Chapter 7
Note to self:
Go over boundaries with Mom again.
And again.
And yet again, just to be sure.
“Oh, wait a minute,” my mom said after she recounted the boxes she’d made my father and Theo stack in the back of Theo’s SUV. “I think I’m missing the two boxes of centerpiece candles.”
My father gave a long-suffering sigh and ran a hand over his shiny bald head. “Stephy, how in the hell can you have this much stuff? It’s one wedding.”
“Excuse me, Eli. This is our baby boy getting married. It’s only the most important day of our lives.”
Mom’s knack for hyperbole was renowned. In fact, if hyperbole was a person, my mother would win the Ms. Hyperbole USA Pageant hands down.
“Not even the birth of your children,” I murmured. “Wow.”
From his spot across from me, Theo lowered his head and adjusted his baseball cap. I didn’t miss his smile.
“Well, of course, the birth of my children was important.” Mom fussed with her short blonde hair, looking only slightly embarrassed. “I just meant this wedding is a very special occasion and I’ve spent months making these things because I want everything to be perfect.”
Dad ground his teeth together. “Woman, this wedding can’t come soon enough.”
Mom put her hands on her hips. “What does that mean?”
With a sigh, I crossed my arms and rested a hip on the tailgate of Theo’s SUV. I knew where this was headed. Theo’s eyes found mine.
Here we go, he mouthed.
I rolled my eyes. Of course.
Dad arched one dark eyebrow. “You’ve lost your ever-lovin’ mind is what it means. We haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a month. You haven’t been to bed before one in weeks and our house looks like a craft store and a wedding cake had a baby, a real ugly baby.”
Theo shook his head, visibly biting back a laugh. Uh-oh.
“Well, excuse me, O Great and Mighty Man of the House. I’m so sorry I haven’t been pampering you like a good little wife should.”
I made a tick mark in the air. Point goes to Mom.
“Where’s this damn box?” Dad roared.
“In the craft room,” Mom yelled right back.
“Theo,” Dad barked, glaring at my mother.
Theo snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Come help me.” Dad stomped off. Theo shot me an amused look before following my dad into the house.
My parents had been married for thirty-six years and for as long as I could remember, they drove each other crazy, but not in a way I ever thought they didn’t love each other. They bickered in love. Once when I was eight and a boy in my class announced his parents fought all the time and so they were getting a divorce, I’d gone home in tears, certain my parents would be next.
Mom had explained all couples communicated differently, but that she loved my father very much. She and Daddy enjoyed sharing their feelings loudly. “Although, the best part is making up after. You should be thanking us. The reason all you kids exist is because of our yelling.”
Eight-year-old me hadn’t understood that. Thankfully.
While they did enjoy an argument, I’d also seen them weather tragedy and hardships and do it together. They were a good team when they had a common enemy.
Mom shook her head but stared at Dad the entire time he walked away, a hint of appreciation in her eyes. “That man does drive me crazy, but the backside on him is?—”
“Gross, Mom.”
“You should be grateful to have parents still married after all these years.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Divorced-parent guilt and stepparents would have meant more presents at Christmas.”
“Alicia!”
With a grin, I slung an arm around her waist. “Love you.”
After a moment, she unfolded her arms and hugged me back. “Did you pack your medication?”
“Yes.” I sighed.
“And your rescue meds?”
“Yes.”
“What about the first aid kit?” After I nodded, she continued, “I can print you out another page with all the important phone numbers on it if you need it.”
“Mom.” I dropped my arm and took a step back.
“I want you to be prepared. You never know when you’ll have another seizure.”
I slumped. That was the real crux of it.
Ever since that first seizure when I was sixteen, my mother had made it her mission to keep me safe. If she could get away with covering me in feathers and bubble wrap and writing “Fragile” on my forehead in permanent marker, she would. I understood her worry. Really, I did. I tried to be patient with her.
I’d had to deal with so many aspects of having epilepsy—the years of breakthrough seizures before finding the right combination of medications; the knowledge I’d probably take that medication my entire life; the fear that even after years of being seizure-free, they could return with no warning. But sometimes the hardest part was the guilt, the guilt that I caused so much worry in the people I loved.
“Mom,” I said gently. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I know. I know. I just worry.” That was an understatement. My mother took worry to Olympic gold medal heights.
“And?”
“And I need to respect your boundaries and give you the space to be independent,” she said, like a kid reciting the state capitals in class.
That was because it was, word for word, the “contract” I’d had her sign six months ago after a particularly alarming episode involving my mother bursting into my apartment after I hadn’t answered my phone. I had been in the shower; Naked Ali had not been happy. We’d had a long talk after that and came up with a contract of sorts. It was still pretty touch-and-go.
You know those women who have a passel of boy children, get pregnant again and people ask them things like, “Trying for a girl, huh?” Most are quick to say, “Oh, no, I just want a healthy baby.”
Not my mom though. I’d heard the tales of her proclaiming she would only be giving birth to a girl and that was that. God, perhaps not willing to deal with the amount of complaining that would come from my mother if she didn’t get one, obliged. And thus, I liked to say she pretty much willed me into existence.
From as early as I could remember, I was wearing frilly pink dresses and giant hairbows. Gymnastics and dance classes started when I was four. We had girls’ nights from the time I was ten. We’d curl up in bed and watch a movie together, paint our nails, and try out face masks. My mom and I were close. Did she make me want to pull my hair out sometimes? Sure. Was she a lot to handle? Also, yes. But my mom was the best even in those moments, too.
“So. The centerpieces.” I pointed at the boxes and boxes of stuff in the back of Theo’s SUV. It was a good thing it had third row seating. He’d already packed it with his camping gear. After the wedding, he’d be going on a month-long, solo camping trip, something he did every summer, and I’d drive back home with my parents.
“Yes, the candles.” She clapped her hands with excitement. “They are darling. In fact, I’ve started selling them online and they’ve been a big hit.”
“Oh, really?”
“I posted a video of my newest candle and people are ordering so fast I can’t keep up. I had to start a waitlist.” Mom whipped her phone out. “Let me see if I can find the pictures.”
I tuned her out as she began describing with intricate detail the candles and centerpieces and I don’t know what else.
Dad and Theo returned, shoving the two boxes in the car.
“There. Happy?” Dad raised a dark eyebrow.
“Thank you, honey.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, seeing as how she was a couple of inches taller than him. While she was tall, blonde and a card-carrying member of the Peach-shaped Body Society, Dad was stocky and his light-brown skin, which stayed permanently tan in the Texas sun, had been passed to him by his father. Grandpa Ramos’s family had been of Mexican descent, although they’d been in Texas for generations. Grandpa had married a blonde woman with big blue eyes, too. So, while I was a Ramos, I was more white than Mexican, and my Spanish was only competent enough to order arroz con pollo at the Taco Truck.
In high school, I’d taken Japanese, since I was deep into my manga era then. Turns out there aren’t many opportunities to use Japanese in small-town Texas.
Theo’s arm brushed against my shoulder as he came to stand next to me. “You ready to go?”
I gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “You betcha.”
Just normal old Ali who is in no way panicking at the thought of hours upon hours of alone time with him.
The corner of his mouth tipped in amusement. Sometimes I swore he could read my thoughts. Another reason to panic. ’Cause where Theo was concerned, my thoughts were…often, um, private.
“Do you have snacks?” Mom asked.
Theo nodded. “Yes.”
“Jumper cables?” She turned to my dad without waiting for an answer. “Eli, do we have extra jumper cables for them?”
“I have jumper cables, a spare tire, my car insurance is up to date, I’m CPR-certified, all my seatbelts and airbags are in working condition and I made sure my zombie apocalypse kit is stocked for two.”
“Alright.” Mom held her arms out and gave Theo a hug.
To my mother, Theo was like a fourth son. He and his mom moved next door to us when I was six; Theo was nine. Becky and my mom became fast friends. My brothers—only three years separating the oldest from the youngest—found a kindred spirit in Theo, but it was Abe he was always the closest to, in both age and friendship.
Becky had been a single mom, Theo’s father having left when he wasn’t yet two and never heard from again. When she’d gotten a position as an overnight ICU nurse at a nearby hospital, she and my mom hatched a plan. In the evenings when she left for work, Theo came to our house. He ate dinner with us. He did his homework at the table with us. He listened to Mom read to us before bed. He slept on a trundle bed in the bedroom all three of my brothers shared.
He was just always there. Another brother. But not. Mom had been like a second mom to him. Now with Becky gone, Mom was even more determined that Theo always felt like he was part of our family.
“Well, you should probably be going then.” She released Theo from the stranglehold of a hug. “Drive safe. You have precious cargo with you.”
“I’m sure the centerpieces will be fine,” I said.
“Very funny,” she muttered as she wrapped me in her arms next.
“Stephy,” Dad said when she was still hugging me a full thirty seconds later. “Let go of her.”
Her grasp only grew tighter. “But she’s leaving me.”
“Mom.” My voice muffled against her shoulder. “You’re going to see us in a few days.”
“Oh, fine.” She let go. Finally.
Dad rolled his eyes but slung an arm around Mom’s shoulders and pulled her close. “We’ll see you in Portland.”
I nudged Theo with my shoulder. “Quick, let’s go, before she tries to handcuff us to the dining room table and load us up with so much meatloaf and apple pie, we won’t be able to move.”
Theo’s head tilted in my direction. “Did you say apple pie, though? Isn’t there always time for pie?”
Without a word, I linked my arm through his and dragged him to the car. My mother, Lord help us, stood in the driveway and waved until we were out of sight.