“Mom, please—I have a backup plan, but it’s going to have to wait.”
Mama’s voice sharpens. “A backup plan? How convenient. After all I’ve gone through to help you with this wedding…”
“You think any of this is convenient?” I shout. “I don’t think being pregnant as a newlywed is convenient!”
Iris quietly backs out, giving us a moment.
“Oh, okay. We’re doing this right now,” I hear Quincy say, pouring herself a refill from the bottle of champagne chilling on the chaise side table.
The unzipped dress hangs heavy on me, with its crystals, pearls and embellishments. The lace against my skin feels like restraints, and not in a fun way.
Mary Patricia Payne-Wright does not splutter. I do believe today is a first. “You…you’re…you’re not…p-pregnant?” She says that last word with eyes squeezed together, as if she herself is about to give birth.
“Yes, Mama. You’re going to be a grandma.”
“I alreadyama grandma,” she says flatly. Fair enough. Yes, my oldest brother, the golden child, already has four perfect children. “And now you’ll have someone else to love.”
Mama shakes her head. “I told you not to move in with your boyfriend. This is exactly what I was worried about. But your father said, ‘Mary Pat, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,’ and I listened to him, and I let you move out, and I held my breath.”
Quincy and I exchange glances, telegraphing to each other. Yep. It’s the Mary Pat Wright Show now. It’s all about her.
As my Mama’s little rant continues, I take a seat next to Quincy on the chaise. She rubs my lower back, which is sweet, though it’s far too early in my pregnancy for me to have pain and discomfort there. Still, I’ll take it.
“…and I was so relieved when you got engaged because I thought, well, Nico isn’t my first choice, but at least we can gether to the altar and nobody will ask too many questions about the two of you living together.”
“Bet you really want a drink about now,” Quincy murmurs, leaning into me.
“Yep.”
“How long is this going to go on?”
“’Til she tuckers herself out, I guess.”
Iris appears then withthedress. The one that I bought. She hangs it on the hook inside the dressing room.
“No rush,” she murmurs. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Something about Iris’s steady presence stops my Mama in the middle of her tirade.
Calmly, I say, “Mama, I haven’t had a single say in anything that matters to me. Yet you call me at work to ask about flowers and string quartets. None of what I say actually registers with you. I don’t think you understand that, and I don’t care about a church wedding or a country club reception. I don’t care about champagne roses. All I want is a few close friends, and this dress. This one thing I picked out the day after Nico proposed. It’s what I want, Mama. Can you just keep an open mind and see what you think when I try it on?”
“Rebecca Louise…”
“No, Mama. I’m an adult. I have been for a while. This is partially my fault for not setting a boundary early on. As soon as everything came into focus, that the financial help was coming with strings attached, I should have pulled the plug. But I have this other dress. I just want you to see…”
I could be wrong, but I think I see the fight drain from my Mama’s face.
“Let’s see the dress.”
Nine
Nico
The door of the sewing studio flies open like a thunderstorm has kicked up.
Mrs. Wright comes out, her heels clicking along the pavers.
I stand up from my comfy chair by the fire pit, unable to stay calm and wait indoors like I was told to. My future mother-in-law’s lips are pursed, and she somehow looks more on edge than normal.
