Chapter 24 Christopher
Friday
“Who’s mum’s approval? And why are they calling you Betty?” My mum slurs her words, keeping her hand firmly on my shoulder as she looks down at my phone screen. It takes two deep breaths before I can stop wanting to just shrug her hand off.
I’m surprised that she can even read my screen with the amount of alcohol she’s consumed.
She must be on her fourth glass of wine, and dessert has only just been served.
You would think that the death of my father would have curtailed her drinking habits, but no. If anything, it amplified the problem.
Thankfully, I hadn’t saved Alexander’s number under his own name, owing to the extensive list of requirements outlined in the MNDA. And my mum won’t get the Skater Boy reference, the pseudonym I’ve rather come to like for Alexander.
“Oh it’s no one, Mum. Nothing to bother yourself with.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. and dip my shoulder intentionally, so her hand slips back to the table.
There’s roughly forty people here, both from our side of the family and Daniel’s, scattered across ten tables in the ironically named Winter Garden restaurant.
Everyone is smartly dressed in cocktail dresses or button-down shirts and trousers.
Daniel’s family is much more reserved than ours.
They mostly stay at their tables, while our family drifts from one to another.
Aunt Brenda almost knocks over a waiter when she ricochets off one of the palm trees.
“Will you have a word with your sister? She’s doing herself no favors eating that cheesecake the night before her wedding.” My mum says this loudly and without a trace of irony as she sticks her fork into the cheesecake in front of her.
Other family members turn around to see what the commotion is.
“Leave her alone, Mum. It’s her wedding, not yours. She can do what she wants,” I say, lowering my voice, but it falls on deaf ears.
“At this rate she won’t fit into her dress.” Her voice rises as she takes another bite.
My mum was never going to win Mother of the Year award, but this running commentary is completely uncalled for.
“That’s rich, coming from the hungry hippo herself.”
My mum drops her fork on the plate and turns, slapping me across the face.
“How dare you!” Her face is so tense, I half expect her jaw to shatter from sheer rage.
The sting across my cheek is nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment of everyone in the restaurant now looking at our table. Kelly quickly gets up from her seat and marches over to us. She glares at me like I’ve just told her there’s no Wi-Fi.
“A word,” she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to one of the alcoves, past the baby grand piano. The guy sitting at it continues to hammer out the chords to Rascal Flatt’s What Hurts The Most.
A lump forms in my throat.
I don’t know what hurts more, my cheek, or my heart for having that woman for a mother.
“Can you not keep it cordial for one night?” Kelly flicks her hair behind her ear.
“I tried.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Well try harder,” she says, poking me with her finger.
“I was defending you!” I bat her finger away. “She was telling me that I need to stop you from eating. That you won’t fit into your dress.”
Kelly swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and sighs.
“Thank you,” she says, allowing her stance to soften. “Look, we just need to get through the next twenty-four hours. If we can keep her away from the alcohol and bite our tongues, everything will be okay.”
“Alright,” I say, sighing as I hear the clinking sound of a glass coming from the restaurant.
My deepest fear is realized when I crane my neck around and notice my mum standing up, trying to get everyone’s attention.
Great.
Another scene ready to unfold.
Kelly holds her fingers to her head and pulls the trigger, making us both laugh as we make our way back to our tables.
“Everyone, a moment please,” my mum commands.
I want to hide behind the palm tree. I don’t want to be exposed to whatever’s coming next, but I just need to keep calm and pray she doesn’t do something too embarrassing.
“As you all know, Kelly’s father isn’t here to celebrate with us tomorrow. And given it isn’t the custom for the mother of the bride to speak at the wedding,” she casts a sideward glance at me, “I thought I would give a toast this evening to Kelly and Daniel. Where is she?”
My mum scans the room for Kelly, her hand shading her eyes.
“I’m here, Mum.” Kelly waves her hand like a windscreen wiper as she returns to her seat.
“On behalf of the Foster family, I just want to thank you all for coming to my daughter’s wedding.
” My mum’s words are suddenly a lot more coherent.
“I had expected this one to be the first to get married.” She stretches her arm out at me.
“But if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s not to expect anything from men. ”
Oh Lord, here we go.
My mother’s favorite pastime is shamelessly taking digs at people, including the people she gave birth to.
I grab my drink and take a long gulp, trying to swallow down my anger and avoid everyone else’s gaze.
“But you, Daniel, you’ve come along and made my Kelly so happy. And I’m so excited to have you be a part of the family. To be the son I’ve never had.”
I feel the eyes in the room burning a hole straight through me, but I can’t bring myself to look up.
To take my hands or eyes off my glass. I’ve learned to accept that my mum sees me as a disappointment.
So much so that her words barely register with me anymore.
It’s the pity and sympathy from others that I can’t stand.
“I can’t wait to welcome you into the family and for you both to make me a grandmother. To the happy couple, Kelly and Daniel.”
I automatically raise my glass as the rest of the restaurant does the same.
But wait. A grandmother?
How the hell does she know? I thought Kelly said it was a secret?
I lift my head to find Kelly throwing daggers at me with her glare. I shake my head vigorously. I definitely haven’t told Mum. Maybe she guessed. Or maybe she’s just speaking figuratively.
“Don’t just leave me standing here!” My mum waves her glass at me, ready to clink them together, even as she stares still down at me disapprovingly. Like she hasn’t just thrown me under the bus. You know, like all loving mothers do.
I get up from my seat, glass raised, but my mum, in her eagerness to drink, combined with her heavy-handedness, smashes her glass into mine. They both shatter and the liquid sloshes over me.
“Great,” I say, shaking my arms and reaching for a napkin to dry myself. Her red wine is barely noticeable on my dark navy shirt, but it’s also splattered all across my beige trousers and brown boots.
“Can you clean this mess up?” My mum snaps her fingers at one of the waiters.
I stare at the shards of glass and red wine and vodka soda sloshed across the floor. I’ve promised Kelly not to cause another scene, but I’ve done my duty. If I don’t get out of here right now, the fury inside me is going to cause some lasting damage.
I turn to walk away, but my mum reaches out to stop me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To change,” I say, turning around and holding my hands out, so she can fully take in the mess she created.
“I didn’t think we’d get you out tonight,” Stephen says, passing me a vodka soda.
“Neither did I,” I say, gently tapping my glass against Stephen’s and his housemate Ciaran’s, who seems to be on something. Sweat is dripping profusely from his face, and his fingers constantly rub at his nostrils.
I had no plans to go out after I got back to the room and showered. But when I headed back to the notepad to try and finish the speech for tomorrow, I found myself too angry to write anything. I just needed to get out of the hotel.
“Spotted any hotties tonight?” I take a sip of my drink through the straw and take in his shirt.
Looking for a Sugar Daddy is printed in block letters across the top. Underneath that is a check list with all his demands.
His short shorts have already attracted attention from a number of the older guys who line the walls of the dance floor.
“Jeez, he’s been like the Tasmanian devil,” Ciaran remarks. “He’s been working his way through the crowd, trying to find a sugar daddy.”
“I have not,” Stephen says, whacking Ciaran’s arm. His mouth locates his straw and he sips through it, acting innocent.
“Seems like your problem is you keep finding sugar-free daddies,” I say. My gaze drifts around the bar, noting the lack of potential. “Maybe it’s time you try looking for a diabetes daddy instead.” Ciaran snorts, and some of his drink flies out of his nostrils.
“That’s what I said, we need to go to some hospices in Mayfair, find ourselves a daddy on death’s door.” Ciaran wipes away the drink from under his nose and licks his hand.
The opening bars of Nicki Minaj’s Starships starts to come out of the speakers, and I instantly know I’ve lost Stephen for the next three and a half minutes.
He clears space for himself as he moves through the crowds and struts toward the huge disco ball hanging over the DJ, so he can showcase his moves.
I leave him and Ciaran to it, having never been a fan of dancing, and make my way up through the seated area and downstairs to the toilets.
It’s a tight squeeze as people wait to use one of the two cubicles, but thankfully I only need the urinal, and can skip the half a dozen people waiting in line.
By the time I’ve peed, zipped myself up, and made my way back to the sink, the line seems to have doubled. As I bend down to splash my face with water, a familiar voice speaks.
“I thought that was you.”
I lift my head and catch Ryan’s reflection in the mirror.
I slowly reach for a paper towel to dab at my face, buying valuable seconds to reconcile my thoughts, and breathe deeply into the sheet of paper.