The nine bridesmaids were next—first Evie’s cousins, Meghan, Michelle, and Sarah, their biceps popping as they clutched their bouquets. The bridesmaids’ dresses were simple—black, strapless and stunning. Then Evie came down the aisle with her father. She looked so beautiful I almost cried. She smiled at me as she swept past, and I saw real joy on her face. I hoped that Celia was wrong about them, that this happy phase wasn’t going to pass into a boring one and then into a dissatisfied one. Evie did love Todd. Maybe she loved his money more than she loved him, but I was positive that there was at least some real affection between them. I hoped it was enough to make them happy, and enough to last. I found myself crossing my fingers on my lap, my palms sweating, rooting for them.
Evie reached Todd, and they clasped their hands together, joy apparent on his face. My heart soared as I saw that even James was smiling at them.
But then I heard something behind me, and the soar turned to a plummet. A muttering, when we should all be silent. I turned and saw a familiar figure charging down the aisle—stringy bleached hair and a barrel chest shoved into a cheap black spaghetti-strapped sundress. The kind with the elastic visible on the outside. I cringed, wishing I could unsee my mother crashing Todd and Evie’s society wedding.
“Jenny,” I turned around and whispered. “I have to go. It’s an emergency. Tell James I’ll meet him at the reception.”
“What?” she asked me louder than she should. People turned to stare at us.
“It’s my mother,” I hiss-whispered.
“Oh fuck, Dre. Go. I’ll cover for you.”
I ran down the aisle in a flash and a panic.
“Hello, Mrs. Reynolds,” I whispered to her, grabbing her from the pew she was trying to slide down, away from me. “Got ya.” I grabbed her arm, hard, and dragged her with me.
“That hurts,” she said, her voice loud.
I dug my nails into the puffy flesh of her arm. “Shut the fuck up, right now, or you get nothing. And I’m gonna make this hurt a lot worse.” I dug my nails in further. Wedding guests were watching us, surprised and shocked, but I didn’t dare stop.
I hustled her out into the bright sunlight and dragged her to the side of the church; I couldn’t risk standing out front. This was already worse than I could probably recover from. I turned to her. “Why are you here?” I was surprised to find myself on the verge of tears; I should have been all cried out where my mother was concerned.
She raised her hands at me in exasperation. “I told you yesterday: I need money. These people have it, Audrey. They have more than they need.”
“But it’s theirs,” I wailed. “Just because they have it doesn’t mean they have to spread it around. I’m sure they give to a lot of charities. But their money has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m not getting their charity.” She looked at me stubbornly.
“That’s because you don’t deserve it,” I said. “You don’t need charity, Ma. You maybe need a job. Or a hobby.”
She sneered at me. “Look at you in that dress. Pretending to be something you’re not. Who do you think you are?”
I shrugged at her, defeated. “I’m no one, Ma. I just don’t think what you’re doing is right. James already gave you twenty thousand dollars. He paid for Tommy to stay at the center for I don’t even know how long. He’s a good guy. You trying to punish him for hiring me isn’t fair.”
Hot, ugly tears sprang to my eyes again, and I struggled to hold them back; I had to go to the reception, and I had to be presentable. “I already told you I’d give you money. I can, a lot of it—two hundred thousand dollars. The rest is for Tommy. But you have to get out of here right now. ’Cause otherwise I’ll never get it.”
Her eyes almost popped out of her head. “That much?”
“Yes, that much. But not if I get fired first.”
I just wanted her to go, but she wasn’t budging. Not yet. She grabbed her cigarettes out of her purse and lit one. She exhaled and looked at me, her foot tapping. I could almost hear the wheels turning greedily in her head. “That’s fine to start with,” she said. “But I want you to tell your boyfriend that I need a salary. That money ain’t gonna last forever.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and he’s not putting you on salary.”
“I beg your pardon,” said a voice from behind me, making me jump, “but I would say that I’m at least a candidate for boyfriend at this point.”