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“After this conversation, I think it wise to wait. I will not have Mickie feeling uncomfortable around my family.”
“We’re always on our best behavior, and you know it,” he said, softening his tone. “We aren’t children like you, John.”
“Thanks for that,” I rolled my eyes and stood.
He was letting me off the hook so easily because he had bigger fish to fry this week, and my trivial relationship was the least of his concerns. But I would be a fool if I left here believing this was over.
My father was right about one thing though, he would not embarrass himself or this family by letting Mickie know she was unwelcome.
“If it isn’t my beautiful mother,” I said, rejoining the room of wedding chaos.
“If it isn’t my dashing young boy who decided to bring a guest of honor?” she answered with a coy smile.
I took a chair opposite where she sat perfectly erect on the sofa, sipping tea like the Queen of England. Don’t get me wrong, she acted like this naturally; however, there was a different vibe here, and I had to level out the resentment I felt brewing beneath the surface about inviting Mickie to the wedding.
The thing was, I had deep feelings for Mickie, and I planned on remaining in a relationship for as long as I avoided screwing it up. So, because I felt so strongly about her, I had to do the right thing and get this dreaded part out of the way, introducing them.
Something was telling me that this was not going to work out as I planned by simply being the manipulative baby of the family, something that’d always gotten me what I wanted up to now.
“I’m looking forward to having you, Dad, and my brothers meet her,” I said, casually draping my ankle over my other knee as if I were feeling relaxed.
My mother’s eyebrow arched in expected disagreement, and she stared down as she stirred cream in her delicate porcelain teacup.
“Funny thing about weddings is they’re filled with emotion, and I wouldn’t ask you to understand, as you are not a woman.”
I frowned. Her tone was icy and calculated.
“Well, that’s awfully sexist of you, Mom,” I answered, preparing to send Mickie an abort mission text at any moment.
“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” she said with reproach. “Even though all three of my boys were raised with manners, I struggle to figure out what happened to yours. You acknowledge this guest of honor, knowing that this young woman, whom you have chosen to sleep with to get you through your lonely nights living in California, is far from any guest of honor who will be attending this affair.”
“Mother,” I said, feeling even more of a child with her than in my previous discussion with my dad.
“I bring up the emotional affair of weddings and how they are a day to be celebrated for the bride and her groom, and you make a stupid joke about sexism because you are incapable of being serious, I presume,” she chided. “Most would agree that this is the bride’s day to be celebrated. Sweet Pollyanna is to marry your brother tomorrow, and these past couple of months have not been easy for her.”
“I heard something about that when Mark came to visit. It was something along the lines of him not being too sure about things. I’m sure he was just getting cold feet, as all grooms do.”
Her eyes narrowed at mine, “Cold feet is not something any child of mine experiences. The three of you know better than to cower or cave to your emotions. Instead, you rise to meet your family’s duties. Mark and I have had extensive sessions about this, and thankfully, he’s remembered who he is?—”
“Sessions?” I questioned and covered my smile.
What the hell had my family turned into to salvage my brother from ditching his arranged marriage to the spoiled bitch from hell?
Her eyes nearly crossed from irritation that I dared mock any point she was trying to make.
“Sessions, yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “It seems it would do you good to be reminded who you are as well.”
I had to say something because this surpassed any bullshit I’d ever encountered from my family. “Mom, Mickie’s just a girlfriend and not my fiancé. I understand how important all this is to you, but instead of treating this like I’ve quit my job and am homeless on the streets to embarrass my family, why don’t we treat this like a simple date that I’ve brought with me to my brother’s wedding?”
“Why don’t we treat this as it really is, John,” she pressed. “You do whatever you want without regard for how it makes your family feel or whether they approve. We have allowed you to slide outside what we want for you for many years, and now, you are smearing it in our faces.”
I remained quiet because this was hopeless. Whatever Mark went through with my parents over the last few months still lingered in my mother’s mood. I mean, I get that parents don’t want their children to fuck up their lives by marrying someone who might destroy them, but why were we dealing with extremes?
“Are you in love with this woman?” she asked. I could only assume she needed to know how to size up the next victim she may or may not be calling her daughter-in-law.
“I am,” I answered firmly.
“And her family? May I inquire about them?”
