Cue in-law Hurdle.
My mom and dad are already in New York and staying until the wedding, which means Landon and I need to stand united on the in-law warpath, but the closer the wedding date comes, the farther we drift apart, only half-murmuring "love you"s whenever we see each other. It makes me wonder if he's just as terrified as I am that we'll be husband and wife in less than a month.
Cue the biggest Hurdle … don't be scared of forever being the vegetables of lovemaking. Because after we were raisin bran, we went right back to peas and carrots. It's inevitable.
After I got off the phone with Landon's mom, Theresa ordered me another piece of double raspberry, (enabler!), but I ended up staring at it with this weird eye twitch and so we packed it up and it's been sitting in my fridge.
Speaking of our fridge, it was practically empty. And unless my family wants to have a box of baking soda and that teeny slice of cheesecake for Christmas dinner, I have to do something I know will piss Landon off.
I have to ask for help.
I don't want to be a mooch. I get his mind-set when it comes to asking for help, but he has to understand where I'm coming from. All I want to do is ask Mom if she'd be willing to take some of the wedding money and put it into Christmas dinner. Landon and I have stretched the honeymoon fund to its limit. I have exactly enough for two plane tickets and a hotel for two nights. It's not the longest honeymoon in the world, but it's something. And if I use any more, we'll be celebrating our marriage on our couch.
I take a deep breath before knocking on our guest room door. Mom and Dad are noisy houseguests, so I have to knock a few times before the chatter stops and Dad finally opens up.
"Oh, we weren't expecting company," he jokes, pretending to straighten his nonexistent hair. "Please, please, come in, but excuse the mess."
"Is the lady of the house in? I need to discuss an important matter with her." I play along as Dad shoves the loose underwear under the bed. I try not to cringe, opting for looking at Mom paint her nails red and green. 'Tis the season and all.
"Madam Fanning. A charming young woman requests your presence in the dining hall." Dad gestures to the card table you can see peeking down the hallway. Mom rolls her eyes at the both of us when I curtsy, and he kisses my hand. She blows on her nails as we make our way to the "dining hall."
"So … how much money is in the wedding budget?" No point in beating around the bush.
"Well, with the cost of your dress lowering, we have an extra few hundred. I was going to use it to cover the flowers, since Landon's mother wasn't too keen on helping with those."
"You talked to Landon's mom?" I thought Landon said he'd do it …
Mom nods, continuing to blow across her freshly painted nails. "They'll take care of the groom's attire."
"So his tux."
She nods again.
"Mom … why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't want you to worry about it."
Now I feel like utter shit. I slump my shoulders and rest my chin in my palm. So much for a Christmas dinner. It'll be Top Ramen Thanksgiving all over again.
"What was that?" Mom asks, pausing her nail drying.
"Nothing."
"No … Elizabeth, you said something."
I huff out a breath and repeat the thought that must've escaped my mouth. "I don't have any food for dinner tomorrow night, and Landon's family is coming in. I was just hoping … but it's okay. I'll figure something out." Bye-bye honeymoon money.
Mom plucks up my chin, being careful not to ruin her nails. "Let's go get a turkey."
"Mom … "
"It's a compromise. I'll buy, you cook."
"I'll probably poison everyone."
"I'll supervise."
I sniff, not even realizing how hard it is to say okay until that moment. Now I really understand why Landon hates asking for help. I feel so pathetic. How am I supposed to get married if I can't even … ?
I slam my eyes shut before I finish the thought.
"Thank you, Mom."
And I hug her before she sees a single tear escape from my eyes.
-
"Most people use frames, but this is creative and you don't have to worry about making the place look classy."
I force a polite smile at Mrs. Wangford as she gazes at our collage wall, and Landon moves the wine bottle away from me. He doesn't have to worry about me getting drunk off my ass, though. My mom's been firing the veiled insults right back at her-the comment about how Mrs. Wangford sure knows how to pull off gray hair almost had me pulling a super-mature high-five gesture. So I've been trying to busy myself with dinner so I don't come off badly.
Cooking is not my strong suit, but I followed the instructions on the turkey bag, and I pulled out that gross gizzard crap before sliding it in the oven. Now, five hours later, the aroma is making me feel like the best damn cook in the world … even though I'm microwaving the corn.
Mom has taken it upon herself to make a wedding book, and currently she's showing our very few choices for the invitations. They have to go out Monday, and after getting the pictures back from Helen the photographer, I basically handed that Hurdle to my mother because I couldn't find one photo that satisfied me.
"Oh, this one is beautiful," Mrs. Wangford says, pointing at the snowball fight photo. "Libby almost looks like she's out of high school."
"It's Lizzie, Mom," Landon argues from behind me in the kitchen. He's helping mash the potatoes, and by the way it's going, those potatoes will be paste by the time he's done.
"That's what I said."
Mom doesn't miss a beat, smiling just as sour sweetly at Mrs. Wangford. "If only we all looked younger than we are, am I right, Judy?"
Mrs. Wangford's horribly fake smile twitches. "Oh, it's Julie."
Mom looks at her dead-on. "That's what I said."
Landon starts choking on nothing but air, and he turns to the oven to cover his laugh. I give him one good swat on the back, then run my hand to the back of his head and squeeze twice. He quirks a grin my direction, puts the potato masher down, and squeezes my hip once.
It's the most romantic moment we've had all month.
The timer on the oven buzzes, cutting through the death glares our moms are giving each other, and Landon waves me from our tiny kitchen so he can pull my badass turkey out. It's not black and smells like heaven, so I'm calling it a win.
"Let me see it," I say, bouncing back into the kitchen when Landon taps the oven door closed. The juice in the bottom of the bag is boiling, and the top of the turkey looks well-seasoned and very Christmasy. Score. Maybe Landon's mom won't have anything backhanded to say about my cooking skills.
Landon cuts open the bag, and the aroma fills our apartment so much that Dad is already making his way to our foldout card table, tucking his napkin into his shirt. Mom bats Landon out of the kitchen and tells him to sit while she teaches me how to carve. I honestly think she just wants some distance from Mrs. Wangford.
"She's a real piece of work," she says out of the side of her mouth when she sidles up next to me by the oven. "I'm ready to start drinking."
"I think your tongue is loose enough," I joke, grabbing a long knife from the side drawer.
"Oh, not that one. Get the one with the serrated edges."
I swap knives and grab the pitchfork for food or whatever that thing is called, but stop when I see Mom's furrowed brow as she examines my beautiful turkey.
"Mom?"
"Hmmm … " she says thoughtfully, peeling some of the turkey bag down. "It … looks different."
"Do I need to cook it longer?"
"Can I see that knife?"
I hand it over, heart suddenly pounding too hard because, crap, have I messed up something else? But she cuts into the side of the turkey, and it looks good to me.
"Oh, honey," she says with a laugh, "you cooked it upside down."
My eyebrows pull in. "There's a right side up?"
She nods, running the blade across the moist turkey. "This is all dark meat, see? The turkey goes in breast up."
And that moment is the first I ever drop the big curse bomb in front of my mother.
"Elizabeth Ann," she scolds, whacking me with an oven mitt.
"I'm sorry." I'm not sorry. "But mother-in-law from hell is going to say something about this!"
Mom nods, stabbing the turkey in the center and flopping it around. And in her lovely haste to save me from insults, she splashes us both with blazing-hot turkey juice.
And that moment is the second I ever drop the big curse bomb in front of my mother. It's a lot louder this time.
Landon and Dad rush to the kitchen while Mom and I scream and turn on the cold water in the sink. We strip out of our aprons and fight over who gets more water, jabbing our arms under the stream.
"Get the toothpaste, Paul," Mom babbles at my dad. He turns back around the corner, and Landon reaches for my shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"We have to get it off you."
"My dad's coming back in!"
Landon pulls his shirt off, grabs mine, and swaps them out so fast Mom doesn't even have a chance to see what kind of bra I'm wearing.
She does get a nice view of Landon's bare chest, though. We're all officially family now.