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“What?” Valencia shook her head and laughed a mean, uncharacteristic laugh. She never behaved like that, but as the minutes at home ticked down, her true feelings were beginning to wear through.
“Put them in there and take them with you to La Crosse,” said our mother, waving her free hand at a plastic milk crate half full of sweaters, “or you will never get another Christmas present from us again.”
“But she already gave them to me,” I said.
“You have lost your mind,” Valencia said to our mother.
Our mother stood there, frozen, holding the books. I started to wonder if she’d had a stroke, like I learned about in school. I hoped so. I was already picturing her getting wheeled off on a stretcher when she sprang back to life and threw the books, hard, against Valencia’s chest. Valencia’s face kind of crumbled, a look of sad shock leaving her mouth hanging open.
“You’re grounded!” yelled my mother and brushed past us. We heard the back screen door slam and we looked at each other, both of us in shock.
“I’m eighteen,” Valencia said softly. “She can’t ground me.”
I sank down onto Valencia’s baby blue shag carpet and began to pick up the books.
“Don’t worry about those. I will do it,” she said, regaining her composure.
“Okay,” I said. I picked up her stuffed Scooby Doo pillow that had been on her bed for as long as I could remember. Now it was shoved beside her dresser, most likely about to become mine. “What’s her problem?” I said.
Valencia sighed. “I cannot wait to be out of here,” she said, resuming packing. I nodded, as if I understood and could relate, as if I was about to be “out of here” soon also, and didn’t have seven years of solitary confinement ahead of me. She picked up the pile of books and set them back on the shelf where they had lived before she tried to give them to me. “Do you want that pillow?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Take it. It’s yours now. I think Van probably has a bunch of stuff he’d let you have too.”
Something in her tone made me think I was being dismissed. “Okay, I’ll go check. Thanks for the pillow.”
She closed her door behind me. Instead of going down to Van’s room I went into my own room and shut the door. The house had been a flurry of activity since we had returned from our trip. Soon, very soon, they would be at college and the house would be quiet. Just the three of us. Mom and Dad and me. I inhaled, exhaled. It was uncomfortable to think about. I had been avoiding the reality, living in the moment of chaos and prizes piling up. I looked around, studied my plain, dull face in the mirror above my dresser, and tried to push the bad thoughts away.
“The Mystery Machine,” I whispered, reading the words on the pillow. “Mystery. Machine. Mystery Machine.”
I sat on my bed, waiting for something to happen. So much of my life has had that feeling. That peculiar feeling of confusion, boredom and anticipation, all rolled into one unsettling emotion.
I wanted to experience what a potato must feel after garlic and butter and an hour in an oven have turned it into something delicious, when it gets popped into a mouth that, moments later, exclaims, “This is Heaven on Earth!” When just a few hours earlier that potato had been in a sack, brown and dirty, dreaming there was more but unable to fathom what that might be.
Chapter 14
Let me tell you a story: The story of Adrian and me. The story of my becoming Mrs. Adrian Corbis.
Adrian and I got married in July. It was so hot that people were actually fainting. We were married in Madison in that little church right on Lake Mendota, at James Madison Park. His sister Alexa was my only bridesmaid, and his friend Scott, from college, was his groomsman. Since he had done all this before, we kept it pretty simple.
I had the best dress. I mean, when they say that you will know when you find the right dress, believe it. I had tried on fifty or sixty dresses and they all fell flat. And then I tried on the one, and it was perfect. Satin and strapless, perfectly straight, the tiniest train. I wore it with a poufy veil and a headband with sapphires that cost more than the rest of my bridal ensemble combined.
Our cake was vanilla hazelnut with a whipped buttercream frosting that had shavings of white and dark chocolate all over it. People who normally could not care less about dessert were scarfing down three or four pieces. Good thing we had such a huge, tall cake. Adrian is the one who suggested we add another tier to it. He is so smart like that. There was barely any cake left by the time the evening was over. Which was not such a big deal, considering I would not have wanted the leftovers since I work so hard to not be fat.
Our cake, though extravagantly large, was quite simple. The kind of simplicity that takes a practiced hand. The cake cost a fortune. I’d rather not say how much. Let’s just leave it at that. A fortune. But worth every penny.
Look at me, talking about the cake before I even mention our main course! The main course was a fabulous linguine primavera that was so light and delicious that even die-hard carnivores like my Uncle Burt were raving and requesting more. And we had the best Caprese salad. I love Caprese salad. Adrian introduced it to me. Can you believe I had never had Caprese salad before Adrian? Now it’s everywhere, but there was a time it was something rather new.
We had the loveliest string quartet. I don’t think a wedding is truly a wedding without a string quartet. Adrian’s mother taught me that. She may be a hippie, but her parents are not, so she knows these things. Adrian did not have a string quartet at his first wedding. Can you imagine? I think that was the beginning of their demise.
I’m kidding. No seriously, I am not that superstitious. Or snobby. But still, who has a wedding without a string quartet? Honestly? Probably me prior to Adrian. As my mother would say, Shhhhh. Pretend I did not even say that. He and his family have taught me so much. I have so much to be thankful for.
As the day turned to evening, it cooled off a little and everyone got so drunk. We had red wine and white wine and champagne, of course. The best of everything. We had kegs of beer, but only good beer, and a martini bar. You name it, we had it.
Adrian and I danced all night, and everyone kept wishing us well and telling me I looked beautiful.
“Your eyes match the sapphires in your headband,” was a comment I heard from at least three different guests. Honestly, I already knew that, but it was nice to see that people took notice.
