“So I guess I’m coming for dinner tomorrow,” Mark said as he pulled on his pants.
I had sunk onto the floor to huddle in a fetal position. “You don’t have to come. I have Liz’s hair-and-makeup session tomorrow. I can tell them it’s just not happening.”
“I’m sort of interested to see how they’re going to manage to deep-fry a duck on the fire escape.”
“Ugh, I’m going to buy a pizza.”
Mark laughed and kissed me. “I’ll bring a fire extinguisher.”
* * *
I hada super-secret stash of mini alcohol bottles for emergencies only. I drank the lot of them then passed out on my bed. I woke up with a bad hangover and wandered out into the kitchen. On the counter was a bowl of fruit. Next to it was a bowl of condoms.
“We weren’t sure what size Mark needed. So we bought extra-large and extra-extra-large. You have to make sure they stay on tightly,” Todd said.
“But of course, if something does happen,” Beau said, “we’d love a grandchild!”
I stuffed a handful of dry cereal into my mouth. “I am not old enough to be a mom.”
* * *
I was still annoyedat my parents as I headed over to the hair-and-makeup session. If that was a preview of this evening, I was totally telling Mark to just not show up.
Liz’s car was pulling up in front of the high-end salon just as I arrived.
“Ready to get all glammed up?” I asked, hugging her.
“Totally!” Liz gushed, grabbing my arm.
Several of her bridesmaids were already inside. The salon workers had various pictures out and tools laid out. It was all set to be a fun, feminine beauty spa day. That was until I saw a tall, slender woman in one of the salon chairs. At first glance, I thought it was my sister, until I realized she was much worse.
I left Liz to be offered yummy mocktails by Kate and Allie while I went over as discreetly as I could to talk to my mother. What do you even say to someone who might have been lying to you your whole life about your father?
“So you slept around, I hear.”
“Oh, you and Memphis Eve,” my mother scoffed.
“You cannot do the makeup for this wedding,” I scolded.
“I just landed this job at the beauty parlor,” she complained. “You can’t just take it away from me.”
“Just tell me,” I begged. “Is Beau my father?”
“I honestly have no idea. The nineties were a blur. I used a turkey baster once with Beau’s jizz, but,” she shrugged, “I also partook of the sexual attentions of many other nice-looking males.”
“This is horrible.”
“You need to be a free spirit. What does genetics matter?” my mom said.
“It matters if you’re lying,” I said stubbornly. “You can’t just lie to Dad like that.”
My mom shrugged.
I was reminded again why I tried to avoid her. She had all of Memphis Eve’s worst qualities dialed up to eleven. Vain, flaky, self-absorbed—I always had to self-medicate with wine and chocolate after dealing with my mother.
“Let’s get pretty, ladies!” Liz said in excitement.
“We’ll start with having one of the bridesmaids come up and have her test hair and makeup done so the bride can see what it looks like,” my mother said.
