by Alice Wasser
“Congratulations, Millie!” she squealed. “Welcome to the family!”
“Thanks, Jean,” I mumbled awkwardly.
“Oh,” she laughed. “You can call me ‘Mom’ now.”
(I will never be able to call her “Mom” in a million years.)
“You two are going to be so happy together,” she sighed.
It took at least five more minutes of Jean gushing about how happy she was and how happy we would be before I was able to politely get off the phone. Sam’s whole family has been nothing but incredibly nice to me. Mostly I think they’re just nice people, but also, they really (really) want Sam to get married.
Over dinner, Sam was talking about the wedding and asked me how my mother took it when I told her the news. I mumbled something. He knew right away. “Millie,” he sighed. “You didn’t tell her yet, did you?”
I shook my head guiltily.
He wasn’t even surprised. He knows how she reacted to our relationship. “We’ll tell her together,” he said. “Let her know we’re coming to visit.”
“Maybe we don’t have to tell her?” I suggested.
“Great idea, Millie,” he said. “And when we have kids, we can just toss them in the closet when they come to visit.”
All right, he had a point. I guess I have to tell them. I just know that my mother will freak out and I’m dreading it. But at least Sam will be with me for support. I mean, she’ll get used to it eventually, right?
(Don’t answer that.)
March 15:
I managed to “forget” to call my mother for the last several days. Finally, Sam told me if I didn’t call her myself, he was going to sit with me and watch me call her. I don’t blame him for being upset. The whole thing is pretty insulting to him and he’s actually been really understanding about it, considering everything.
So tonight I finally gave my mother a call. She was all chipper, talking about my sister Rachel’s pregnancy. Rachel is now six months pregnant. I can’t even believe it. I’m going to be an aunt in a few months. I’d say that my mom is going to be a grandma, except that it might not happen since I’m about to give her a stroke.
I suggested that I drive down for a visit and she sounded very happy. “I haven’t seen you in months,” she pointed out. “Oh, and I have the perfect…” She caught herself. “Never mind.”
Except she’s been my mother for 33 years so I knew exactly what she was planning.
“Please don’t set me up, Ma,” I said.
“But he’s so nice!” she said. “And he’s Jewish.”
An available Jewish guy. That’s about as good as it gets. I wonder if Sam were Jewish, maybe she’d be more accepting about him. Probably not.
“Also, he owns his own business,” she went on. “And he’s very handsome…”
It was time to put a stop to my mother’s Sam-less fantasies. “Look,” I said. “I’m bringing Sam.”
“What?” she screeched into the phone. I had to hold it away from my ear. She was about as loud as Sam’s mother, but kind of on the other end of the spectrum. I didn’t see her extending any offers to allow Sam to call her “Mom” in the near future. “I thought you broke up!”
This was not a good sign. She was already freaking out and she had no clue we’re getting married. I felt sick.
“We got back together,” I said lamely.
She sighed loudly. “Matilda, I really thought you had more sense than this.”
I wanted to cry. My mother is never going to accept Sam. He can be as wonderful and charming and sweet as he wants, but she’s just not going to accept a guy who can’t walk. But for Sam’s sake, I’ll have to try.
March 24:
Yesterday, we drove out to my parents’ house in SoCal.
Sam, on his part, was making a supreme effort to impress my parents. He spent the better part of an hour figuring out what he should wear. This is really unusual behavior, because while Sam always looks good, he usually spends very little time or effort trying to look good. He ended up picking a dark blue button-down shirt which I thought brought out the color in his eyes really nicely. He also wore a tie, which was untied, and I made an honest attempt to tie it for him based on instructions on a website. I did a bad but not horrible job. He didn’t even distract me by trying to kiss me while I did it, which was really out of character for him.
He bought a box of chocolates for my mom. Not just any chocolates—really nice, expensive Godiva chocolates. I was so nervous, it was all I could do to keep from grabbing the chocolates from him and devouring them myself.
We started on the road after an early lunch, with the intention of driving straight there and arriving by dinner. We hit a little traffic early on though, and I have to say, Sam was driving kind of recklessly to get there on time. Usually, he’s a really careful driver and this was the first time I’ve ever felt nervous when I was in a car with him. At one point, he was peeling down the freeway at over 80 miles an hour, weaving in and out of lanes.
We arrived at five on the dot, and when Sam put the car in park, I breathed a sigh of relief and pried my fingernails from the dashboard. Sam leaned back in his seat and took a shaky breath.
“How do I look?” he asked me.
“Really handsome,” I answered honestly. He really was. Sometimes I look at him and I just can’t believe I’m dating (marrying!) a guy who is so incredibly cute.
He grinned and kissed me. Then he got his chair out of the back seat and transferred into it. I checked the windows and got a sinking feeling when I saw my mother peeking out at us. I didn’t want her to see Sam transfer.
Even though my mother saw us pull in, she took her sweet time opening the door for us. And she didn’t even bother to hide her distaste for Sam, even after he gave her the chocolates. Honestly, I was embarrassed by her behavior. Then she told me that she had made up the bedroom for me for tonight.
(Sam decided the most respectful thing would be for me to stay here and for him to stay at a hotel. I get his reasoning, but it makes me sick to think about spending the night at my parents’ house without him. Or any night anywhere without him.)
My father, on the other hand, was super happy to see Sam. He greeted him with a warm hello. “Sam, it’s so great to see you again!” he said.
“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Glockenfeld,” Sam said politely.
“Hey,” Dad said. “Do you think you could take a look at my computer? It’s doing some weird stuff.”
I should have known. But it was hard to be mad at my father, considering he was being really nice to Sam, at least.
My mother asked me to come to the kitchen while Sam followed my father into the den. She was making chicken and the smell of it wafted through the entire house. It smelled amazing. She’s a great cook, a trait that Rachel has inherited but I have not.
(I’m a fair cook. I don’t burn toast or anything.)
“I can’t believe you’re back together with him, Matilda.” Matilda is my real first name, which I hate with a passion. My mother only calls me Matilda when she’s upset with me. She’s been calling me Matilda a lot since I told her we were coming here.
“I like him,” I said weakly.
“You’re only with him because you think you can’t do better,” she said. “But you can. I promise you.”
To be fair, I don’t think that’s entirely true. There are 86 eligible males for every 100 unmarried females in this country. And I don’t have anything going for me that would help me to beat out 86 other women.
But it doesn’t really matter. Even if the guys were beating down my door, I would still pick Sam.
“That’s not it, Ma,” I said.
She turned away from the stove to face me. “You are going to realize this is a mistake. I promise you. I know this is just… something you have to do for now. But mark my words, you’re going to figure out he’s not good enough for you and end it.”
Oh God. She was not going to take the engagement news well at all.
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br /> Dinner was an exercise in awkward silence. Ma wouldn’t even talk to Sam. He kept slipping me nervous glances and there was nothing I could do to reassure him. I wondered if maybe we were going about this wrong. Maybe I needed to tell her something really shocking that would make her put the entire engagement in perspective. Maybe I could tell her that I had decided I wasn’t meant to be a woman and I was having a sex change operation a week from Tuesday. After that revelation, I was sure my engagement to Sam wouldn’t sound nearly as bad.
Right. Good one, Millie.
We somehow made it through to dessert and that’s when we planned to break the news. I had the ring in the velvet box in my coat pocket so that I could produce it if things weren’t too tense. When we talked about it beforehand, Sam volunteered to be the one to tell them, but I could tell he was regretting it. There were actually a few beads of sweat on his forehead.
“The meal was delicious, Mrs. Glockenfeld,” he said.
My mother grunted. It was as if she decided that if she didn’t speak to him with any actual words, he wouldn’t exist.
“Listen,” he said, clearing his throat. “Millie and I, we have… something we, um, want to talk to you about…”
My mother looked up with interest. Did she know?
“The thing is,” he said. He rubbed his nose nervously with the back of his hand. “We, um… she and I decided…”
I decided to put Sam out of his misery. “We’re getting married,” I said.
I think in my 33 years of life, I have never said anything to make my mother look as horrified as she did right now. All the color left her face except for two little pink spots on her cheeks. I was just joking before about giving her a stroke, but I was actually worried she might really have a stroke.
“No,” she said.
Sam stared at her. “No?”
“No, I won’t allow it,” she said. I felt sick. “Sam, I’m sorry, you seem like a nice person, but I can’t let you marry my daughter.”
At first, Sam just looked shocked. But within seconds, I could see the surprise in his eyes turning into anger. But it was controlled anger, at least. Sam is a typical laid back Midwesterner and rarely loses his temper. “With all due respect, Mrs. Glockenfeld,” he said, “I think it’s Millie’s decision.”
“Millie is a good girl who does what she’s told,” my mother said.
My father and I were just sitting there, frozen. Neither of us are any good at standing up to my mother. But I could tell that Sam wasn’t going to back down. He couldn’t. This was about to get ugly.
“Millie is an adult,” he said. “And if she wants to marry me, I think you should support her.”
“I can’t support her when she’s making a mistake,” Ma said.
“Well, I don’t think it’s a mistake,” he said. “I can take care of Millie. I have a good job, I own an apartment where she is currently living…”
Oh no… he didn’t just tell her we were living together. Sam, why?
My mother’s mouth fell open. “Matilda, you’re living with him?”
I couldn’t even speak. I just bowed my head down and tried to meditate myself away to a nicer place. Like a concentration camp.
“Yes, she is,” Sam said. “And I think that as an adult, she—”
“Get out of my house.”
Sam stared at her like he’d been slapped. “What?”
My mother stood up. “Get out of my house, young man. Now.”
I had never seen her behave this way. But then again, I’d never seen her so upset. She was really angry. I mean, she hated Sam right now. I was scared she was going to throw a plate at his head or something while screaming curses in Yiddish.
“Fine,” Sam said. He wheeled himself away from the table and looked at me. “Millie, are you coming?”
“No,” Ma said, sticking out her chin as she put her hand on my shoulder. “Millie is staying here.”
“It’s her decision,” Sam said through his teeth.
Everyone was staring at me, waiting to see what I’d say. Sam looked angry, but he also looked nervous, like he wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to decide. He shouldn’t have been. He knows I love him. I want more than anything to be married to him.
“I’m going,” I said.
I stood up from the table and followed Sam to the door. I was shaking and Sam was obviously pretty upset about the whole thing too. When he was transferring back into the car, he actually slipped a little and just barely caught himself, which I’ve never seen him do before. Once we were inside, Sam just sat there, staring at the steering wheel. He wasn’t saying anything and I was afraid to even breathe loudly.
“I’m a nice guy, right?” he said, as much to himself as to me.
“Of course you are,” I said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I deserve…” His voice broke and he took a breath. “I mean, I don’t look like a total freak, do I?”
I wanted to tell him no, but honestly, I still remember my first impression of him. I was uncomfortable with him being in a wheelchair and the sight of his paralyzed hands. I forget because I know him so well, but that’s how he must look to my parents.
“Never mind,” he said, noticing my hesitation. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “You’re not a freak at all. Really.”
Sam’s blue eyes met mine. “How come you didn’t say anything in there?” he asked softly. “You could’ve, you know, stuck up for me a little. Stuck up for us.”
I dropped my eyes. He was right. I don’t know why I’m so awful at standing up to my mother.
“I’ll call her later,” I promised. “After she’s calmed down.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, shaking his head.
I reached out and took his hand. “Look, it doesn’t matter what they think,” I said. “I love you. I want to marry you.”
Sam kissed me deeply on the lips. He is just such an amazing kisser. “You’re right. That’s all that matters,” he said.
But deep down, I knew how badly he wanted to make a good impression on my parents that night and how crushed he is that my mother doesn’t like him.
March 29:
This morning when I got to work, Donna was waiting for me with a magazine. She shoved it under my nose just as I was settling down at my desk. It was a thick magazine with a woman wearing a white dress on the cover. “What is this?” I asked her.
“It’s the Wall Street Journal,” she said, slugging me in the shoulder. “Come on, Millie… it’s Modern Bride magazine!”
Yes, it sure was. The smiling woman on the cover in a flowing white gown looked about as far from me as you could get without being of a different species. I guess they don’t put obese women on the cover of bridal magazines.
“Isn’t it a little soon?” I asked.
“Soon!” Donna cried, aghast. “Aren’t you excited? Don’t you want to pick out a dress?”
It’s hard to get excited about a big wedding when your mother just kicked your fiancé out of the house.
But anyway, Donna forced me to sit there and look at dresses. The more I looked at them, the more I thought to myself that I was going to look awful in my wedding dress. These dresses are not flattering to a woman like me. First of all, they were all sleeveless. My arms really don’t look good in sleeveless dresses. Or dresses with sleeves.
(God, I need to lose some weight. I am really slacking on my diet.)
“Is there any designer you’re interested in?” Donna asked me.
“Um,” I said. I couldn’t even think of any designers that made wedding dresses. Oh wait, I thought of one. “Vera Wang?”
Donna’s eyes lit up. “I love Vera Wang. I think they have some dresses in here from her.”
I feel like there must be something wrong with me that I’m not more excited about looking at wedding dresses. It’s not that I don’t want to marry Sam. I do. I really, really do. But the whole actual wedding part makes me uncomfo
rtable. Women who know every wedding dress designer are the same women who actually look good in wedding dresses. As I flip through the pages, I try to imagine myself in any of these dresses and I just can’t do it.
Why can’t we just elope?
March 30:
Today I had hands-down the weirdest conversation of my life.
I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business. Actually, I was doing a working lunch, eating a salad from the food stand downstairs. I’m trying to eat salad for lunch as much as possible. Unfortunately, it’s kind of painful because I honestly don’t like salads very much. Lettuce basically tastes like bitter water to me. I could cover it in a decent salad dressing, but any salad dressing that doesn’t taste awful is loaded with calories. So I’m basically stuck eating crunchy water for lunch every day. I feel like a rabbit.
(It’s awesome being an obese woman.)
Anyway, I was halfway through my delicious salad when I heard a voice call my name. I looked up and was surprised to see Jake Winston standing in front of my cubicle.
“Oh, hi,” I said.
“Hi yourself,” he said. He looked down at my food. “I was just coming by to invite you to lunch, but it looks like I’m too late.”
“Guess so,” I said, swallowing a bite of salad, as if this counted as actual food. “Is there something you need to discuss?”
“No, no,” Jake said. He smiled and I realized he didn’t look much different than he did back in high school. He still had that “too cool for school” look, but somehow he gotten even more handsome over the years. It’s so unfair that men get more handsome as they get older, but women just get old. “I mean, nothing work related. I just thought… we could reminisce a little more, that’s all.”
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t think we had done that much reminiscing at our last lunch. Well, Jake had. I mostly listened. High school wasn’t such a great experience for me that I really want to reminisce about it.
