“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Sweetie, it’s so good to finally see you. I took the liberty of ordering for you,” she says, and I glance at my phone. Less than ten seconds and she’s already giving me a guilt trip. That has to be a record.
“I know—I’m sorry it’s been a while. Things have been really hectic—”
“With the wedding planning? Do you need help?”
In more ways than you could possibly know.
I shake my head. “Stella has everything under control,” I say as I imagine her scrambling to find the Samoan fire-knife dancing team that Max just added to the list.
My mom’s face brightens at my answer. “I saw on Facebook that your wedding gifts were starting to arrive. You posted that adorable picture holding the oddly shaped package, asking everyone to guess what they thought was inside. I still think it’s a Roomba!” she says, clapping her hands together.
I think back to the photo I’d made myself post yesterday, wanting so much to live my life as if I didn’t know what was around the corner. Last time around, I would’ve blissfully held the box with a smirk on my face as I tried to guess its contents, excited to see what funny items my friends would speculate could be inside. But this time, the whole thing felt forced.
As my mom laughs at her own guess, her pale blue eyes close slightly, exposing the fine lines around them. Lines I think make her more beautiful, but that she’s been considering eyelid surgery to remove. I’d argued when she’d first announced her plans, trying to convince her that the collagen fillers she’d already been getting in her upper cheeks and forehead were unnecessary. I was worried that one cosmetic surgery would lead to another and she’d end up looking like one of those Botox-addicted Real Housewives. But I couldn’t tell her that—since my dad left, she’d been convinced he married Leslie so he could have a young trophy wife on his arm.
Courtney comes to mind. I had always confided in Jules about how deep my mom’s denial ran when it came to my dad. Now I wondered if I was going to follow in her footsteps, clamoring for something that had already disappeared right before my eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods, sipping her coffee.
“What was it about Dad—why did you want to marry him?”
“He was everything,” she answers immediately.
“What do you mean?” I ask, mixing a packet of sugar into my latte.
“He was everything I’d ever wanted—all of the good parts of someone rolled up into one.” She smiles, but it quickly shifts into a frown. “Well, before he met her.”
I’ve often wondered if my mom even remembers the marriage as it actually was or if she’s become a revisionist historian since Dad left, not wanting to accept that his love for someone else could ever be deeper than his love for her.
“Why do you ask?” My mom eyes me suspiciously as the server sets down a fruit plate in front of her and a plate of scrambled egg whites in front of me. I look around as if the rest of my order is going to arrive—the bacon and hash browns I would’ve requested. But I knew better. My mom eats like a bird and wants me to as well.
“I came across Max’s vows . . . and, I don’t know, they just didn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” I say, suddenly thinking of my furry pink slippers that I’d had since college and wore year-round because they were comfortable. That’s the same word Max had used to describe us in his vows. Was he right? And if so, was that even a negative? What was wrong with a relationship that was safe and easy?
“Warm and fuzzy?” my mom scoffs.
“I guess when I read them I thought they would show that he gets me.”
“Gets you?” she repeats, cocking her head to the side in confusion as if I’ve just spoken Japanese.
“I just expected his thoughts to be more personal—and he’d laugh and maybe even cry as he read them, because they’d include all these nuances that maybe no one else would even understand—our little inside jokes, you know?”
“What else did he write?” My mom leans forward.
I pause, seeing his words scrawled across the page of his journal. “He said we were built to last.”
A look of relief passes over her face. “You are! You and Max are solid. He loves you and will take care of you—something that counts for more than you know. Honey, I think you’re putting way too much weight on this. There’s no rule book for writing vows. You just express what’s in your heart. And whatever you read—that’s what’s in his.”
Maybe that’s the problem. There doesn’t seem to be much in there.
“Wasn’t he also supposed to actually vow something?” I ask. He hadn’t promised anything.