I feel strangely offended by this reaction.
“Who’s Christina?”
“She’s in my book club. I’m sure you’ve met her a few times.” My mom tried to get me to join her book club over Zoom during Covid. I lasted one meeting. “She has a daughter in her thirties who just went through a horrific divorce—Shawna. Absolutely terrible situation,” she says loud enough for me and anyone else in the vicinity to hear. “Her husband was having an affair with her cousin.”
I open the dressing room door and make a shushing motion.
“I don’t want to know this stuff about random strangers.” Imean, I absolutely do. I suppose on some pathetic level it makes me feel better to know that my nonexistent husband isn’t cheating on me with my theoretical cousin.
Mom tilts her head and squints at the dress, pulling up on the spaghetti straps.
“This is a no,” I say, looking down at the blue and orange flowers.
“Okay, try another one.” I close the door and return to the pseudo-privacy of the dressing room. “Anyway, I referred her to my lawyer. Apparently, the legal bills have been astronomical.” Mom continues at a marginally softer volume. “Shawna had to move back in with Christina and Dan. They had to pay off her Visa bill.” So, Shawna and I have something in common. “She was a wreck.”
Does my mother discuss me at this granular level of detail with her book club acquaintances? Did she tell them I was a mess after I moved back in? That I still don’t know how to drive?
“And you want to set up your hardworking neighbor with a wreck?” I grab the next dress: a pleated column gown that’s off the shoulder, meaning I’d have to dig my strapless bra out of whatever drawer I stashed it in years ago.
“Oh, Shawna’s on an SSRI now,” Mom replies. “I referred her to my old therapist. She’s doing really well. She’s using dating apps, but obviously it’s so hard to trust someone again and men are just so…well you know. They don’t want to commit to anything. I mean, look at your father.”
A few years ago, my mom stopped shielding me from her unfiltered opinions about my dad, so I tend to avoid that topic.
“How do you know Nick doesn’t have commitment issues? He’s divorced.”
“And he didn’t tell you anything about that?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “No, Mom, the person I’ve spoken to for a grand total of forty minutes didn’t tell me the story of his failed marriage.”
I hate this dress. I open the door so Mom can hate it, too.
She squints at me. “Too curtainy?”
I nod and retreat into the dressing room. The final selection has some promise. It has a 1950s-ish silhouette with a bustier bodice and sweetheart neckline.
“In any case,” she says, “sometimes people just need a second chance. Look at Perry and me. I don’t think being divorced means you’re damaged goods.”
“I don’t think you should be matchmaking.” I zip myself into the dress. “It’s messy.”
I adjust my posture, examining myself in the mirror, trying to form an opinion before my mom can colorit.
“Well,” she says, “if they hit it off, he could be her date to the wedding.”
“You’re inviting your friend’s daughter? And the neighbor youjustmet?”
“It’s not a sit-down dinner; we just need a ballpark guest count,” she says, even though I suspect Perry would object to that statement. “And he’shandy.Did you notice the size of his toolbox? He has a bigger set of socket wrenches than the building maintenance guys.”
“So if I went out to Home Depot and returned with a pair of pliers and a hammer, you’d consider me responsible and stable, too?” I open the door and present myself for inspection.
“You’ll understand when you have your own home.” She adjusts these straps, too. “It’s about self-reliance.”
“I’m a girl who’s being responsible by saving money and sharing resources with her family,” I say. The “sharing resources” bit is a new talking point. I’m trying it out.
Pathetic.
“ ‘Girl?’ Sam, you’re twenty-six years old.” She’s not buying it, either. “At twenty-six, I was married with an infant.”
“And don’t you wish you’d waited longer to get married and have a baby?” I’m threading the needle carefully here—reminding my mom of some of the regrets she’s expressed to me over the years, but not weaponizing them against her.
