Good Enough(69)

As we are about to take them upstairs, we hear voices above us that seem to be getting closer and closer. Jameson and I stare at each other with that look you have without saying anything. You know the ‘what the fuck is that’ look? As the voices get closer and closer we hear footsteps coming towards us. When we turn we see Marcie coming down the stairs with a man and woman I’ve never seen in my entire life. What is she doing with them upstairs in my home? When she catches my glare at her she stops moving.

“What are you doing, Marcie?” I ask.

“Oh, just giving a tour,” she tells me.

I turn and pass on another glare, this time at Jameson. Hoping we are in sync, having another one of those conversations without needing words.

“Marcie, considering this is our home and our house warming party we will be the ones giving the tours, but thanks anyway.” I spit out with the biggest fake smile I can deliver.

She takes the couple back outside and I trek upstairs with my aunt and uncle closely behind. I really wish I hadn’t left my glass of wine outside on the deck. I am furiously pissed she is taking people around my house. I have to talk to Jameson first to make sure he didn’t tell her it was okay before I blow up. Who the fuck were those people anyway? Who invited them?





THE DAY HAS COME TO AN END. It was filled with love from friends and family who are so happy for us starting our life together in our first home. In a few short months we’ll be married and living in our home.

The day wouldn’t be complete, however, without guests coming up to me complaining about Marcie. Marcie complaining about the wedding invitation samples because they didn’t have her name on them; Marcie complaining about the flower choices for the wedding; Marcie complaining about the way my grandmother set up the food trays at the party today; Marcie complaining about our friends putting out more lawn chairs for people to sit at. Why? I have no fucking idea but it needs to stop.

“Isn’t it enough that I’ve grown up with a mother who doesn’t like me, I have to have a mother-in-law just the same?” I admit to Karolyn while hiding out in the bathroom.

“I know honey. I’m sorry. You do have shitty luck in the mom department. Marcie is very complex. She’s not happy, so everyone around has to be the same. She hasn’t had a boyfriend since the eighties. After spending some time with her family today they clearly aren’t overly fond of her either. That could either play in your favor or against it. Not sure which yet.” I nod in agreement with her. “Fight for what is yours Hillary. This house, Jameson, your dignity, everything. Don’t let her fuck around with you. Kill her with kindness. That shit pisses everyone off.” We laugh in unison. She’s right. I get pissed when people I can’t stand are nice to me. We hug, give each other a smooch on the cheek and she pees while I fix my makeup. I love how close girlfriends can be without a care in the world and that we aren’t shy around each other.





“You’re too fat for that dress.”



Memorial Day Weekend, 2003

HERE WE GO AGAIN.

My future mother-in-law says we have to have a picnic because it’s a holiday. I just moved in to my first home and have a wedding to plan. I don’t want to spend an afternoon with a woman who sees me as the person who is stealing her son away.

Wondering if I should ask if we have to go through this again for Columbus Day in October, or President’s Day in February.

I’ve been avoiding everyone’s questions about my wedding dress shopping. For most brides, it is one of the most highly anticipated events of the wedding planning. I am dreading it. Lily keeps telling me if I don’t make an appointment with Janet at Fairytales she’s going to do it for me. She knows I don’t want my mother to come, but she also knows my mother offered to pay for my dress. Lily admitted she knows its shitty mom guilt and to just take it. Jameson and I are already paying for so much of the wedding ourselves.

My mind drifts back to high school prom season. In my junior year my mother let me tag along with her to the mall. I went into a dressing room at JC Penney’s to try on a few dresses. I was happily surprised that my friend Jonathan asked me to accompany him. I didn’t tell my parents, weary of their usual hurtful reactions.

My mother hunted me down in the dressing room, shouting my name, completely embarrassing me. Within seconds of zipping up one of the dresses, I crack open the door, peek my head out so she can see where I am and stop yelling. She pushes the door open more, forcing herself in. With one hand still on the door handle, her body half in the room, she stood there, looking at me from head to toe, her brows furrowed and mouth agape.