“What the fuck, Elizabeth!” Austin screamed as the cars behind us all started honking in unison. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“Oh my God, Austin, I’m late!” I managed to stutter.
“Yeah, I know, Elizabeth. We’re late because you held us up.”
“No, no. I’m late.” I placed emphasis on the word late as if he would automatically understand its connotation. Rummaging through my purse I retrieved my pocket calendar and started to do the math. Holy shit. I was two months late.
“Late for brunch? I don’t understand you.” Austin was still growling as he weaved through traffic with frustration. He leaned on his horn when he pulled behind an Oldsmobile driven by an elderly lady with a bluish beehive.
“Late as in late for my period!” I started hyperventilating. “Oh my god, I’m pregnant.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell are you talking about?” Austin swerved to avoid a bike messenger who veered into our lane. “You’re not pregnant. Knock it off.”
“I haven’t gotten my period since June, Austin. And I’ve been gaining weight and I’ve been moody…”
“You’re stressed about the wedding,” Austin offered.
I shook my head. “I’m never late. No matter how stressed I get! Even in college when I had finals and papers. I was always like clockwork. Twenty-eight days. All the time.”
“That’s impossible. You’re on the pill. Aren’t you?”
I ignored his question, not wanting to mention that I may have forgotten to take it a few times. Like a week straight last month. “I’ve been craving chocolate and…” I stared down at my cleavage. “Oh my God, my boobs are huge.”
“Your boobs are always huge,” Austin volunteered with a grin. Oh great…now he decides to be the funny guy?
“Seriously, Austin. We need to stop at a Walgreens or CVS or something! I need to pee on a stick.” I smacked his right arm desperately.
My throat felt like it was closing up, making it very difficult to breathe. It felt like a ten ton elephant was sitting on my chest. I need a paper bag. Don’t they always say you should hyperventilate into a paper bag? I searched the backseat for one of the many paper bags that usually littered Austin’s car. I groaned as I saw he apparently tidied up since the last time I was in the car.
Austin shook his head as he applied his blinker and changed lanes. “No way. We’re already going to be late. I’m sure everything is fine. We’ll do that after brunch.”
“But I need to know now!” I wailed.
“So you can start panicking?” Austin pulled into the lot of the restaurant his parents had chosen for brunch. It was ridiculously full.
“No! I am not panicking!” I replied in a panicked tone. Does it count as panicking when you want to puke and can’t stop shaking? “I just can’t do this brunch thing now with this hanging over my head.” I dug my cell phone out of my bag.
“What are you doing?” Austin asked, pulling into a parking space.
“I’m calling your mother. I’m going to tell her I don’t feel very well. Maybe I have the flu.” I scrolled through my contacts looking for my future mother-in-law’s number.
Austin snatched the phone from my hand. “No you most certainly are not. You are going to go in there and smile and act surprised and enjoy yourself. My mother went through a lot of trouble to put this shower together and I’ll be damned…oh shit.” Austin smacked his forehead.
“Shower?” I stared at him.
“Shit, yeah. Damn it. I did so good up until the fucking parking lot.” Austin slammed his palm against the wheel in frustration.
“I can’t do a shower today! Not after this. I can’t face all these people and pretend nothing’s happened!” I was practically shrieking. If he thought I was panicking before…
“What difference does it make? Okay, maybe you are pregnant. We’re getting married in two months anyway! So you’ll just be a little chubby at the wedding. Nobody even needs to know.” Austin grabbed my arm, I think attempting to reassure me, but instead, it caused me to recoil in horror.
“A little chubby? A little chubby?” I burst out into tears. “Do you know what I had to do to get into that dress?”
After our little incident in the bridal gown store, my mother finally dragged me to Mabel’s and, I hate to admit it, but Mabel found the perfect dress for me, yet again.
“I’ve been starving myself for weeks to fit into that dress,” I wailed. Okay, that was definitely an exaggeration. At best, I might have cut down my margarita intake… Oh dear god, I drank alcohol while pregnant! My kid is going to come out all screwed up! My breathing got even more rapid and shallow.
Austin once again attempted to comfort me. “Let’s not go to pieces just yet, okay? Go and enjoy your shower and we’ll worry about this afterwards.” His eyes implored me to calm down. “Please.”
“I don’t think I can!”
Austin was quickly losing his patience. Not that he had much to begin with. “Well, you’re going to have to.” He opened his door, stepped out and headed to the passenger side door. Opening it, he held his hand out for me. I reluctantly took it and lugged myself out of the Prius. I adjusted my purse on my shoulder, smoothed down the dress, and inspected the paunch I was convinced I saw in my abdomen area.
Oh my God I look eight months pregnant!
Oblivious to my panicked thoughts, Austin slammed the door behind me and practically dragged me through the parking lot toward the restaurant entrance. Pushing open the thick glass door, Austin leaned in and reminded me, “Now make sure that you act surprised, okay?”
I nodded dutifully as I clutched his hand. Austin nodded at the hostess and gave his name. Smiling, the girl led us toward the back of bustling restaurant. Plates and utensils clinked together, creating a deafening noise that reverberated inside my skull. I wanted to press my hands over my ears and scream to make the pounding stop. Hell, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. What a shit day this was turning out to be.
The hostess pushed open a hefty oak door at the rear of the restaurant and stepped aside, allowing us to pass. I blinked as camera flashes went off in rapid succession and a mismatched chorus of “Surprise!” erupted amongst the guests seated around the tables in the spacious banquet room. I forced a weak smile, ordering myself not to throw up.
I was ambushed by Mom and Austin’s mother. Both wore enormous corsages on their blouses. Melinda’s was neatly pinned to her silk, sleeveless, turquoise blouse, which complemented her complexion. Her sandy blonde hair was recently colored and trimmed, framing her pixie-like face with delicate features. Her taut arms pulled me in for a hug. She was tanned and fit and the picture of health.
My mother, on the other hand, was wearing a sateen number from the late seventies with a zig-zag pattern of brown and gold stripes across the front, the excess fat on her arms swinging precariously. The blouse was cinched on the side, trapping her amble bosom, making it appear ten times larger than it really was. I peeked down at my own chest. Great, that was going to be me in twenty years. All boobs, nowhere to put them. I was appalled by her choice of outfits, but even more horrified by her hair and make-up. It looked like she applied the make-up while riding up the Parkway in the side car of a motorcycle. Her hair was an orange frenzied mess and she was in dire need of an immediate dye job.
I sighed as I was crammed in between the two women for a picture and then passed around like a hot potato from relative to relative. Austin lagged behind, introducing me to those I didn’t already know and shaking the hands of my family members who had yet to meet him. The whole thing was a mind numbing exercise in futility. I was certain that not one person in the room truly wanted to partake in this event on this beautiful day, least of all, the glowing bride.
Like a zombie, I marched from table to table, dispensing with pleasantries, pasting a fake smile on my face and bobbing my head politely while assuring everyone that yes, I was most definitely surprised.
What they didn’t know was what I was actually surprised about. Surprised Simon left? Absolutely. Surprised I was pregnant? You could have knocked me over with a feather. This stupid shower was at the bottom of my list of surprises for the day.
After a tasteless brunch of waffles and eggs and God knows what those crispy little crepes were, I was ushered into an overly ornate chair and Austin was shooed to the back of the room where he stood glumly. I glanced at him from my pedestal and could see his discomfort mounting as he shuffled his feet and tugged at his tie. Maybe it was the excess estrogen in the room, or the realization of my predicament. Either way, he was sweating. In some twisted way, it satisfied me. If I had to be miserable, he might as well be miserable right there with me.
When I was settling into the chair and my mother and Melinda were busying themselves with unwrapping preparations, the door swung open, nearly smashing my fiancé.
Nora swept in, clad in a peachy floor length skirt and sheer white blouse which was tied at the midriff, exposing her flat, tanned abdomen and her pierced belly button. Her hair, which was usually in a neat chignon or French twist, was loose, flowing down her back in waves.
“Hi! Sorry I’m late,” she called merrily as she waltzed to the front of the room and threw her patchwork hobo bag to the side behind my chair. Leaning down, she air kissed both my cheeks. “Hello blushing bride! It is I, your maid of honor, reporting for duty!”
I grabbed her wrist. “Are you drunk?” I hissed. The fact that I didn’t want to be here to begin with was bad enough. Nora being drunk and embarrassing me in public, yet again, would be too much for me to deal with today.
“Pshat,” Nora mumbled as she waved her hand in front of her face giving me a good whiff of her tequila breath. “I’m fine. I just had a few cocktails with the Jonas brothers,” Nora murmured loudly.
“What?”
“Not the Jonas bothers,” Nora clarified. “The guys who live across the hall from me. They just moved in. They look like the Jonas brothers, so that’s what I call them.” She leaned in closer. “I slept with both of them last night. They both had huge dicks.” she whispered much louder than I’m sure she intended to. Heads whipped around in all directions.
“Okay…” I interrupted, my face turning the color of an eggplant. “Let’s open presents, shall we?” I turned my attention to my mother, who was shoving a shiny square package, with an obscene amount of bows, under my nose.
“This is from your cousin Regina in Michigan,” my mother said as she held the card in front of her and pushed her reading glasses down her nose. “She’s sorry that she couldn’t make it,” Mom vociferously announced to the crowd of bored looking women, sipping tea and stabbing plastic forks at the stale, butter creamed filled cake.
As I sat under the bright lights of the dining room, I felt myself breaking out into a sweat. My stomach started churning as I realized all eyes were on me, and most of them, scrutinizing. I just wanted this torture over with so I could go home and cry, throw up, and go to bed. Maybe when I woke up, I’d find out that this whole day had been a dream.
Sliding my finger underneath the plastic tape, I tugged heartily, trying to open the package. With the ribbons wrapped around it, the damn thing was sealed tighter than a virgin on her wedding night. Sweat was definitely beading on my forehead now, along with seeping out from underneath my armpits.
Nora, watching me struggle, reached over Austin’s cousin or aunt, I’m not sure which, retrieved her butter knife and marched over to me. She snatched the gift from my bumbling fingers and cut the ribbons with the knife. The collective gasp from the onlookers could have woken the dead.
“Oh my God! That’s bad luck,” shrieked my cousin Mindy.
“Quick! Give her nickel!” someone else called out from the crowd.
“I think that’s if you receive a knife,” my mother mused thoughtfully, scratching her head.
“Somebody google it!” Melinda called out in a panic.
Nora turned to face the crowd—half of them looked like they wanted to chuck rotten tomatoes her way. “What are you all freaking out about? She couldn’t get it open,” Nora slurred, swaying slightly.
“It’s bad luck to use a knife at a bridal shower,” I whispered as I jerked her closer to my level.
Most of Austin’s family was either staring open mouthed at Nora or whispering behind their hands. Probably wondering what kind of person would have a maid of honor who shows up smashed to their bridal shower and then lets her open a gift with a knife. The bad luck was ingrained into this event. Although honestly, at this point, I hardly cared. I assumed this day couldn’t get any worse. Boy, was I wrong.
“Bad luck? Ha!” Nora faced the guests and loudly announced, “It’ll be fine folks. Can’t have worse luck than she did in her first marriage to that British slime ball.”
A hush fell over the crowd and Austin’s mother, who was holding the infamous butter knife, dropped it onto her sandaled foot. She didn’t even flinch as a small trickle of blood formed by her big toe. This time, I could feel my crimson flush starting from the roots of my hair and shooting down to my toenails.
Oh dear Lord, please tell me Austin stepped out of the room. Please, please, God, I’ll never ask for another thing again…
I slowly lifted my chin and realized that my prayers were not answered. I locked eyes with my fiancé. His eyes flashed with anger, his cheeks were flushed; his fury was palpable. He turned on his heel, shoved open the substantial door, nearly knocking a waiter over, and stormed out of the room.
I sat frozen in my seat. What do I do? Do I run after him, pleading to explain? Or do I let him cool off and broach the subject after the shower?
I stared into the sea of faces before me. Most were oblivious to the scene that was unfolding before them. After all, my family knew I was previously married. They were poking at their pieces of cake and carrying on hushed conversations about my intoxicated bridesmaid and her faux pas.
Simon’s family, on the other hand, was staring daggers through me. Melinda stepped in front of me, foot still oozing blood.
“You’re divorced?” The accusatory tone was unmistakable.
I nodded affirmatively, unable to speak.
“Austin doesn’t know that, does he?”
I shook my head wretchedly.
Nora, who was silent after dropping her bomb, chose this importune moment to speak. “Simon was what the English call a wanker. He—”
My mother cut her off. “That’s enough from you, Nora.” Her tone was firm, quite unlike what I was used to from my mother. You would have thought someone stole her margarita.
Nora shrank back and sat on her chair, completely intimidated by my mother’s uncharacteristic aggressiveness. Melinda, however, was not.
“You need to get yourself out there,” she pointed to the door, “and explain to my son why you didn’t tell him this before he decided to spend a fortune marrying you,” she snarled through clenched teeth. I could tell she was having trouble controlling her rage, but her well-mannered upbringing would not allow her to lose it.
I rose from my chair, visibly quaking. “Yes ma’am,” I replied, striding slowly toward the door, the guests scooting to the sides of the aisle to allow me to pass.
My trembling hands shoved at the door, but it didn’t budge. How did Austin swing this open with one thrust? I threw my body up against it, but it only gave an inch, then, slammed shut once more. I could feel the entire room staring at me, watching me flounder.
What a loser, they were probably thinking. Can’t even open a door. Hope Austin dumps her sorry ass.
Finally, a sympathetic waiter took pity on me and pushed open the door. With one hand, no less. I acknowledged his kind gesture with a terse nod and stepped through the doorway to the restaurant, abuzz with the late Sunday brunch patrons.
Weaving through the tables of laughing, jovial diners, I scanned the crowd for Austin. I started toward the bar, convinced I saw him, but as the man turned, I c
ould see it was just one of the many guys his age who could be his doppelgänger. He had such an all-American boy appearance; I often thought I saw him on the street or in a crowd.
The real Austin was nowhere to be found. Reaching the front of the restaurant, I peeked through the fingerprint smeared glass door. At the edge of the parking lot, I saw Austin behind the elaborately landscaped bushes, smoking a cigarette.
I pulled open the entrance doors and was assaulted by a twenty degree temperature difference. Heaving a sigh, I crossed the parking lot, heading toward my fuming fiancé. I halted at the edge of the bushes, less than five feet from him.
What am I going to say? I wracked my brain, scrambling for the quick fix to this miserable situation I had entrapped myself in. Nothing I said could possibly make this right.
Damn you, Nora, was my immediate thought. Then I reprimanded myself. You can’t blame Nora. You got yourself in this all on your own. You have nobody to blame but yourself.
Hesitantly, I stepped toward Austin, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He didn’t even turn around as he muttered, “Go away, Elizabeth. I don’t want to see your face right now.”
“I can’t Austin. I promised your mother that I’d come out here and talk to you.” I desperately attempted to sound confidant, but all I wanted to do was run away in the other direction. Sorry, Mrs. Cooper, Austin doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Oh, okay, so now you care about my mother? After that stunt in there?” Austin scoffed at me.
“Huh? Stunt? What are you talking about?” I asked, utterly confused as to what caring for Melinda had to do with any of this.
Austin whirled around to face me, his anger evident in his stance. “You blindsided my mother with that and embarrassed the shit out of her and our family. How could you do that? You can’t take that back, you know. I don’t know if I can forgive something like that.”
“What? This is why you’re mad?” I asked incredulously.
“Well wouldn’t you be mad if someone embarrassed your mother in public like that?”
[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Page 24
