Me Vs. Me. Sarah Mlynowski

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СКАЧАТЬ nine. I don’t know how we slept in so late in a truck bed. I don’t know how we even fell asleep.” I guess sleeping out in the desert was a cool thing to do. Something to tell our kids about the night we got engaged. More impressive than the How We Met story. At a friend’s party in college. Boring. “What happens now?”

      He rubs my two hands between his. “Now we get to tell everyone.”

      Fun! Is there really any better announcement than a ring-sparkling, smile-beaming, guess-what-we’re-engaged one? I think not. “Who do we tell first? Should we call? Should we drop by?”

      “Let’s stop by my mom’s. It’s Saturday. We don’t have anything else to do today.”

      Yes, the day is wide open. I don’t even have to unpack—we can just move it all to Cam’s place later. I kiss him again and wrap myself in his arms. Tomorrow I’ll have to call TRSN to tell them I’ve changed my mind. Today I get to enjoy.

      After showering quickly at Cam’s, we drive to his parents’ house in Mesa. By the happy way her arms are flailing, I can tell that Alice, Cam’s mother, is already aware of the news. Cam must have told her that he was planning to propose. If it’s true that you can tell how a man will treat his wife by the way he treats his mother, then I’m in for years of worship. Go, me!

      She’s at the truck in her flip-flops before Cam even puts it in park.

      “Welcome to the family!” she sings as I open the door and she throws her arms around me. “You jerks,” she says. “Why didn’t you call us last night? Your father and I were waiting.”

      “Sorry,” he says.

      “Dad’s inside.” She winks at Cam and we follow her to the door. As I walk through the stucco entranceway, a cacophony of voices shout, “Congratulations!”

      “Dad” is about fifty people. The room is filled with Cam’s relatives—parents, sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. A surprise engagement party. Sweet? Or disconcerting?

      Not that a family gathering like this is unusual. We see a whole crew every Sunday night for dinner, granted not this big. Alice insists that her entire family come over. There’s a barbecue in the back beside the pool. The women prepare the food, the men do all the grilling. Hello, stereotype.

      Cam’s sister and her brood live in Tucson, which is two hours away. For Blair to come in on a Saturday, well, that had to have been planned in advance. And even Richard, Cam’s dad, is here, which is a bit of a shock. He’s normally at his frame store, er, framing away.

      Imagine if I’d said no? And the whole party was planned and Cam came home and had to face the entire neighborhood? Sorry, you can all go home. Nothing to celebrate. Pass the potato salad.

      The entranceway is littered with family photos and cheap shoes. I hate taking off my sandals, but Alice insists. If we were somewhere that had winter, meaning slush, I’d understand. But here the closest thing we get to slush is Ben & Jerry’s. Plus Alice has a white cockatoo named Ruffles that likes to pace the floor and gnaw at my pinkie toes whenever I’m barefoot.

      “Let’s see the ring!” Blair screams, running over to me. She’s twenty-nine, only a year older than Cam, and three months pregnant. With her third. She’s five foot seven and is currently nestling her hands over her swollen stomach. Her blond curly hair—Cam and Blair have Alice’s golden-blond curls—is tied into a severe bun behind her head. Her face has a leathery quality to it, as if she’s spent too many afternoons in the sun. Honestly, if I ran into her on the street, I’d peg her more as mid-to-late thirties.

      When I show her my hand, she squeals like a twelve-year-old. Suddenly, still in the entranceway, I’m surrounded by Cam’s aunts and cousins and cousins’-wives, and the questions are fast and furious.

      “What’s the theme of the wedding?” asks Blair.

      Theme?

      “Aren’t you thrilled?” asks Jessica (wife of a cousin).

      “When’s the date?” asks Leslie (another wife of another cousin).

      “Who are your bridesmaids?” asks Tracy, mother-in-law of Leslie, sister in-law of Alice.

      “Are you going to change your name?” Blair again.

      Even though their mouths continue moving, suddenly I no longer hear what they’re saying. They seem to be on mute. The entranceway has turned into a steam room, burning hot liquid into my nose and mouth and ears, and now, not only have I gone deaf, I can’t breathe.

      “I need to go to the bathroom,” I manage to say, pushing myself backward and tripping over a sneaker.

      I steady myself and take off for a moment of privacy. I remember too late that the door’s lock has been broken ever since Blair’s youngest got locked inside a few months ago and Cam had to bust it open. How can anyone who has so many parties have a broken lock on their guest-bathroom door? I know this is a close family, but jeez. You have to push out your foot to barricade anyone from barging in on you.

      How long can I stay inside before anyone notices I’m gone?

      After doing my business, I sit on the furry orange toilet seat cover, my foot extended and pressed against the door, and try to catch my breath. The entire bathroom is orange. Alice loves orange. And brass. The two-floor split-level home is covered in gleaming brass statues, pots and massive picture frames. Since Richard owns a framing store, everyone is up on the wall. Many times. Many, many times. Everyone except me. But now that I have a ring on my finger, I’m sure to get up there. Many times.

      Unfortunately, most of the brass has seen better days. The bathroom faucet is rusty, the toilet seat chipped. The orange carpet is squashed and stained. Alice fancies herself a Martha Stewart apprentice but can’t quite pull it off. It’s the antithesis of the übermodern houses my dad and mom used to favor. They had both been in love with chrome. Personally, I couldn’t care less about design. Whatever bedroom I occupied was usually a mess. It drove my parents—and now Lila—crazy.

      I stand up. In the Windex-streaked mirror, there are deep circles under my dark brown eyes. Otherwise, I’m generally a fan of this mirror, since it’s a skinny one. I look at least two sizes smaller than my size-eight frame. Almost lithe. And my skin always has a nice glow to it because of the reflection off the orange wallpaper. My brown hair is tinged red. I hold my breath and push down my shoulders, trying to imagine what I’ll look like in my wedding dress. I try to smile. I’ve always been told I have a great smile. Two dimples, nice lips, naturally white and perfectly sized teeth. It’s my best feature. And it was the best smile of my class, according to my high school yearbook.

      I hadn’t really thought about the whole planning-the-wedding part. All those details to work out…bridesmaids, location, ceremony…honeymoon? I’m looking forward to that part. I’d always planned on running off somewhere romantic for my wedding. Like Fiji. No muss, no fuss. Just bliss. Not that Alice would let me get away with that. Blair’s wedding was the biggest event this town had ever seen. And everything, everything, was done by hand. They hand delivered two hundred invitations so they wouldn’t get dented in the mail. Made fortune cookies from scratch with personalized messages for each and every one of her 375 guests.

      Is Alice expecting us to do something similar? Do parents save money for this? Is my dad supposed to pay?

      Budgets. Registries. СКАЧАТЬ