4. Mary
Chapter 4
Mary
I dread joining them, but there’s no escaping it now. The vipers’ nest—weddings, babies, gossip. I’d very, very much rather be anywhere else. Taking a deep breath, I force my legs forward even though every fiber of my being protests.
“Morning, everyone.” I stop in front of the table where my sister, mother, and her friends sit every Saturday for brunch.
“Good Morning, Darling. Did you just wake up?” My mother’s gaze sweeps over me, no doubt taking in my simple shift dress, flats, and messy bun.
“I was up early for yoga, actually.” I restrain from smoothing my hair. “Didn’t have time to get fully ready before coming here.”
“I see.” My mother’s eyes stay cool. She turns to the waiter, who appears at her elbow. “The usual for Mary, please.”
“Of course, Mrs. Wempton.” As he walks away, I take the empty seat next to my sister, Ella .
“Where’s Sloan?” I ask. Gemma’s mother is usually here for these little get-togethers. After Gemma and I became best friends, she became a good friend to my mother.
My mother’s lips purse. “Oh, she couldn’t make it today. Something came up with Sebastian, I believe.”
“Ah.”
“Dear, I love that bag.” Mrs. Sinclair’s heavily made-up eyes lock onto the pink clutch with a ribbon hanging from my shoulder.
My mother got the extravagant, costing-way-too-much bag for me as a birthday gift once. I quote ‘to improve my style choices’.
I hate it.
But wearing the stuff she gives me saves me from a lot of discussion. Would she be angry if I gave Mrs. Sinclair the bag? It could be an opportunity to get rid of it.
“It feels like ages since we last saw you!” Mrs. Thompson, another close friend of my mother’s and the wife of a prominent lawyer swats my mother’s shoulder. She has been married three times. Her bleached teeth gleam unnaturally against her tanned skin. “You look absolutely stunning, as always. What’s your secret? A man?”
“Yes, tell us. Have you found a husband yet?” Mrs. Morgan chimes in.
They all married very young, and some even twice. Successful investment banker, the high-powered lawyer, the esteemed doctor. Their husbands are just as curated as their designer clothes and flawless faces.
“No. Still happily single,” I say.
What they must think of me? Why isn’t she married yet? Doesn’t she want children? What does she do all day?
“Such a shame,” Mrs. Morgan says. “A lovely girl like you shouldn’t be single for so long.”
“It’s by choice.” Who am I kidding? Not even Chris wanted to be more than a fling. And before I get into a shallow relationship with suitor number 30, I’d rather have none at all.
From the side, my younger sister Ella, who has been quiet until now, shoots me a knowing look. We’ve both been subjected to this line of questioning many times before.
Though perhaps Ella not as intensely as me. As the second daughter, she could slip under the radar more, dodging some expectations placed upon my shoulders. She’s always been the complete opposite of me, where I am outgoing, she’s reserved and competitive. Unlike my short, wavy hair that falls above my shoulders, her brown hair is long and straight. However, we both possess blue eyes. At least one thing we have in common.
The waiter returns with my mimosa, and I take a generous sip. It’s the best thing at these get-togethers.
“So Mary,” my mother begins, “any exciting updates? I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
Here we go. The passive-aggressive reminder that I’ve been too busy living my life to attend the various society events and family obligations she deems important. Never mind that I work 50 hours a week at Dad’s company.
“Nothing new. Work. Sleep. Yoga.”
“You should work less and concentrate more on finding a man. Just take your sister, for example. She already has a handsome man, and I made it happen. He’s the son of a real estate tycoon.” My mother whips her head to her friends, who nod in agreement.
Yes, tap yourself on the shoulder for finding an asshole boyfriend who doesn’t treat her right. I remember exactly how he talked to her as soon as they were out the door after Sunday dinner, calling her a pig and telling her to stop pursuing acting. But that doesn’t matter, right? Who needs a supportive partner?
“Don’t scowl so much, or you’ll get wrinkles,” my mother says.
“Mother, I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite content with my life right now.”
“Content?” she scoffs. “You know, dear, time isn’t exactly on your side. At your age, I was already married and expecting you.”
In her world, a woman isn’t complete without a ring on her finger.
Honestly, sometimes I wonder if my mother realizes how ridiculous she sounds. Other times, I suspect she may actually believe her own propaganda. Either way, it’s exhausting trying to defend my choices against her constant barrage of criticism. I’m focusing on my career and personal growth rather than obsessing over finding a husband.
“I’m just being selective. What’s wrong with that?” I stir my mimosa, watching the bubbles fizz.
“Selective? Don’t be foolish. You don’t have the luxury of selectivity anymore.”
Isn’t it ironic?
“I’m busy with work.”
“You should let me set you up,” Mrs. Thompson says. “My son Thaddeus is single. I simply must arrange an introduction.”
Great. I picture Thaddeus, whom I’ve met at countless dreadful society events. Obnoxious as ever, he was bragging about his fast cars and faster conquests.
“How kind of you to think of me.”
“I’ll text him right away.” She takes out her phone and nudges the glasses on her nose upwards. “So…”
Another awkward and horrible first date.
“Ladies,” Mrs. Morgan says, “let the girl live her life. It’s not like we’re living in the 1950s anymore.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan,” I murmur into my mimosa.
“Darling, I only want what’s best for you.” My mother’s eyes narrow as if daring me to argue.
I can’t win this battle here. Not now, not never.
Beside me, Ella fidgets with something.
I lean to her while the others continue their matchmaking talk. “What is that?”
“I… I got a Best Supporting Actress nomination. ”
I love how my sister follows her dream. It must be nice. To know what you want and keep at it. Ella has always been that way, even as a kid.
“Congratulations.” I rub her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“Did you tell mom?”
“I’ll tell her another time. The awards ceremony is next month.” Ella puts the paper back into her purse.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
Ella nudges me. “Don’t.”
“What?” My mother glances between us.
“Did you know Ella got nominated?”
“That’s nice, dear. But, really, now that I look at you again... You need to take better care of your skin. It’s not as smooth as it could be. No wonder you can’t find a man. You should visit the nail salon too. All that work on the computer has made your nails look awful.”
Amazing reaction, Mom. As always. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I saw the most darling dress the other day that would look just fabulous on you.” My mother sets her teacup onto its saucer and adjusts her perfectly coiffed hair. “Such a soft pink, very feminine. You need it.”
“Of course.”
A scowl darkens her features, and I brace myself, anticipating the sharp retort I know is coming.
“Anyway,” she turns back to her circle of gossip queens, “about the upcoming charity gala. The guest list is simply extraordinary.”
That’s new.
Meanwhile, Ella shrank back into herself, shoulders slumped, head bowed low. Acting isn’t considered a respectable enough profession in my parents’ eyes. They want Ella to join the family business, like I did. But she’s laser-focused on her dream of becoming a famous actress while I’m busy trying to please Mom and Dad.
I squeeze Ella’s hand. “I’m so proud of you. Text me the details. I’ll be there.”
“Forget it, Mar.” Ella shakes off my hand. “I’ll go to the restroom.”
Heads turn as her chair screeches against the floor, grabbing the gossip queens’ attention.
“Is everything alright?” Mrs. Morgan asks as Ella walks away.
I’m not a good sister.
“Of course.” My mother waves her hand dismissively. “Did you hear about Tatiana? She relapsed again and is back in rehab. Poor thing.”
Tsk-tsks ripple around the circle as they pick over this juicy bit of gossip. I stay silent.
“It’s those drugs.” Mrs. Thompson wrinkles her nose. “Nasty habit. No willpower at all. ”
Mrs. Morgan nods. “Her poor daughter. The girl must be so embarrassed. And now she has to deal with her mother’s issues on top of everything else.”
My mother cuts in. “Well, it’s high time she stops whoring around. Without Tatiana coddling her, she’ll finally grow up.”
Even in sympathy, my mother finds fault.
“Oh, must you be so harsh?” Mrs. Morgan tuts. “The girl just needs guidance. We all do, from time to time.”
Before my mother can retort, Ella returns with reddened eyes. “My apologies.” She smooths her features into a pleasant mask. “Did I miss anything?”
“No, dear.” Mrs. Morgan pats her hand. “We were just discussing the arrangements for the upcoming gala.”
With that, the conversation moves on. But under the table, I squeeze Ella’s hand again, hoping she understands I’m here for her. For once, she doesn’t recoil.
“Guess who I got to come to the gala.” My mother smiles with pride.
“Who?”
“None other than Mr. Elijah Milton. He’s quite the catch in New York these days. Billionaire, philanthropist, CEO.”
The women at the table collectively gasp.
“Isn’t he engaged to Esther Whitman?” Mrs. Thompson asks.
“That’s what I heard, too,” my mother says. “It’s a shame, really. He would have been perfect for Mary. ”
“Another eligible bachelor taken. Such a shame,” I say. “One less man you can harass me about.”
“Ah, well,” my mother sighs dramatically. “Can’t win them all, I suppose.”
“Esther is a lovely girl,” Mrs. Morgan adds. “They would make a striking couple. Let’s see and wait if the rumors are true.”
I force myself to smile as the conversation continues, counting down the minutes until I can leave this place and take a deep, much-needed breath of fresh air, which is non-existent here due to the overpowering amount of perfume they use.
“Speaking of eligible bachelors,” Mrs. Morgan says, “My Serena is dating Sebastian.”
I nearly choke on my mimosa. Sebastian, as in, my best friend Lil’s ex Sebastian? The one she has never gotten over?
“Sebastian Barron?” I manage to cough out.
“Quite the catch, I know,” Mrs. Morgan says and prattles on about how handsome and successful Sebastian apparently is while the other ladies cluck approvingly.
But all I can think about is my poor best friend, Lil. She will be devastated when she finds out he has moved on.
Their breakup was messier than a kindergartener armed with finger paints, but nobody knows why things went south. All we know is that Lil has been pining away ever since and would almost have gotten married if Gem and I hadn’t intervened.
“How wonderful for Serena,” my mother says. “At least she has managed to snag such a fine gentleman. ”
Should I tell Lil?
“Must run in the family,” Mrs. Morgan says. “It’s always lovely when our children find happiness.”
Happiness. Does that even exist?
At least not for my best friends and me.
Unable to take it any longer, I fetch my phone. There’s still no message from him. I type, and add two new messages to the bulk I had sent since… he left me.
Mary: What’s wrong?
Mary: Are you okay?
Desperate. I know.
I scroll through our old messages.
Mary: SOS
Chris: Is the food that horrible?
Mary: It’s my mother.
Chris: Deploying the rescue team. ASAP. In the meantime, try to blend in with your surroundings. Pretend you’re a fancy statue.
Mary: I think they’d notice if the statue started eating its weight in pastries.
Chris: Hang in there, soldier. I’ll have a drink waiting for you at the party.
Mary: You’re my hero.
Mary: Any plans today?
Chris: Got some laundry to do later and hit up the gym. Pretty standard Saturday.
Chris: Our date still stands, right ?
Mary: Already have my outfit and mask ready.
Chris: Good. Can’t wait, love.
Love.
I remember how I giggled and jumped around the first time I read it.
Now, the word feels hollow and meaningless.
Why call me love and leave after taking my virginity?
Am I that horrible?