Chapter 27
Lydia
“Lydia! Finally!” I hurry out of the kitchen, cringing as my mom’s voice comes over the line. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. I must’ve left a dozen messages.”
“Right, sorry,” my voice lacks any conviction, and I choose not to tell her that I haven’t listened to any of her messages. She called me the day after Josh found out about my marriage to Cole, and I knew without talking to her that Josh had told her about us. Ever since, I’ve been avoiding her calls like the plague, not ready to hear her reprimand me for once again ruining my life. Unfortunately, tonight she caught me off-guard. My conversation with Cole had been too intense. My thoughts had been muddled by the way he’d opened up to me and the simple sweetness of having someone to be with on an ordinary Friday night. Bringing up Cole’s obvious need for God had been a defense mechanism against my hormones, who’d been about to stage a coup and jump him. Of course, talking about God had brought up all of my own current vulnerabilities in that department, freaking me out on a whole other level.
As a result of all this, when my phone rang, I’d grabbed onto the escape like a man overboard clings to a life preserver, realizing too late that it was my mom.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve been busy adjusting to married life,” she laughs and my body stiffens in surprise. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she sounded happy.
“Uh, yeah.” I tread carefully, worried she’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security before bringing the hammer down. I open the door to my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.
“I must say,” finally a hint of the disapproval I’d been expecting creeps into her voice, “when Josh told me about your nuptials, I was quite disappointed you didn’t include us. Of course, I understand how new love can be. You get so caught up in it that an elopement feels like the height of romance.” An image of Cole and I standing in front of a city clerk, Tom looking on with displeasure, surfaces in my mind. Romantic? Not so much.
“That being said,” she goes on, “a phone call would’ve been nice, Lydia. We did raise you, provide for your every need, and what not. The least you could’ve done was call us.”
“Right, sorry,” I say again, still flustered that she’s not yelling at me. “I mean,” I cough, trying to get my head on straight, “you’re so right, Mom. It did all happen so fast, and then Cole and I have just been trying to settle into married life, like you said. I was going to call.” Which is true. I would’ve called…eventually.
“Well, never mind,” she closes the matter down. “I know now, and I fully expect you and Cole to let us throw you a reception here in Florida.”
“What?” Panic strums across my chest. A reception. I look down at my glimmer of a bump. She’s handling my sudden marriage surprisingly well, will her goodwill extend to the announcement of our pregnancy?
“A reception, honey. We want to celebrate with you,” she trills. “Of course, we’ll work around Cole’s schedule. I know how busy he is with work and his campaign.” She gives a dreamy little sigh. “I can’t believe it, my daughter, married to a senator.”
Everything starts to click into place then. Why she’s being so understanding. Why she’s not angrier. In her mind I’ve gone from being a failure of a daughter to being the wife of a politician. She couldn’t be happier.
“Mom,” I rush in, “he’s running for mayor, not the senate.”
“For now,” she laughs, “but we all know the senate is where he’s headed.” Another sigh. She’s starting to sound like Snow White, staring out the window dreaming of her prince. Or in her case her ideal son-in-law. “My daughter, a senator’s wife. I never could’ve imagined. Oh honey, your dad and I couldn’t be more proud.”
I fight the instinct to tell her how absolutely ridiculous she’s being. She’s not proud of me for something I’ve accomplished; no, she’s proud of me for marrying well. It’s like I’ve been tossed backwards into one of my regency romance novels. I’m Jane Bennet, and I’ve caught the eye of the wealthy gentlemen who just moved to the neighborhood.
“Lydia, are you still there?” My mom finally notices my silence.
“I’m here,” I croak, suddenly at the brink of tears.
“Oh good. Now, why don’t we finish this call, and you can go talk to Cole about when might be good for us to have the reception. I’d love to get a date on the books as soon as possible. The best venues fill-up months in advance, you know.”
To my great annoyance, a tear slides down my cheek. I want to fight her on this, to push back on her archaic standards, but my sadness weighs me down. So instead of taking her to task by actually making some good points, I find myself self-destructing.
“I’m not actually sure we’ll be able to come down for a reception, Mom. You see, I'm pregnant. With twins. And the doctor said I can’t fly.” This last part is a lie, but I don’t care. “So, sorry to put a damper on your plans, but there you have it. I hooked my guy the old-fashioned way, with an unplanned pregnancy. I’m sure your friends will be so proud when you tell them. Much better to have a daughter who trapped a politician into marrying her than a daughter who just coaches middle school track and field. ”
Absolute silence follows this pronouncement, and I tell myself not to regret my choice even as my palms begin to sweat and my breathing starts to feel constricted. After what feels like hours, she speaks.
“There’s no way I’m going to tell my friends that my daughter had a shotgun wedding,” her words slither across the phone line, their bite hitting me like poison. “Don’t you dare tell people that either, Lydia. You’ll ruin Cole’s career before it’s even started. Do his parents know? My goodness what Felicia and Joel must think of you. Of us! I suppose Joel must be working on a way to spin this, though. What an absolute mess. Pregnant out of wedlock. Shameful!”
My tears dry as she continues to rant. I’d been prepared for her anger, so maybe that’s why I prefer it to her pride. Anger is what I deserve. There’s a rational part of me that knows God forgives all sin, that Jesus’ death paid the price for all my wrongdoings. It’s the same part of me that was able to sit in the kitchen with Cole and tell him he clearly needs God. But there’s a louder, more emotional part of me that keeps trying to figure out how I can earn back God’s love, that keeps telling me I’ve lost the right to need God.
As my mom continues, moving on to what my father is going to say and how this never would’ve happened if I’d moved home to Florida like they’d wanted me to, I lay back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. Every word she says is like an act of penance. When she starts to lose her steam, I let myself hang up the phone. Then, forgetting about Cole waiting for me in the kitchen, I crawl under my covers and cry myself to sleep.