaster than the other one.”

“Maybe just a little. But I feel like taking delight in their misery is probably bad luck.”

“It’s just fucking human,” Tammy said. “A little justice in the world.”

“I thought you were an anarchist.”

“Oh shut up and let me enjoy it.”

“Okay. You’ve got five seconds, and then it’s going to be time to go to the rehearsal dinner.”

“Holy shit, I’m totally not ready.” She leapt off the bed. “I knew I shouldn’t have flown in so late, but Neil wanted to share the car to the airport, and this was the cheapest flight. Fucking Neil,” but she said it with affection. “I’ve got other news, but I’ll tell you later. Maybe after dinner.”

“If I survive the dinner,” I said. “I just hope everyone’s going to be on good behavior tonight.”

“Oh, I hope not. A wedding that goes smoothly isn’t really a wedding at all. Family drama is, like, a requirement.”

“Don’t jinx me,” I said.

 

 

 

 

 

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Nora was really nervous about the families coming together for the rehearsal dinner. It wasn’t like her.

When I tried to ask her about what she was so nervous about, she said it was her mother. I understood what that was like; I had my own mother to deal with. But I was certain that her mother couldn’t possibly be as bad as mine. And I was right. When I met her mother and sister for the first time, I though her sister seemed reserved, almost a little suspicious, but her mother was charming. She smiled and took my hand and told me how long she’d been waiting to meet me and how delighted she was.

Afterward, I admit, I made fun of Nora for being nervous. I didn’t see what could go wrong at dinner—well, what could go wrong with her family anyway.

We’d chosen a small Italian restaurant along the main street in town, with a private room at the back and a patio. It was old, with dark wood and low ceilings. My mother, of course, when she came in, declared it “oppressive and dreary,” but her taste usually ran to floral chintz, so that was no surprise. I had thought that Nora and I would sit at the head of the table, but when we arrived and people started to sit down, my mother ignored the place cards and appropriated one end, installing Alejandro at her side, and my father took the other end, though at least he had the courtesy to invite Nora’s mother to join him. (Though maybe it wasn’t just courtesy. Nora’s mother was surprisingly attractive, and my father was an old letch.) Nora and I sat in the middle, next to each other, and everyone else was left to fend for themselves.

The seating mix-up was just the first indication of the chaos to come. The first course had just been served when my mother stood with her wineglass raised.

I glanced over at Nora, and she looked at me with her eyebrows raised.