Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My mother is here.
I nearly drop the phone right there in the parking lot, my body electric with the news. I’d be lying if I said I was happy about her arrival. She is literally the last person on earth I want to see right now, considering everything else I’m dealing with. But she’s your mother, I tell myself. And this is your wedding …not to mention the fact that I did invite her. I tighten my grip on the phone.
I was just secretly hoping she wouldn’t come.
Our relationship has always been complicated. My father, a successful investment banker, traveled constantly for work, leaving my stay-at-home mom and me together. However, instead of doting on me with fresh-baked cookies when I arrived home from school or spending late nights eating popcorn and watching movies with me, my mother constantly distracted herself with a toxic combination of gossip, pain pills, and alcohol.
She was an addict through and through.
By the time I was ten years old, I was cooking all of the meals and pretty much taking care of her. My father tried to be patient and take care of her, which I admired, but he was never home enough to really make a difference. So, it ended up being me taking care of my mother. When I was twelve years old, my world shattered as my father passed away from a massive heart attack. Not only was I devastated by the loss of my father, but I was also uncertain about how I was going to make it to eighteen years old and graduate high school. If my mother was hooked on pain pills and alcohol before, things only got worse after his death. She was sad and depressed, often going weeks without leaving the house.
If it wasn’t for my Grandma Mae stepping in to help our family, I don’t know what we would’ve done. Grandma Mae showed up at the house every evening, cooking us meals and, of course, teaching me how to bake. Her presence brought a sense of stability and comfort to our lives during those difficult times.
Eventually, in my senior year of high school, my mother was shipped off to rehab. Grandma Mae stayed with me, ensuring that I got all my homework done, had three square meals a day, and graduated. I was so grateful for her help and loved her dearly. She was more of a mother to me than my own mother ever could’ve been.
By the time my mother got out of rehab, I was already in college. She managed to blow through most of our inheritance, especially my portion of it. The only saving grace was that I was able to graduate from college without any debt, thanks to the remaining funds and scholarships I had secured.
But after that? I was on my own, left to navigate the world without the support of my parents and relying on the strength and resilience I had developed over the years.
“Hi, Mom. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing wonderful, dear. I’m just checking into my room at the Charleston Place Hotel now. Thank you for putting me up. Of course, I still need all the details for this fabulous wedding! I can’t wait to see you, honey,” she gushes, her words slightly muddled.
“I can’t wait to see you either, Mom,” I reply, the words coming out of my mouth a complete lie. “Thanks for coming to our wedding.”
“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I look forward to seeing that lovely boy who showed me around on my last visit. Zach, was it?”
“Yes, that was Zach, but um, I’m marrying Tucker now. So…”
“Oh yes, Tucker, of course.”
My cheeks burn. I have been dating Tucker for almost a year.
How could she mess that up?
After I relocated to Somerville and launched my shop, my mother stopped by for a visit. She was there to see the store and check up on me in my new life. For once, she arrived without any signs of intoxication, and I caught a glimpse of the woman I remembered from my youth. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and her hair was glossy and straight. She had that twinkle in her eye and an undeniable charm that must have captivated my father.
At the time, I was dating Zach. The two of them instantly hit it off, their laughter and easy conversation filling the air as they bonded over shared interests and experiences. She joined Zach and me on several outings, including dinner and a visit to a few of the historical sites of Charleston. My mother adored Zach. She thought he was the perfect man for me and told me numerous times that I should lock him down before some Southern belle came along and swiped him right from under my nose.
So, needless to say, Zach made an impression on her.
“Listen, Mom, I’m really busy right now. I’ll send you over the details for the rehearsal dinner tonight and, of course, the itinerary for the wedding this weekend. The hotel can take care of your transportation, and we can catch up later, okay?”
“That sounds fabulous, dear. I love you,” she says, her voice dripping with false affection.
“You too,” I muster.
I hang up the phone and tuck it into my purse, my stomach churning with a whole new level of anxiety. My mother has a way of completely embarrassing herself and me. If she shows up drunk at this wedding, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
My mother's second visit coincided with the grand opening of Couture Cakes. I felt hopeful and proud, eager for her to witness my hard work come to life. However, when she arrived, the composed version of her I had previously seen was gone. Instead, she was visibly intoxicated, her breath heavy with the smell of alcohol. Zach, showing remarkable tact, gently ushered her out the door and drove her back to the hotel.
I still feel like I owe him for his help that day.
Of course, Tucker also knows about my mother's alcoholism—he was the one who suggested I invite her. But I don't think he fully grasps the potential complications her presence might bring. I'm going to need his support this evening, and I'm hoping he might know someone who can discreetly keep an eye on her. Having a designated escort could help prevent any embarrassing situations for both of us.
My phone buzzes again, and I suspect it might be my mother calling once more. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for another painful conversation, wondering how I’m going to navigate this delicate situation without letting my mother’s addiction ruin the most important day of my life.
When I pick up the phone, I see that it’s a message from Snaptalk, a profile I don’t recognize. My heart sinks. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Part of me doesn’t want to read the message because of the unsettling texts I keep receiving, but the other part of me finds it absolutely irresistible.
I open the car door and settle into the driver’s seat before turning on the ignition. With a deep breath, I open my phone and read the message.
I’m going to give you one more chance to call off the wedding. Otherwise, I’ll stop the wedding for you. Tick tock.
A few seconds later, the message disappears, leaving no trace.
I sit in my car and let out a loud scream, the frustration and fear threatening to overwhelm me. This is just too much. I cannot take this anymore. In a fit of anger, I throw my phone onto the floor of the car and jam the gear into reverse. I want to rip down the street, but when I see Mr. and Mrs. Hendrix from the café down the street watching me, I force myself to collect my composure. I take six deep breaths, inhaling through my mouth and exhaling through my nose, desperately trying to hold myself together.
As I navigate the winding roads back to our house, my mind is racing faster than the speedometer. The lush green trees and picturesque houses blur past my window, but I barely register them. I have to talk to Tucker, I think, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He needs to know how serious this is getting. Maybe he’s found something, some clue to who would be sending these messages. I make a mental note to pull him aside as soon as we arrive at the rehearsal dinner, to find a quiet corner where we can talk.
As I turn onto our street, I feel a flicker of relief at the sight of the hairstylist’s and makeup artist’s cars parked out front, gleaming in the afternoon sun. At least something’s going according to plan, I think wryly, pulling into the cool dimness of the garage.
I reach down to the floor of the car, my fingers fumbling for my phone. The screen is mercifully blank, no new messages to taunt me. I shoot a quick text to Tucker, my thumbs flying over the keys.
Need to talk. Any updates?
I hit send, hoping that he’ll have some news.
With one last deep breath, I step out of the car, the concrete cool and solid beneath my feet. You can do this , I tell myself, squaring my shoulders and pasting a smile on my face. Just take it one step at a time.
I make my way inside the house, the air conditioning hitting me like a blast of arctic air. Our housekeeper must have already let in the hair and makeup artist, because they are all set up in the living room. They rush to greet me with their bright and bubbly voices.
As they work, I force myself to respond in kind, to laugh and chatter as if everything’s fine, as if my world isn’t crumbling around me.