10. Saturday
SATURDAY
Sarah spent Saturday morning driving the long route home to pick up her mother for the wedding festivities later that day.
Her mother had insisted she didn’t want to spend more than one night at a hotel because she couldn’t ‘abandon her birds’ for any longer; Maureen had inherited two small parakeets from an elderly neighbor, and they provided a constant focal point for her general anxiety about leaving her house.
This meant that Sarah would be driving an hour and a half round-trip on Saturday morning to pick up her mother for the wedding and then would do the same on Sunday to take her mother home again.
She had agreed to this plan because she knew that her mother would otherwise skip the wedding entirely and sit at home for the weekend, fretting and second-guessing her decision not to attend.
When Sarah pulled up to the small driveway of her childhood home and knocked on the door, she found her mother already waiting in her small kitchen, dressed in a silvery peach church dress.
“Lovely dress!” Sarah had developed her ‘bright and cheerful’ voice in her teen years when dealing with the freight train of her mother’s anxiety, and she still pulled it out every time they began a conversation.
“Well, I just don’t know,” Maureen said, smoothing the skirt down.
“It’s perfect.”
“I haven’t been to a wedding in so long. My last wedding was your wedding.”
“It’s going to be a lot of fun. Paul loves you.”
“Is this a formal wedding? The invitation didn’t say. You know, some people have very informal weddings now.”
“I think the dress is just right.”
“Well, it’s the only one I have.”
“And it’s perfect.” Sarah loaded up her mother’s small overnight bag in her car as her mother spoke to the birds.
“You’ll be okay,” Maureen cooed to the parakeets, who responded with a bored sideways shuffle on their perches. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Her mother had to check on a few more things she may have forgotten to turn off, and then they finally pulled away from the house and headed down the small two-lane road that curved through her town.
“So Danny is still living with that girl?” her mother began when they had finally gotten going. It was a strange question. Did her mother think something significant had changed in the living situation of her ex-husband in the last few weeks?
“As far as I know, yes.”
“And they’re having a baby?”
“They had the baby,” Sarah confirmed.
“I still can’t believe he would do that to you,” Maureen said, for the fiftieth or the hundred time. “Men reach a certain age and they lose their minds. I think he’ll be back once he realizes what a mistake he made.”
“I think I’m better off without him,” Sarah replied firmly.
“Of course. Of course you are.” Her mother was silent for a moment, watching the familiar local landmarks drift past her window: the fire station, the playground named after a dead fisherman, the primary school named after a dead politician.
“All the same, though, it’s hard to be alone.
Especially in your forties and fifties.”
“You didn’t date anyone after Dad died.”
“Well, no one would have wanted me at that age.”
“You were younger than me,” Sarah replied.
“Well, true.” Her mother smoothed down her skirt again. “You can’t just bring a strange man into the house when you have a daughter.”
“I’ve been out of the house for twenty years, Mom.”
“I know. I should have done something twenty years ago. But now I’m too old.”
“You could date.”
“Oh, no. Not at my age.”
“And for the record, I’m fine. I’m happy.”
“Of course you are. Of course you are.”
The worst part of her mother’s gentle prodding was that none of it was malicious; she just floated along on a stream of anxiety that circled back to where it started in an endless loop, like a slow-moving ride at the world’s most depressing amusement park.
“Would I want to see a therapist? Oh, no, not at my age,” her mother would say whenever Sarah brought up the subject of her mental health. “I don’t even know what I’d talk about.”
Sarah had given up trying to convince her mother to seek treatment for anxiety and depression; she tried to tell herself that her mother was happy being unhappy, but it never felt quite accurate.
Over the next hour, Maureen fretted about potential traffic from road construction, even though they were scheduled to get to the hotel two hours before the wedding.
She fretted about whether Sarah would have time to put her dress on and do her hair before the event.
She fretted about whether her nephew Paul even wanted Maureen to come to his wedding, and whether it had been too much of a bother to come get her, now that it was too late not to come get her, and whether the money she had put in the envelope for Paul’s wedding gift was sufficient, even though it was all she could afford.
“Paul just wants to see you,” Sarah said. “He would be happy if you gave nothing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give nothing. You can’t just give nothing.”
“You’re almost the only family Paul has left. I’m sure he’s just thrilled you’re coming.”
“Don’t you think he should talk to his mother?” she added. “I can’t believe that he stopped talking to her.”
“Aunt Delia was horrible. You know this. She was always mean to you.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s sorry if it means her son stopped talking to her. I can’t imagine never talking to your mother.”
“Please don’t bring up Delia to Paul,” Sarah pleaded. “Not today.”
“I just keep thinking about how sad Paul must be not to have his mother there. And his father passed. You lose people so unexpectedly, and then you regret not making up with them when you had the chance.”
“Just don’t bring her up today,” Sarah said again. “Some other time, maybe. But not today.”
“Oh, well, okay. I won’t say anything if you think it’s better not to.”
“I think it’s better not to.”
When they arrived at the hotel, they spotted Paul waiting outside, looking dashing in a dark suit. Paul approached their parking spot and helped her mother out of the car, a warm smile on his face.
“You look amazing, Aunt Maureen,” Paul said.
“I keep thinking how sad it is that your mother isn’t here,” she replied. Sarah caught Paul’s look and rolled her eyes skyward.
“Well,” said Paul, “I think we’re going to have a pretty good day.”
“I know,” her mother said. “I won’t bring it up. Sarah told me not to bring it up. I just keep thinking that anything could happen to people at any time, you know? And then you never a got a chance to make up with them.”
From what Sarah understood, Delia had been banned from Paul’s life after drunkenly storming into one of Paul’s improv shows and insulting him and his girlfriend while they were on stage.
It sounded like an ugly scene all around, the end of Delia’s long downhill slide into increasingly malevolent behavior.
“Thanks for coming,” Paul said cheerfully, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he released her hand, then holding the hotel door open for her.
“I don’t know if this dress is fancy enough.”
“It’s perfect,” Paul told her.
“Well, I just don’t know,” she replied as Sarah shot Paul an expressive look and then steered her mother inside.
She led her mother straight to their hotel room, where Sarah quickly slipped into an elegant wine-colored jumpsuit and wine-colored flats and then slid a couple of extra camera batteries into her camera case.
“You’re not wearing a dress?”
“It’ll be inconvenient if I have to squat to take a photo.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense.” Sarah felt a wave of relief that there was something—one small thing—that her mother was okay with. “That’s nice of you to take photos.”
“I volunteered. It’ll keep me busy.”
“Well, that’s true. Do you think my birds will be okay until tomorrow?”
“Your parakeets are fine. I’m sure they’re sleeping.”
“Well, I suppose.” Maureen looked out the window anxiously. “It’s awfully windy out there, isn’t it? Do you think they can have the wedding outside if it’s like that?”
For once, her mother’s anxious observation had a basis in truth. The weather for the wedding was beautiful but gusty, and the ceremony arrangement next to the sea looked both stunningly dramatic and dangerously close to being blown away.
“Well,” Sarah said with a sigh, “the photos won’t be boring, at any rate.”
After heading outside and helping her mother find a seat among the white chairs set up on the lawn, Sarah stood to the side, the warm gusts of wind tossing lone strands of her hair into her face, her eyes meeting Ren’s across the aisle.
His camera was already out and ready, and he grinned and took her picture before walking toward her.
She felt angry at him again, though this time it was for no clear reason.
“So I was thinking I’ll get the bride’s entrance and exit,” he said. “You focus on Paul’s face when she comes in. I can do the ceremony and kiss, you do the processional, that way we’re not clicking like paparazzi the whole time.”
“Sounds good.”
“Is that your mother?” he asked. “She looks like you.”
“She drives me crazy.”
“They all do. It’s their job.”
Just then, one of Paul’s improv friends hopped in front of the chairs with a guitar.
“Hey, I’m Amber, I’m the live music,” she said.
She started playing a stripped-down version of a Vivaldi tune on her guitar as Abby’s niece Hannah, dressed in an elaborately flowing flower girl dress, tossed rose petals that were instantly carried skyward by the wind.
Abby’s sister Laura came next, walking down the grassy aisle with Paul’s friend Ian.
Sarah glanced toward Laura’s boyfriend Ollie, who was watching from his seat, his face quietly awestruck.
Sarah snapped a picture of him before returning her camera to Paul.