I Choose You

by Tawdra Kandle

  “My mother said today that we need to remember this isn’t just our wedding, it’s our marriage. That we can’t ignore your mother and father for the rest of our lives.”

  “I don’t know. It’s worth a try.” Liam’s smile was weak, and then he groaned. “Okay, yeah, she’s right. I’ll call them. Before the end of the week.”

  “Sounds good.” I drained my wine glass. “In other news, Giff seems happy for us. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we wouldn’t need him to plan it, since we’re keeping everything small.”

  “Uh . . .” Liam averted his eyes. “Well, couldn’t he still set it up, even if we don’t go over the top? I might’ve told him today that we’d have him run the show.”

  I stood up to carry my plate to the sink. “You’re a pushover, Liam Bailey. I can see that I can’t leave you alone with my mother from now on. She’ll have you agreeing to a ceremony at the Vatican and reception on the QEII. And between both Giff and my mom . . . everything would be out of control.”

  “I just hate to disappoint Giff. And when I told him about us getting engaged, he was so happy. He assumed he’d be the wedding planner, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Hey, it’s fine with me. Just don’t complain when things spiral out of our control. It’s all on your head.”

  I LOVED HAVING LIAM at home while I worked. He made me breakfast and coffee to go every morning and had dinner and a glass of wine waiting every night. He even drove to Haddonfield to meet me for lunch one day. I hid a smile as my female co-workers’ eyes glazed over, watching him stroll into the office. He wore faded jeans and a polo in the exact same blue of his eyes, and the way he moved . . . he was like sex on wheels. Or Vans, more accurately. When he pushed open my office door, his face came alive with that slow-burn of a smile. He leaned over my desk to kiss me.

  “Hey, beautiful. Ready for lunch?”

  What I was ready for had nothing to do with eating. I was wracking my brain for a hotel nearby where we could rent a room for an hour. I gripped his shirt and pulled him back down to me again.

  The kiss was just getting really interesting when I heard someone in the doorway clearing her throat.

  “You have a visitor, Ava?” There was a mischievous humor in Suzanne’s voice.

  “Hey, Suzanne. Good to see you.” Liam leaned against my desk and grinned at my boss. “I’m going to steal my girl here for lunch, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is. She’s been killing herself all week, catching up. Take her away, and don’t let her answer the phone, check social media or talk work at all.” She fastened me with her stern look. “Shoo.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m shooing.” I unhooked my handbag from the back of my chair. “I can just stay out all afternoon, if that’d make you feel better.”

  “Works for me.” Liam slung his arm around my shoulder.

  “Ha, you two are so funny. No, bring her back. I want to wring as much good out of her as I can before she transforms into bridezilla.”

  “Hey.” I cocked my head, insulted. “I’m not going to turn into bridezilla.”

  “Yeah, so you say. You won’t mean to do it. Right now, you think you’ve got this under control, but once you start looking at wedding gowns and tasting cake, it’ll take over your life. I’ve seen it happen, darling.”

  “Not to me. I’m capable of compartmentalizing my life. Right?” I appealed to Liam, one eyebrow raised.

  “More than anyone I’ve ever met.” He slid his hand down my arm to lace his fingers through mine. “Don’t worry, Suzanne. We’re keeping everything quiet. I promise, no wedding craziness here.”

  “See, that’s what drives me nuts,” I told Liam as we sat at a small table at our favorite bistro. It was a nice enough day to eat alfresco, and I was enjoying the sunshine. “People see me with a ring on my finger, and they assume I’m going to lose my mind, stop doing my job and turn into some Frankenbride. But does anyone expect you to change? Has anyone asked you if you’ve thought about your tux? Or what colors we plan to use? Or if you’re planning to take time off? No. Just me.”

  Liam dragged a French fry through ketchup. “Yeah, I get that it’s not fair. But what are you going to do, except just prove them wrong by not going crazy?” He grinned at me, leaning forward. “I believe in you. And just so you know, if you start acting like—what did you call it? Frankenbride? I’ll be happy to give you the wake-up call. I’ll stage an intervention.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him.

  By Friday—less than a week post-proposal—I’d fielded seven phone calls from my mother asking for updates, five texts from Giff sending me potential reception sites and two emails from my sister-in-law Angela with links to bridesmaid dresses she liked. I’d ignored everything I could, pacified and put off what I could not, and I was done. When a post came across my social media feed advertising a special price on a flight to Vegas, my finger itched to one-click that baby. It’d serve them all right.

  I turned off my phone and shoved it deep into my handbag before I drove back to the townhouse that night. Somehow my mom seemed to sense when I was on my way home; that was her favorite time to call. I was hoping that it being Friday night—one of the busiest times at the restaurant—would keep her occupied. For now, at least.

  Liam had suggested going out to dinner that night, and I was looking forward to an evening of good food, some wine and then heading back home for hot Friday night sex. I smiled in anticipation, thinking maybe I’d dig out his favorite short black skirt to wear tonight. It’d been his favorite when we were first dating, and even now, it drove him wild when I wore it. Thinking about it and remembering his hands on me sent a thrill of desire down my middle. So maybe we’d start with the hot Friday night sex and have a late dinner.

  I opened the front door and called up the steps. “Hey, baby. I’m home. Are you naked? I think we should have a special appetizer before we go to dinner.” I stepped out of my shoes and moved toward the kitchen, hopping on one foot to pull off my black stockings as I went. “You know, the type that involves getting sweaty between the sheets—oh.”

  I stopped abruptly just inside the kitchen, my pantyhose wadded up in one hand. Liam was sitting at our small round table, and he wasn’t alone. His mother was in the chair across from him.

  Every word I’d shouted since I’d walked in the door reverberated in my brain and made me want to sink through the floor. Liam’s mouth was tense, but I caught flickers of amusement in his eyes.

  “Uh—sorry, I didn’t know—um, hi, Mrs. Bailey.” I threw Liam a panicked glance. Fuck. What the hell was his mother doing here?

  “Hello, Ava. How are you, dear?” Laura Bailey pasted a smile on her face. She looked nearly as upset as her son. I noticed that she’d cut her hair, and that while it was usually almost the same shade of Liam’s, it now appeared a shade or two blonder.

  “What’s going on?” I stuffed my stockings into my purse and hung it on a chair. “I mean, this is a surprise. Right?” I was pretty sure I’d remember if we knew she was coming to see us.

  “Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, quite a few surprises seem to be going around, don’t they?” Mrs. Bailey looked pointedly at my left hand.

  “Oh.” I sat down and stuck my hand under the table, as though I could undo knowledge by hiding the ring. “How . . . did you just come down to visit Liam?”

  Liam shook his head grimly. “She heard . . . through the grapevine. Giff told his mom, and then she ran into my mother at . . . uh, yoga class.”

  I held onto my smile. “Oh, okay. Well . . .” I wasn’t sure how to fix this situation, particularly as I was walking into it blind. I had no idea what Liam had told his mother before I got home.

  “I told Mom that we just wanted a little time to keep the news to ourselves.” He rescued me, and I flashed him a grateful smile.

  “Exactly. We had Julia and Jesse’s wedding last week, and then I had to get back to work Monday. We’ve been so busy.” It sounded lame,
even to my ears, and by the way Mrs. Bailey’s mouth puckered, I had the feeling she was hearing it the same way.

  “I’ve been trying to call my son since last week. I finally drove down here, hoping I might catch him. I’d planned to just camp out on your front step until one of you got home.” She glanced at Liam. “Happily for me, he was home when I got here.”

  I wished with all my might for a glass of wine. Or maybe even something a little stronger. Beneath the table, I twisted my hands together.

  “Mom, I’m not going to lie to you.” Liam ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been avoiding both you and Dad because talking to either of you isn’t much fun these days. Dad wants to harp on me about the opportunities I’m missing, and you want to tell me about how great your new life is. Sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Laura Bailey shifted in her chair. “You’re an adult, Liam. If you’re old enough to be getting married—” Her eye twitched. “—then I think you’re old enough to be responsible and return telephone calls. And . . . I think you need to know too that you’ve hurt me. Can you imagine how I felt, running into Melinda Mackay and having her fuss over your news? And me completely ignorant? I played it off, but she knew. I was mortified.”

  “I’m sure neither of us meant—” I tried a placating tone, faltering when she swung her gaze toward me.

  “Have you told your parents yet, Ava?”

  I locked eyes with Liam. Shit. I wasn’t going to lie, but this had huge ugly potential. “Um, well, yeah, we did.”

  “Mom, you know what? Yeah, we told the DiMartinos. Matter of fact, we drove down to see them Sunday to tell them in person. Because if you want adult-sized honesty, Mother, Ava’s parents have been more like family to me than you and Dad ever have. It was my idea to go talk to her parents, because they’ve taken me in like I’m one of them. Neither you or Dad have done that for Ava. You treat her like she’s a passing fad in my life. Well, I told you before and I’ll tell you again. She’s here to stay. I love her, she’s going to be my wife, and if you can’t accept that fact, then you can both just leave us alone.” Liam stood up and shoved his chair under the table. His teeth were clenched, and I watched his jaw work. I didn’t think I’d seen him this angry for a very long time.

  “Liam, please. Enough melodrama. You’re making it sound like I don’t like Ava.” Mrs. Bailey turned luminous eyes on me. “Of course I do. She’s a lovely girl, and I think you’re both going to be very happy.” She lifted one shoulder. “Now what your father says or how he acts . . . that’s a different story. You know how judgmental and critical he is.”

  Liam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t start, Mom. This isn’t an opportunity for you to make Dad look bad.”

  She sniffed. “Doesn’t take much. I wonder which of his bimbos he’ll bring as his date to your wedding. The secretary, or the aid? Or who knows who else he’s . . . seeing.”

  I jumped in to save Liam from having to do it. “Actually, Mrs. Bailey, we might not even be having a wedding. I mean, we’re getting married, but we just want to do something quiet. Maybe just immediate family. Very small.”

  Liam’s mother looked as though she’d smelled something very unpleasant. “Why on earth would you do that? Weddings are meant to be celebrations. Not quiet little dinner parties, unless it’s a second marriage for both or unless—” Realization dawned on her face, and she glanced at me, her eyes dropping to my waist. “Oh. Are you . . .”

  “No. God, Mom.”

  She held up her hands. “It happens. I mean, you’ve been living together for two years. You wouldn’t be the first couple to put the cart before the horse. It seems like these days more people have the baby before the honeymoon. I wasn’t judging, I was just asking.”

  “Well, now you’ve got your answer.” Liam stood with his hands on his hips. “We haven’t made up our mind what kind of wedding we’re having or even when we’re having it. When we do, we’ll let you know.”

  “Will you?” Mrs. Bailey stood up, too, facing her son. “Or will I have to hear about it from Giff’s mother again? Or maybe read it in the newspaper? Oh, I have an even better idea. Why don’t you tell your father about it, and he can have one of his whores give me a call, just like she did when I found about his lying, cheating ass?”

  My mouth dropped, and I was sure my eyes were wide as saucers. Laura Bailey never swore. She never used vulgar words; as a matter of fact, I was fairly certain I’d never even heard her say ‘darn.’ Over the past year, she’d turned passive-aggressive into an art form, but always with a smile on her face and with perfectly correct language. I bit my lip. She must really be pissed.

  “Mom. No. We’ll call you, I promise.” He glanced at me. “As a matter of fact, why don’t we all get together next week? We can talk about everything then. Ava’s parents, you and Dad . . . okay?”

  She sighed, her eyes boring into the floor and her lips pressed tight. I had the sense that she was holding herself together by the thinnest of threads. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. When?”

  I jumped in. “Sunday? The restaurant’s closed, and we could . . . just have everyone come here for brunch. It’s about the same distance for my family and yours. How about that?”

  Liam nodded, relief evident. “That’s a great idea.”

  “All right. You’ll tell your father?”

  This time it was Liam twitching, but he nodded. “Yeah, I will.” He took a deep breath. “Ava and I were going out to dinner tonight, Mom. You want to come with us?”

  I stood very still, watching both of them. There was so much hurt on both sides, so much pain. All at once guilt crashed over me at the way I’d been treating my own mother, who only wanted to help me plan the wedding of my dreams. I made a mental promise to try for more patience and less sniping.

  Finally, Mrs. Bailey shook her head. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you to invite me. But no. I have an early yoga class tomorrow morning, and I need to get back home.” She leaned to retrieve her small black purse from a chair and opened it to pull out car keys. Taking a step toward the kitchen door, she paused and turned back to me.

  “Ava, I really am very happy for both of you.” She offered me a small smile. “I’ve always thought you’re good for him. I’m glad my son’s found a woman who makes him so happy. I hope he does the same for you.”

  I stretched my hand to take Liam’s. “He does, every day.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “I ALMOST FELL OVER when I answered the door and it was her.” Liam took a long swig of his beer. “It was like I was sixteen again, and she’d caught me playing hooky. Busted.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t have the memory of yelling about having sex with her son playing on repeat in your mind.” I shuddered. “Shoot me now.”

  We’d finally made it over to our favorite small Italian restaurant, albeit a little later than we’d planned. Our table was tucked into the corner, lit only by a candle in the center. The antipasto platter was half gone, and we’d just ordered our entrees.

  Liam shook his head. “She was so worked up by that point, she won’t even remember that. Besides, it wasn’t you she was mad at. It was me.” He snagged a thin strip of prosciutto on his fork. “When she told me about Giff’s mom, I felt about this big.” He held up his forefinger and thumb about an inch apart. “I knew I should’ve called her this week. Every morning I thought about it, and then I’d figure out an excuse not to do it. I’m a shitty son.”

  “Hey.” I reached across the table to cover his hand. “No, you’re not. It’s just . . . a complicated situation. Your parents haven’t exactly made it easy to have a relationship with them. Your mom’ll get over it. We’ll all talk on Sunday, and everyone will feel better.”

  “And just what’re we going to tell them? All of our parents are pushing for a big wedding. We’re like those fish that swim upstream. What are they again?”

  I smiled. “Salmon? I don’t know. But I think we ne
ed to figure out exactly what we want and then present it to all of them as decisions already made. Otherwise, they’re going to push us into something we don’t want.”

  “Agreed.” Liam pushed the antipasto toward me. “Here, eat that last artichoke heart.”

  I popped the marinated artichoke into my mouth. “Mmmm, thanks.” My lips tilted up as Liam watched me lick the last taste from my fingers. I made sure to slow down and play it up, sucking the tip of my thumb. “So good.”

  “You’re killing me.” He closed his eyes. “We need to focus, or we’re never going to figure this out. We’ll end up spending the weekend in bed and when our parents show up Sunday morning, we’ll have to let them do whatever they want.”

  “Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “Take away all my fun.”

  “Baby, your fun is my fun. Believe me, this isn’t easy for me.” He finished his beer and set down the bottle. “Okay, so let’s start with when. You said Christmas, right?”

  “I said I liked the idea of a Christmas wedding. It doesn’t have to be then.”

  Liam pointed one finger at me. “No, this is going to be what we want it to be. If you want a Christmas wedding, that’s when we’re getting married. Let’s choose a date.” He pulled out his phone and frowned, scrolling to the calendar. “Friday night or Saturday?”

  I considered. “Ideally, I’d like a candlelight ceremony. So maybe Friday night. And let’s make it as close to Christmas as possible. Otherwise we run into holiday office parties. Plus, I was thinking I’ll already have time off for the holidays, so we could maximize our honeymoon time while minimizing how many vacation days I need to take.”

  “I love the way you think, maximizing honeymoon time. All right, then it looks like the best date might be . . . December 21st. What do you think?”