Chapter 14 – Mindy #2
My temper flares again, and I throw my hands up in the air. “So they get a second honeymoon all alone, and I don’t even get one?”
“Everything’s not about you, Mindy!” he yells.
“Since I’m the one marrying you, I thought at least something would be about me,” I yell back.
“Oh, here we fucking go.” He turns on his heel and paces away before whirling back on me. “I never thought you would be a bridezilla.” If he‘d slapped me across the face, it wouldn’t have stung more.
“I can’t believe you just said that to me.” I’ve done my best to be the opposite of a bridezilla, believing that the marriage is more important than the actual wedding. Even if the wedding wasn’t exactly perfect, I would still be married to my man.
Your mom thinks the deep red roses are too harsh? That’s okay. The lighter ones will be fine.
The almond cake isn’t my favorite, but Roger loves it, so let’s go with that.
No, these shoes will be great. They’re a hundred dollars cheaper than the ones covered with tiny rhinestones that I love so much.
“Well, that’s how you’re acting. You don’t get your way on one little thing, and you start yelling at me.
” Roger narrows his eyes. “I thought you would be a little more understanding since my mom has basically been a mother figure for you after your mom died. She’s been nothing but kind and helpful to you, and you want to treat her like shit. ”
Guilt trip: Party of one.
Dropping my head, I watch as tears splatter on the rug, leaving tiny stains on the light blue fabric.
He’s right. Rose has been amazing to me.
She brings me little gifts when I’m feeling down, and for every holiday, she makes a pretty little arrangement for me to put on Mama’s grave. I really do adore the woman.
“That’s n-not what I was trying to do. You know I love Rose—”
“Shit, honey, don’t cry,” he says, walking swiftly to me and wrapping me in his arms. “I’m sorry, Min.
I know this isn’t ideal, but it will be fine.
” He lifts my chin and kisses me softly.
“You’re going to be my wife, and we’re going to have an amazing time in Aruba.
Mom can fend for herself while I bury myself inside my wife and show you how much I love you. ”
She’s a grown woman in her forties. Why can’t she fend for herself here? I wonder and immediately feel unkind.
I love Roger, and we can make this work. Maybe we can have lunch with Rose occasionally and then go off on the romantic excursions we had planned. And the nights would be so dreamy, just the two of us sitting in our private hot tub.
Another thought strikes me. “Who’s paying for your mom to go? This trip isn’t cheap, and we’re not exactly flush with cash since you put so much into that IRA.”
Not to mention, Rose’s husband had let his life insurance policy lapse before he died, so she got nothing, other than a rundown house and a six-year-old sedan. And she’s only been working part-time since he died, so I know she’s not paying for it.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I look up at him through slitted eyelids. “Roger...”
He grits his teeth, the impatience audible with each grind. “I took some money from the savings account.”
“From my savings account?” My voice has reached a fever pitch of anger that I’m sure has my face turning as red as my hair. Roger blinks hard, and I can tell he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “Roger, you know that’s the money I’ve been saving for my bakery.”
“I’ll pay it back. The IRA is doing pretty well. We made a hundred dollars last quarter.”
“Ohh, a hundred dollars. That should fucking help. How much more is this costing us?”
He closes his eyes and mumbles, “An extra seven thousand because of the last-minute flight.”
My anger simmers a bit higher, and I gape at him. “Seven. Thousand? Because Rose can’t stay at home by herself for a few days?”
“She’s grieving,” he bellows, the exasperation evident in his tone. “If you have a better solution, I’d like to hear it.”
“Maybe since your brother has already had a honeymoon, she could go with them and let us have ours.”
Roger is silent for a long moment. “I already thought of that. I asked him.” I jut out my chin and lift my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. His next words are delivered so quietly, I barely hear them. “He said Amy wanted it to just be them.”
I. Am. Fuming. “Well, good for Aiden for actually communicating with his wife instead of dictating how things are going to be,” I reply snarkily, tossing my hands in the air. “Let’s just let the newlyweds handle everything, including going into debt before they’re even married.”
To be clear, I’m not mad at Amy or Aiden at all. Like us, they had their trip planned in advance, and I can’t blame them for wanting a romantic time away. I know they’re planning to start a family soon, so this might be the last time they get to do that.
No, I’m pissed as hell at my fiancé for not granting me the simple courtesy his brother granted his wife.
“I don’t know what else to do, Mindy. Mom’s been really down since the anniversary of Dad’s death. I feel horrible about leaving her alone, and I didn’t want to waste all the money we’d already spent on the honeymoon.”
I soften my tone because I hate this. Roger and I never fight; in fact, this is our first major argument. We always just… get along.
“You’re a banker, Rog. Spending more money doesn’t help our situation at all. You know that.”
He flops down on the couch. “I know. We’ll just have to be extra frugal when we get back.”
Holding a hand over my stomach, I push down the nausea as I sit beside him. “All right. We’ll be really careful. I’ll continue to work at the bakery on weekend mornings, and I can ask if I can work some Saturdays at the bank for a while. They’re always looking for tellers on the weekends.”
That would mean I’d have to get to the bakery by four in the morning to get the baking done before going to the bank, but I need to make up for that missing money somehow. A fucking hundred dollars a quarter ain’t gonna do shit.
“Thanks, babe,” he says, looping an arm around my shoulders and kissing my temple. “You want to look over the stuff for the trip?”
“Sure,” I say, attempting to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice as I pick up the folder. All the rooms at our resort in Aruba are individual cabanas. He booked a smaller one for Rose, and I see it’s a few doors down from ours. Flipping through the flight information, something catches my eye.
“Uh, Rog. I think they made a mistake with our tickets. Your flight number is different from mine and Rose’s.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. There weren’t any seats left on our flight, so I had to book one a few hours later. I didn’t want you or Mom flying alone, so I had them switch it so I took the later flight.”
We’re not even taking the same plane to our honeymoon?
I’m tired of fighting, and the ache in my stomach is rising up into my throat. Tossing the folder back onto the table, I stand and head to the back of the house without a word.
“Where are you going, babe?”
“Bed,” I say simply. I’m fucking done with this day.
My eyes are closed, but I still haven’t fallen asleep when Roger comes to bed a half hour later.
I’m too busy stewing. There’s a lot that pisses me off about the situation.
Roger not even consulting me before he made the decision.
The fact that he thought it was okay to bring his mother on our honeymoon.
The money. But the thing that angers me the most is that he called me a bridezilla. The nerve…
Stroking my hip, Roger trails soft kisses against my shoulder. “Babe, do you wanna—”
“Not even a little bit.”
Libido status: stalled.