Chapter 30
Mom walks down the aisle in her blush-colored “effortless crepe sheath.” She was very correct to go for a “geometric keyhole cutout” in the back.
She was also correct not to appoint me to an official role involving walking down the aisle, reading a poem, or maintaining good posture for the length of a wedding ceremony. She and Perry aren’t flanked by any supporting actors in matching outfits—they are the stars of the show.
All the lists, the deposits, the stern-voiced phone calls, and trips to Goodale Park at various times of day to analyze the glare of the sun seem to have been worth it.
They wrote the vows themselves and I get surprisingly teary listening to my mom deliver them with a little quiver in her voice. If you want to see your mother as a full person in her own right, watch her kiss her spouse in front of a cheering crowd.
I’m genuinely happy for her. And the side of my brain that can’t just let that happy feeling stand keeps reminding me that Mom’s life would be across-the-board amazing right now if not for me. I feel like a dark smudge on her tasteful blush-color scheme.
Jen always has everything together!
Well, except for the daughter who won’t leave the nest.
She has to cross an ocean to get her kid to launch.
I’m bracing myself for various family members to ask questions for which I have unsatisfying answers.
At least today I don’t look like a smudge. Nick is sitting with Kira somewhere behind me. I wonder how different it would feel if he were here as my date, sitting in the front row on my left. Would we hold hands? Or give each other sly “that could be us someday” smiles?
When I let myself imagine a “someday,” it’s always been about my career, my achievements, flying frequently enough to get lounge access. Holding Giuseppe Baggio’s vibrant paintings in my gloved hands.
A successful, stable relationship hasn’t figured in my aspirations. For most of my life, my only role models with healthy marriages were on TV. Placing trust in another person was always a losing proposition.
The fact that my mom is standing at an altar right now, given everything she went through with my dad? It makes me believe a little bit more in that other sort of “someday.”
Even if the potential other half of the “someday” was technically invited to this wedding to meet another woman.
Mom and Perry picked Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” for the recessional.
As I watch them walk down the aisle, hand in hand, I see Kira bopping around to the music.
Nick had assured me that Kira quickly got over our little blowup.
I’m sure that’s true, but I still feel like shit for losing my cool so thoroughly on a nine-year-old.
My heels sink into the grass as I walk toward them. Nick folds me into a big hug that I’m not totally expecting but feels really good.
“You look beautiful,” Nick says into my ear. I don’t want to let him go. “Kira, what do you think of Sam’s dress?”
“I would’ve worn pink,” Kira replies. She’s wearing a bright pink dress and glittery cowboy boots. Honestly, an inspired sartorial choice.
“I don’t wear pink,” I say. “It looks super good on you, though.”
“She’s excited for the dancing,” Nick says.
“I hope you’ve both practiced your eighties and nineties moves. I had a peek at the playlist and I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a group singalong to ‘Get What You Give’ after the cake cutting.”
“I’m hungry,” Kira says.
I direct them to the food trucks and set off in search of my mom. Maybe I’m still feeling some emotional hangover from the ceremony, but I think I want to tell her about my “someday,” too.
Mom waves to me from across the lawn. She’s walking toward me with a woman I don’t recognize, scanning the crowd like they’re looking for someone.
The woman is somewhere in between my mom’s age and mine, wearing a strappy green dress that looks sophisticated, yet appropriate for a casual outdoor wedding. A fellow Realtor?
“Have you seen Nick?” Mom asks.
“Oh, well, yes. I have. I actually wanted to talk to you about—”
“Perfect timing,” Mom says to the woman. “Oh, I forgot you haven’t met! Sam, this is Shawna.”
I take in a sharp breath that almost chokes me before managing to say, “I’ve heard so much about you.” She has no idea how much.
My mother leans a little closer to me. “How should we officially introduce them? I was thinking you could bring Kira over to the dessert table or something.”
Great. Even in this scenario, I’m the babysitter.
A few seconds later, Shawna’s mother, who must have a terrific radar for drama, appears beside her.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Shawna whispers to the rest of us. “I’m really nervous.”
I study Shawna’s face for signs that she was hoping for this meeting as opposed to either of our mothers, but all I see is minor embarrassment at being dragged to the wedding of a near stranger for the sake of a misfired setup.
I wonder if her mother has been as insistent about this entire thing…
if she’s also watching videos about “parenting emerging adults” and sliding their talking points into conversations.
I need to act quickly.
“Actually…” I touch my mom’s forearm. “I need to talk—”
I’m not sure what comes first: the ear-piercing “Boooo!” or the swift shove by sticky little hands against my back, pitching me and my champagne glass forward directly into Shawna.
In the background I hear Nick yelling to Kira in a booming voice, my mom’s theatrical gasp, Shawna letting out a little scream when the champagne hits her dress.
In the foreground, my body does the full fight-or-flight response: surge of adrenaline, racing heart, loudly unleashing several expletives as I crash into another woman in formalwear.
I manage to stay on my feet only because my stupid heels are stuck in the soft grass. And the accidental bodily contact from Shawna breaking my fall.
Nick crouches down and puts his face near Kira’s. “What did I tell you about that?”
“It’s a game we do!” she exclaims. My least favorite game ever.
The other women descend on Shawna with napkins.
“That’s not a game,” Nick says. “Come here and apologize to everyone. Especially Sam and…this nice lady.”
Kira tilts her head down and says she’s sorry with as much sincerity as one can expect from an embarrassed nine-year-old. At least there’s no baby talk this time.
“Well, I guess that answers the question of how to introduce you two,” my mom says, dabbing at Shawna’s shoulder with a napkin. “Nick, this is Shawna—I think you’ve chatted, right?”
In some other story, this would be a meet-cute. In this one, the timing is bad. I can tell Nick’s attention is still with Kira and he barely clocks the significance of the name Shawna.
I dislodge my shoe and tap my mother on the shoulder. “Mom, can I talk to you alone for just a sec?”
“Do you need to readjust your bra?” Mom whispers.
I gently hustle my mother to a quieter area behind a giant tree and attempt the impossible task of conducting an uninterrupted conversation with a bride at her wedding.
“I need to tell you something about Nick,” I say, trying to get it out quickly before more guests see us and want to take selfies with her. “He’s not interested in Shawna.”
“What do you mean?” Mom furrows her brow. “He literally just met her. She said they had a nice chat, but he’s not on Facebook very much so it’s been hard to get a conversation going—”
“Nick isn’t interested in meeting someone new right now.”
“People say that, but it’s usually because they haven’t met the right person. Is he still devastated about his marriage? Men usually bounce back so quickly. Do you think he and his wife are still involved?”
“No, Mom,” I say, probably with too much urgency. “He’s totally moved on.”
“Really? I did wonder if they might reconcile.”
“What?” I take a breath as one of the guests pulls her aside for a quick hug. “That’s not—”
My mom’s eyes flick past my face, lighting up at someone behind me.
“Barbara! This is perfect timing. Do you recognize this girl?” My mom puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me toward a woman about her age, wearing a flowing dress with a giant vintage brooch. She’s eating an empanada. “This is Sam. All grown up.”
“Congratulations, Jennifer! And Sam! Just the girl I was looking for!” Barbara Silverton says before reaching over to give my mom a side hug and air kiss.
“We have an opening in the art department,” she says.
“A maternity cover for the fall semester. I already passed along your résumé to Dr. Zelinsky.”
I allow my expectations to shoot skyward. Is she offering me the opportunity to be a visiting lecturer?
Mom gives me a squeeze. “That’s amazing, Barbara.”
It is amazing. I picture myself updating my CV to include actual teaching experience at the collegiate level. What an unbelievable stroke of luck.
Barbara takes a bite of her empanada and nods. “I’ll send you a calendar invite when I get back on Monday.”
“Wow…I…thank you,” I say, flustered. If she wasn’t holding a plate of hors d’oeuvres, I would have taken her hand. “I appreciate this so much.”
“In a couple weeks you could be the new temporary administrative assistant for the art education program,” Barbara says.
Administrative assistant.
Amid the din of the reception and the music, I only hear white noise. I barely register when Barbara hands me her phone and asks me to take a photo of her and my mom posing together.
I tap on the shutter button about twelve times while mentally berating myself. As if this woman was about to let me cosplay as a college professor.
But my mom looks overjoyed as she gives Barbara a last hug and turns back around to me. She probably feels like her last problem (what to do about Sam) was just solved.
“Hey, Mom—” I say, but I get drowned out by the amplified voice of their DJ, who I’m pretty sure is one of Perry’s close friends with a Spotify playlist and boundless enthusiasm.