“You’re one to talk, lady. Coming from the woman who called her own daughter a whore when she was a teenager. Coming from the woman who is jealous of her daughter. Coming from the woman who charges her daughter rent while she’s trying to save money for a wedding. Give me a break. It was a simple accident.” Marcie shoots back.
I can hear footsteps coming closer and closer to me but I’m frozen in place. I can’t move. The room is starting to spin … and then …it all goes pitch black.
I CAN FEEL THE WARMTH OF A HAND rubbing my back, the softness of cotton on my cheek. I’m quite comfortable where I am. As I start to stir awake and open my eyes I see Jameson smiling down at me. It takes me a minute to realize I’m lying in bed at my parent’s house.
“How are you feeling beautiful?”
“Why am I in bed at my parent’s? Did I fall asleep? Why didn’t you just have me sleep in the car?
“I wish it was that simple, but you passed out at the shower,” he admits and the sick truth comes back to hit me in the face.
I push myself up in the bed and stare straight ahead looking out one of the windows watching tree branches blowing in the light breeze. I remember my mom yelling, and Marcie, and then Marcie yelling at my mom. The insults, I remember them throwing insults back and forth at each other.
I turned my head to look at Jameson. He had a look of pity on his face. I didn’t want pity. I want answers. I want to know why the two women in my life who are supposed to have encouraging major roles in my life seem to fucking hate me and want nothing more than to hurt me.
Tears start to wet my cheeks. Jameson pulls me back to him, holding me gently. “Let’s go home,” he whispers in my ear. I don’t say a word, I don’t need to. He knows what I need.
“You don’t deserve happiness.”
June 28, 2003
THE LAST TWO WEEKS I’VE DONE ALL I can to avoid contact with my mother and Marcie. I thought I was going to lose my shit when my mother tried taking over the seating chart, but that wasn’t when it happened. Marcie said if she had to pay for half of the rehearsal dinner she was ordering food from Taco Bell and having it back at her apartment.
That’s when I lost my shit. Thankfully, I didn’t have to say to Jameson “We are not having our rehearsal dinner at your mothers with food from Taco Bell.” I told him from now until the wedding day any bullshit that came out of his mother’s mouth he had to deal with and I would deal with my mother’s bullshit. It was just easier that way instead of doubling our stress levels dealing with both of them.
My mom wants to keep adding people to the guest list even though all of the invitations went out weeks ago. I don’t even know these people she’s talking about. When I ask her all she says is, “I work with her. You met her once.” Then why the fuck would I want her at my wedding? I hadn’t seen some guests in years but, according to her, it didn’t matter because she was paying for the party. Her money, her party, her friends, not mine. I told her Jameson and I have been scrimping pennies left and right to pay for this wedding and I wasn’t paying for people I didn’t know. She said she would pay for them. This event isn’t about me at all, it’s all about her.
I have to leave it up to Jameson to talk to his parents about splitting the cost of the rehearsal dinner. I’m used to parents who are married who can’t stand each other, not divorced parents who haven’t been around each other in years. The divorce between Jameson’s parents was not a pretty scene. In a nutshell, Marcie had kept Jameson from seeing Rick.
When it was Jameson’s weekend with his father, Marcie would tell him that his dad wasn’t coming and put him in his bedroom. When Rick would show up to pick up Jameson, Marcie would tell him that Jameson didn’t want to see him. It came to the point where Rick had to bring police assistance. This put a huge strain on their father-son relationship.
The hard thing was, I was the one who had to tell Jameson. Rick had told me about it, but not Jameson, because he didn’t want to be “that guy.” That guy who tells his child things to build himself up, in order to bring the other parent down. All the years of his mother bashing his father, Rick still kept his mouth shut the whole time. I couldn’t let it continue. I had to tell Jameson. But when, where? How do I word it?
“Jameson, can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure,” he says.
“Do you remember the night we drove out to see your dad to play pool?” He just nods. No words. “Well while we you were in the bathroom I was outside talking to your dad and he told me something.”