ADVERTISEMENT
A pause. Then her voice changed, taking on the wheedling tone she’d perfected as a teenager. “Mom, come on.
Whatever’s wrong with the card, we can fix it. Just call them and tell them it’s okay. These are legitimate charges.”
“Because I don’t recall authorizing $17,000 in wedding expenses.”
“I… You said I could use the card for emergencies. The wedding deposits were emergencies. If we didn’t pay them, we’d lose the venues, the vendors.”
“Your wedding is not my financial emergency, Zoe.”
The silence stretched between us.
I could hear her breathing, calculating, trying to find the right combination of words that would make me capitulate, as I always had before. “Mom, you’re being unreasonable. This is my wedding.
Your only daughter’s wedding. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
The question that had controlled me for 34 years. Don’t you want me to be happy?
Don’t you want us to succeed? Don’t you love us enough to help? “I want you to pay for your own wedding,” I said, “like adults do.”
“Then perhaps you should plan a wedding you can afford.”
I hung up.
The phone immediately started ringing again. I turned it off. At 11:00 a.m., I was at the hardware store purchasing new locks for my front and back doors.
The elderly clerk, a man I’d seen there for years, helped me load them into my car. “Changing locks is easier than most folks think,” he said conversationally. “YouTube’s got videos for everything these days.”
I thanked him and drove home, where I found Jerry’s car in my driveway and Rebecca’s yoga mat spread across my living room floor.
The smell of sage hung heavy in the air, making my eyes water. They were in the kitchen. Rebecca making herself a smoothie with ingredients from my refrigerator, while Jerry sat at my table, scrolling through his phone.
“Mom, finally,” Jerry said without looking up. “Something’s wrong with my debit card.”
Continue reading…
ADVERTISEMENT
