When she wasn’t in bed, she was cleaning the already spotless house from top to bottom. Daddy told her once that he loved coming to her home because it was always clean and I wasn’t loud and rowdy like my sister. From that day forward, Mother became damn near OCD about a spotless house. I couldn’t play with my toys because God forbid, he came over and a doll was lying on the floor. I spent the first twelve years of my life practically mute because she didn’t want me to make a peep.
They taught me at an early age that love could be toxic, manipulative, vain, and controlling. I stayed away from that four-letter word like the plague. When I found myself in relationships, I found it hard to let my guard down.
When I finally met Jamieson, he was the first person to break through all my barriers. I won’t pretend as if we’re perfect. There are still a few issues we can’t seem to get around.
A soft knock has me turning to face the door. My mother walks into the room. Tears dance in her eyes.
“Oh no,” I say, fanning my face. “Don’t you let them fall. It will be a chain reaction in here.”
Mother laughs as she walks further into the room, her gaze going up and down my body.
“You look so beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Jamieson was right all along. Having this wedding at his parent’s church was a smart move.”
There were many things my fiancé and I disagreed on when it came to this wedding. The dress for one. He wanted something more traditional, and I wanted to showcase my curves. The entire venue and the number of guests were all his choice. I’ve always wanted an outdoor wedding with only my close friends and family there. However, Mother and Jamieson talked me into this.
“Yeah, I guess.” I say, not wanting to argue with her about this again.
She moves a strand of hair out of my face. “I know your father is going to be so thrilled walking you down the aisle. He’s been excited for this day. I told him you won’t wear those heels. He doesn’t want you to be the same height as him in the pictures.”
Although my smile remains, part of my joy dies. It never fails. Angelica will always find a way to appease my father, no matter how it makes me feel. At my graduation, she came late because daddy didn’t get his tickets beforehand like I told him to. She stayed in the parking lot waiting to give him his ticket so he could get into the event. She missed me walking across the stage.
For senior prom, I had picked out my favorite dress. It was all black with a thigh split and curved to my figure perfectly. I spent two months searching for the dress.
When Mama sent a picture to Daddy, he told her that my sister had a black dress, and it would make her feel a type of way if I wore the same color. Where my mother should have told her man to go to hell, she made a big deal about not liking the dress and how I needed to find a new one. Eventually, I said whatever and got another dress.
I turn back to the full-length mirror, taking myself in. I refuse to let them ruin this day for me any more than they already have.
Mother steps up behind me. I catch sight of her somber expression in the mirror.
“I always wanted a princess gown for my wedding. Ever since I was a little girl and saw Glinda the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz.”
My heart sinks. As happy as I know my mother is for me, I also know she’s hurting. For as much trauma she caused me in my childhood, I still loved her and wanted the best for her.
When I turned fifteen, I tried to talk to her about my dad. I told her she deserved to find her own man and to be loved completely. She smacked the taste out of my mouth. Told me I didn’t know shit about her and to stay out of grown folks’ business.
After that, she and I never spoke of it again. I love her, but if she wanted to be his fool, I would let her.
“Princess style would’ve been nice on you,” I say.
She gives me a warm smile through the mirror. The door to my suite opens again, and my best friend/cousin walks in carrying an enormous bouquet of black roses.
“Girl,” Tanisha says, placing the bouquet on the round table in the center of the room. “Tell Jamieson he’s already going to get in those panties, he didn’t have to blow a bag on these flowers.”
“Nisha,” my mother scolds her niece lightly.
Nisha laughs and shrugs. “Now Auntie, you know Jamieson is bussing her down tonight. Don’t act all innocent.” She winks at me. I roll my eyes at her as I head over to the table to view the flowers.
“I don’t want to hear about either of you girls’ sex lives,” my mother pretends to look disgusted. “I like to think you are both still virgins.”
Nisha tosses her head back and laughs. “Well, Siah might be, but you know I’m a freak.”
I should take offense at Nisha’s remark about being a virgin, but she’s almost right. Look, it isn’t that me and Jamieson haven’t had sex. We’ve been intimate a few times. However, there is something wrong with me.
I love my fiancé, and he takes the time to try to please my body, but sex feels more like a chore for me than something I actually desire.
