by Alice Wasser
(I’ve never been to Italy.)
I was aware of the fact that there were four steps to get to the entrance, so this wasn’t a place I could ever go to with Sam if I liked it. I think it was too small a restaurant for them to have a handicapped entrance. Good thing we didn’t invite him.
As we were sitting down at our table, Jake took off his jacket and I have to admit, I let out a little gasp. Even under his long-sleeved dress shirt, I could tell that Jake had some really nice muscles going on. Sam obviously doesn’t have a body like that and he never could, even after a million hours at the gym. I don’t mind and it’s not his fault, but as I admired Jake’s broad chest, I felt a twinge of longing. I was seized by an almost irrepressible urge to reach out and run my hand over his pecs.
(God, I needed a cold shower.)
“You made some really insightful comments at the meeting,” I said politely.
Jake smiled crookedly at me. “I didn’t invite you to lunch to talk about that stupid meeting, Matilda.”
“Oh,” I said. What did that mean? I felt my stomach churn.
Before he could say anything more, my cell phone rang. It was Sam. My heart sped up a bit as I answered the call. “Hey, Millie,” he said. “Do you want to go to lunch?”
I instantly felt really guilty. “Um, actually, I’m already at lunch. I thought you got busy and couldn’t go.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry I called so late—things got a little crazy here. Some guy in HR got his email hacked. Anyway, no big deal. Are you with Donna?”
I glanced up at Jake, who was staring at me. I could have lied, but I always, always get caught when I lie. Anyway, there was no reason to lie. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.
(I wasn’t!)
“I’m with Jake Winston,” I said.
“Oh…” Sam was quiet for a minute. “Do… you want me to come?”
“No, we’re already… you know… at the restaurant. Plus… there are kind of a lot of stairs.”
“Oh,” Sam said softly. He sounded hurt, which made me feel awful about something that genuinely was not a big deal at all. “Um, I guess I’ll see you tonight then.”
“Yeah.”
“I love you,” he added.
“I love you too,” I mumbled.
When I hung up, Jake was smirking at me a little bit. “I assume that was Sam,” he said. “He’s pretty clingy, huh?”
Sam isn’t clingy. He just likes spending time with me. We’re engaged, after all.
“I was back home last weekend,” Jake said. “Your mother and mine have been having some heart-to-heart discussions apparently.”
I looked at him in surprise. “How do our mothers even know each other?”
“They go to the same temple,” Jake said.
“You’re Jewish?” I asked. Jake nodded. “But your last name is Winston. That’s not a Jewish name.”
“It was Weinstein when my great-grandfather came to this country,” Jake explained.
Wow, why didn’t my great-grandfather think of that? Instead of Glockenfeld, my last name could’ve been Glenfield. That would’ve been so much better.
“You don’t look Jewish,” I commented.
“Thanks,” Jake said, apparently choosing to take my remark as a compliment.
“So,” I said with a sigh. “What did my mother tell your mother?”
“She thinks you’re making a mistake,” Jake said.
Big surprise. “I know.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What exactly did my mother say?” I asked.
“She doesn’t think Sam is good enough for you,” he said. “She’s apparently really upset.”
I sighed.
“She was trying to persuade my mother that I would be a better choice for you,” Jake said with a sideways grin.
I cringed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jake said. “I’m concerned, Matilda. It sounds like you haven’t been dating him very long. Are you sure you’re not rushing into things? I mean, marriage is a big deal.”
If anyone else, especially my mother, had been saying these things, I probably would have been upset. But Jake just seemed concerned. The points he was making were not lost on me. Sam and I have been together for less than a year. I feel like I know him really well, but maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.
I was relieved when Jake changed the subject. We talked a little more about high school and about work. Jake really likes to talk and I ended up doing a lot of listening. We didn’t have the same kind of banter that I have with Sam. Sam and I just click—Jake and I don’t. I’m not sure why I was making that comparison, except that I was getting the distinct impression that Jake was still interested in me.
Honestly, I’ve never in my life had a guy as attractive as Jake who was interested in me. I would say he’s completely out of my league, yet he was definitely flirting. I don’t think it was entirely my imagination. Sam is actually probably cuter than Jake, but he’s in a wheelchair so that changes everything.
The food ended up being okay, but nothing too special. I pretended like it was great though and I’m embarrassed to admit that Jake insisted on paying. I got out my wallet, but he quickly brushed me away and plunked down his credit card.
(Don’t worry, he said he’d bill it as a business lunch, so it wasn’t like he was taking me on a date or anything.)
When we got back to work, Jake walked me back to my cubicle. As we walked, he kept one hand on the small of my back. It wasn’t actually like he was hitting on me, but there was something a little inappropriate about it, considering I’m engaged to another man. And then after he said goodbye, he pecked me on the cheek. Just a tiny peck. All very innocent and platonic.
Donna was gawking at me as we walked past her, and her eyes practically fell out of her head when Jake kissed me. As soon as he was out of sight, she was at my side.
“What’s going on between you and Jake?” she demanded to know in a voice that was way, way too loud.
“Oh my God, nothing!” I hissed at her. “Will you please keep your voice down?”
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
“Will you stop it?” I said irritably. “We just had lunch, that’s all. Sam knows about it.”
“He sure does,” Donna said.
I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” she said mock innocently.
“Donna…”
“Nothing,” she insisted.
But she was the one who pointed out that Sam was capable of being jealous and I wondered if he had called her to ask about Jake. If he did, that’s pretty insulting. Doesn’t he trust me?
May 8:
Tonight I walked in on Sam in our bed, changing the dressing on his heel.
Yes, his sore is still there and taking forever to heal. Eva still comes in to do the bandage in the morning, I’ve been changing it at night, and he’s been making an effort to not wear shoes as often as possible. I can tell this is something Sam is really worried about, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s extremely close-mouthed about stuff that really bothers him.
I was surprised to see him changing the dressing himself. Obviously, he can do it himself, but after Dr. Jamison’s scary speech about the possibility of infection, I thought we decided that I was going to help him at night. It’s a lot faster and easier for me to help him with it, and up until now, he’d been okay with it.
(Well, maybe not entirely okay with it. But he was letting me do it.)
“I can do that,” I said.
“No, that’s okay,” he said.
“Sam, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “But, you know, you’re my girlfriend, not my nurse. I don’t want you to have to do these things for me. You’re not going to want to have sex with me if you’re looking at a big sore on my foot all the time.”
I wondered if this had anything to do with my lunch with Jake
yesterday. “That’s silly,” I said. I sat at the edge of the bed by his foot.
“I mean it, Millie,” he said. “I don’t want you to do this anymore.”
There was nothing I could do to convince him. He was really adamant about this. I guess to some extent, he’s right. Foot sores are not sexy. But more than anything, I just want him to get better.
May 9:
Sam and I were discussing the guest list today. It’s kind of a sore subject for me because I’m not sure if my own mother is even coming. Whereas Sam’s mother sent him a long list of family members she wants him to invite.
“I think your mother will come around,” Sam said. “I bet she’ll come.”
“Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t so sure. My father called me and said that he’d come to the wedding, but my mother wouldn’t. And she hadn’t called me on the phone since that dinner. This is incredibly unusual behavior for her. I’m actually starting to miss her annoying phone calls.
“I’m sorry, Millie,” he said quietly.
I feel guilty that he was the one apologizing even though my mother was the one acting ridiculous. “It’s not your fault,” I said.
“Maybe you were right before,” he said. “If your mother isn’t going to come, maybe we should just do a civil ceremony. Just the two of us.”
That sounded great, but then again, I know it would be a disappointment to Sam’s family. I told him we could think about it. We haven’t even set a date yet, so there’s still time to decide.
And yes, I know we need to set a date. But I just can’t think about it with all the drama going on with my mother. And I still need time to lose 35 pounds.
May 10:
My sister Rachel’s baby shower was today.
For reasons I don’t understand, they waited till the very end of her pregnancy to have her shower. She’s due in only a few weeks. The shower was at the house of her best friend Eleanor, about an hour south of where we live. Rachel told me she had invited couples so I brought Sam along. We actually debated if he should come, since I knew my mom was going to be there. He offered not to come because he didn’t want to make trouble, but I wanted him there. I figured Rachel’s shower would be unbearable if he wasn’t there.
I’ve been to a few baby showers for women at work, and while I hate to overgeneralize, I have to say that every single baby shower is completely horrible. Well, for me, at least.
You spend the entire time talking about the baby, and isn’t she excited about the baby, and how much her life is going to change forever, but it’s still going to be so wonderful. It’s like everybody has to read from the Big Book of Baby Clichés.
And the games… oh God, the games. I can’t even discuss them without cringing. I think the worst one was when we were forced to make little Franken-babies out of magazine cut-outs, and the mother-to-be had to pick her favorite. The only good thing I can say is that it’s better than bridal shower games, like making a wedding dress out of toilet paper.
I didn’t know what to buy Rachel and she didn’t have a registry, so I just got her a bunch of tiny blue clothing. As I held up the little blue outfits at Target, I got this terrible ache in my chest. The clothes were so cute and tiny. I can’t believe that Rachel is going to have a baby that will fit into these teeny clothes. I probably looked like an insane person in the store, cuddling baby clothing to my chest.
All right, I’m being all girly now, but God, I really want a baby sometimes. I’m glad Sam seems to be on the same page about all this. Maybe in a year from now, I’ll be pregnant. That would be amazing.
Sam drove us to Eleanor’s house, and in exchange, demanded several red light kisses on the way there, which I gladly gave him. The drive was supposed to take an hour, but we got lost a few times on the way there. She lived in a wooded area where his GPS didn’t seem to function very well. At one point, I actually had to pull a map out of his glove compartment. It felt so retro.
“I’ve never been to a baby shower before,” Sam said as we finally came into sight of Eleanor’s house.
“Lucky you,” I said.
“Is it that painful?”
“Yes.” I gave him a hard look. “Don’t leave me alone, okay?”
“I’m all yours, babe.”
The irritating thing was that there was obviously no handicapped parking at Eleanor’s house and we were late, so we were stuck parking practically in the woods. Sam was having quite a bit of trouble wheeling over the uneven ground. “This is annoying,” he said.
(In case you’re wondering, he would never let me push his chair for him in a million billion years.)
To make matters worse, Eleanor had a big flight of steps to get into her house. I’d never been to Eleanor’s house before and I guess nobody thought to warn us about this. Rather than force Sam to drag himself up the steps, I went to the front door and asked Eleanor if she had a back entrance. She was really embarrassed about not having warned us and thank God, she did have a back entrance with only one step, which was fine.
The back entrance brought us to the kitchen, which was where all the men at the party were huddled, loading up on beer and snacks. I saw my father, who came over and gave me a kiss, then gave Sam a big smile and clapped him on the shoulder
“So here’s the man who’s marrying my firstborn,” Dad boomed in a completely embarrassing dad-like way. “Good to see you again, Sam. I don’t think I got to congratulate you properly when you made the announcement.”
Sam seemed relieved that my dad was friendly and not throwing things at him or something. “Thanks, sir,” he said.
My father shook his head. “Please, Sam. You’re going to be my son-in-law. Don’t call me ‘sir.’ It’s Mr. Glockenfeld.”
“Oh, okay,” Sam stammered. He wasn’t yet acquainted with my father’s sense of humor.
“Dad is joking,” I informed him, rolling my eyes.
Sam looked uncertainly at my father for confirmation
Dad snickered. “Of course I am. You can call me Allen.”
I half expected my father to add something like, “Of course, my name is actually Marty,” or something along those lines. But he decided to let Sam off the hook.
“Anyway,” Dad said. “You and I need to properly celebrate, Sam. Soon as things quiet down, we’re going to go out on the porch and smoke a couple of these.”
My father pulled two cigars out of his front pocket. My father used to be sort of addicted to cigars, but my mother made him quit. Now he’s only allowed to smoke them on special occasions. The problem with my dad is that he manages to find an awful lot of special occasions.
(In my opinion, having a good bowel movement is not a special occasion. Although my father assures me I will feel differently when I’m his age.)
In any case, I think his daughter getting engaged definitely counts as a special occasion. Even if my mother would disagree.
“That sounds great,” Sam said with real enthusiasm. I don’t think he’s into cigars, but he was just thrilled that one of my parents liked him.
Sam ventured into the living room to say hello to Rachel. I hadn’t seen my sister since early in her pregnancy and I was kind of hoping she’d be fat and bloated. Naturally, she wasn’t. She looked beautiful. If anything, she looked prettier now that she was in her third trimester.
It’s not fair. I love my sister, but why can’t she gain way too much weight during pregnancy like normal women?
“It’s so nice to see you again, Sam,” Rachel said, and she bent over to hug him. “Thank you for coming.”
“You look amazing, Rachel,” he said. “Congratulations again. I hear it’s a boy. That or you really like blue.”
“Yes, it’s a boy,” Rachel said. “It better be, at least.” She smiled at the two of us. “Hopefully, he’ll have some cousins in the near future.”
“Um,” I mumbled.
“I hope so too,” Sam said.
I spotted my mother in the corner of the room, eying us angrily. I looked away. The
last thing I wanted was to stir up a bunch of trouble at my little sister’s baby shower.
“Ma will get over it,” Rachel said, noticing where my gaze was directed. She looked at Sam. “I promise, she will. She just needs time.”
Sam lowered his eyes. “Yeah. Do you think there’s any chance she’ll come to the wedding?”
Rachel glanced back at our mother, who was practically glowering at us by now. “Well, I’ll be there,” she said.
At that point, I told Sam he could retire to the kitchen, despite his promise not to leave my side. I didn’t want him to be the only male in the entire living room. That would be too cruel.
The second I was alone in the living room, my aunt Maxine made a beeline for me. Have you ever had a relative whose sole mission in life seems to be to make you feel bad about yourself? Well, that’s my aunt Maxine.
The sad thing is, I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it. It’s completely subconscious on her part. For example, at Rachel’s wedding, she spent at least an hour sitting with me and holding my hand, “comforting” me. “Millie,” she had said to me, “I’m not going to let you feel bad about the fact that your baby sister is getting married before you do. I’m so sure that someday you’ll get your turn. And if not, we’ll find you somebody off the boat.”
(Apparently, back in the day, marrying a guy who had recently arrived in the country and was looking for a green card was an actual option for spinsters in the family. And I have to admit, by the end of Rachel’s wedding, it didn’t seem like an entirely unreasonable option.)
So as Maxine made her way towards me, I braced myself. I didn’t know what she was planning to say to me, but I was sure it would make me feel like crap.
“Millie!” Maxine exclaimed. She enveloped me in a hug. Maxine always wears far too much perfume, so my eyes were already watering and my nose was twitching.
“Hi, Aunt Maxine,” I mumbled.
Maxine pulled away, looking me over. I was absolutely certain that I was going to get a comment about my recent weight gain, but instead, she said to me, “My God, Millie. Look at that ring!”
