“Did you see it in the light?” Missy shrieks, splaying the fingers of her left hand wide in the sunlight. The natural light causes the simple, beautiful, shiny diamond on her ring finger to sparkle like an endless promise. Like a forever.
“It’s beautiful, Missy.” The words scrape against the boulder clogging my throat. Not because I’m not happy for my sister. I’m elated. Missy deserves every happiness and I’m delighted she found that with a genuine man like Brennan.
But did it have to happen this weekend? Do I need to introduce Axel, a man who doesn’t care if I meet his family, to my mom when she’s flitting around announcing wedding plans like it’s her upcoming nuptials?
Will she compare him to Brennan? Will she ask if he plans to marry? Will she have a coronary when she learns he has a twenty-one-year-old daughter?
Or will she bore us all, save for Missy, to tears with talk of cake tiers and color palettes?
I swallow back my bitterness. Missy’s wedding is exciting and as maid—maid, not matron—of honor, it’s my duty to care about flower choices and seating arrangements. And I do.
“Mais? You got a message.” Missy points to my cell phone on the edge of the dining table in my parents’ house. It’s already cluttered with Bride magazines, venue options, and, wait for it, my parents’ wedding album from the nineties.
I pick up the phone and the boulder in my throat expands.
Axel: We need to talk.
Words no woman ever wants to hear. Or read. Shit, is he ending this between us? Is he bailing on dinner tomorrow? Hope flares in my chest as disappointment knots my stomach. Do I want him to?
“There you are!” Mom enters the room, her gaze pinned on me. “I wasn’t sure where you went.”
I narrow my eyes. I’ve been here since this morning. I only popped out to get the bride-to-be the chai latte she desperately needed in her celebratory state.
Fuck, I’m jealous.
Guilt eats up my conflicting feelings of hope and disappointment until the only thing I feel is a clawing remorse for being a shitty sister. It’s not Missy’s fault that she caught Brennan’s eye. Or that she’s five years younger than me. Or that she made better choices with her romantic and professional lives and never allowed men to belittle her.
“We should start with dresses!” Mom claps her hand.
“But we need to know the color palette before we choose bridesmaid dresses,” my sister points out, tearing her eyes away from her ring to sit at the table.
Mom sits beside her. “Well, let’s start with yours.” Mom gives me a sympathetic look as I plop down across from them. “You’ll try to lose a bit of weight before the wedding, won’t you?”
Missy stiffens, keeping her eyes trained on the magazine in front of her.
I work a thick swallow. It’s not Missy’s fault she’s skinny either.
“Of course,” I grind out, my insecurities over my body, over my choices, over my fucking life expanding.
“I think Maisy looks amazing,” Missy comes to my defense. She offers me a smile. “You’ll look beautiful in any dress and in any color.”
“Except yellow,” Mom says, opening a magazine. “Washes you out,” she adds off-handedly, like a reminder.
“Here are my girls,” Dad announces, entering the dining room. His hands land on the tops of my shoulders, squeezing some strength back into them. Dad’s always the peacemaker, anticipating tension and trying to diffuse it before it can build. I’ve inherited my aversion to conflict and confrontation from him, giving my mother a green light to use her tongue like a whip. He kisses the top of my head. “Should I order some dinner?”
“That’d be great, Dad. I’m starving.” Missy shoots him a grateful smile.
“Yes, we can have some salads or—”
I cut Mom off. “I’ll take a burger.”
“Same!” Missy nods enthusiastically.
“Burgers and fries it is,” Dad decides.
Mom’s mouth pinches but she doesn’t voice an objection.
“We’re having lemon chicken, mashed potatoes, and a kale salad for Sunday dinner,” Mom says.
“Sounds good,” Missy replies, keeping the peace.
“Is your friend still planning to come?” Mom asks. By her tone, I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just confirming the final number of guests since Brennan’s parents are coming. “Oh, and is Brennan’s sister joining us?” She turns to Missy.
Missy nods. Mom’s gaze returns to me.
Her question was completely innocent and yet, humiliation burns through me.
Is he coming? Are we still a thing?
Will I ever have a shiny ring on my finger?
I clear my throat. “Yep.”
Missy’s smile widens. Mom’s does too. They’re both happy for me.
And I’m…miserable?
“Excellent.” Mom pats the top of a magazine. “Let’s get to work before dinner arrives.”
“Ooh, Mom, look at this veil.” Missy nudges her magazine closer to Mom, her voice breathless.
Under the table, my fingernails cut into my palms as my hands clench.
Will I ever be worthy of a happily-ever-after? Of the stability and commitment of a partnership? Of the future I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl playing bride?
Or will I really move to Costa Rica and spend my days surfing, alone?
My throat tightens and the backs of my eyes burn.
My phone beeps and I glance at the screen.
Axel: Are you home? Can I stop by your place?
I look at Mom and Missy, at their bent heads and excited smiles. I don’t want to ruin today. I don’t want to mess up Sunday. I don’t want to detract from Missy’s excitement, or hear Mom’s comments, or spend another Sunday dinner aching on the inside as the only single woman at the table.
Me: At my parents. Let’s talk tomorrow, after dinner?
Axel: OK
OK. I don’t know how to read that. But right now, it doesn’t matter. I have to get through this weekend and save the tiny shred of pride I have left. Even if it kills me.
“You okay?” Mila asks.
I close my eyes and lay back against the decorative pillows on my bed. I’m exhausted. So emotionally drained that I don’t even want to toss my decorative pillows to the floor and pull back my duvet.
“I’m fine.”
“Maisy.”
“I’m happy for her. You know I am.”
“Of course, you’re happy for Missy. And Brennan,” Mila says soothingly, her tone matching her words. “That doesn’t mean you can’t feel disappointment that your own life isn’t where you thought it would be.”
“It makes me a shitty sister. And an awful maid of honor.”
“It makes you human. And when the people we love achieve milestones that we envision for ourselves, it makes our lack of them glaringly obvious. Why do you think I spent almost all the holidays at your parents’ house after mine passed?”
I sigh, recalling that first Christmas after Mila’s parents died. She was still dating Avery and he had an away football game. With his family traveling to the game and Mila distraught at the idea of being away from her hometown, her parents’ burial sites, she spent the day with my family, oscillating between gulping wine and silently sobbing. Still, she didn’t begrudge me for having parents who still uphold a slew of Missy’s and my childhood traditions.
“I guess so,” I say slowly. “It just cuts deeper because…I invited Axel to my parents’ house for dinner on Sunday.”
“And?”
“And he didn’t invite me to meet his family—Lola’s mom and her husband and kids—to kick off family weekend.”
“Ah, I see.”
“See what?”
“You’re questioning everything with Axel.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I shoot back.
“Yes.” She sounds miserable. True friend. “And you have been from the start.”
Closing my eyes, I realize she’s right. Everything with Axel feels like one step forward, two steps back. “I don’t want to feel insecure anymore. I hate not knowing where I stand.”
“I know.”
“When we’re together and it’s good, it’s amazing. The best I’ve ever had. But when it’s not, I feel…”
“What?”
“Worthless.”
“Shit,” Mila swears.
“It’s unsettling.”
“Can you talk to him?”
“I feel like we’re having the same conversation we had a few months ago.”
Mila sighs heavily. “I don’t think he’s playing head games or doing this on purpose.”
“I don’t either,” I agree. “Doesn’t make it suck any less. Doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“No,” my friend agrees sadly.
“I just have to get through dinner on Sunday. If my mom knows Axel and I are done beforehand…” I trail off, groaning.
“Introducing your man to your family isn’t supposed to be a chore, Maisy.”
“Trust me, I know that. But you know my mom. There’re so many expectations involved and—”
“And you’re an adult who doesn’t need your mom’s, or anyone else’s, approval. I know Marge sucks at showing it, but deep down, she wants you to be happy.”
“I know.” Because deep down, I know my mom’s intentions are good. She goes about things the wrong way. I’ve always been my dad’s daughter and Missy’s always been my mom’s girl. Mom and I have never seen eye to eye but on some level, she’d hate that I felt this distraught at being honest with her.
“Talk to him, Maisy. Before dinner. Now. Don’t let yourself feel all twisted up for one more day.”
“I’m exhausted, Mil.”
“Okay. I’m hanging up now so you can call Axel. You’ll both sleep much better if you talk tonight.”
I snort. “Night, Mila.”
She sighs, knowing I’m not going to call him. “Good night, Mais.”
I hang up the phone and clench it in my hand.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I send Axel a text.
Me: Hey. Can you talk?
I wait for ten minutes before giving up on a reply. With a dull headache and a heavy heart, I close my eyes and wait for sleep.