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3
Get the Stink Blown Off
Mom putthe car in drive and headed to The Cheesecake Factory.
I could start my diet tomorrow.
“Honey, I swear, you just dropped off the face of the earth,” she started. “Now, I know you’ve got your challenges, but come on. You can at least be ready when I show up to take you to lunch.”
“You’re right. Sorry, Mom. I need to get my head out of my ass.” I leaned my face against the cool glass of the passenger side window and watched the scenery whiz past. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out of the house.
Mom reached across the front seat and patted my hand. She was either sorry she’d come down so hard on me, or had another thing to scold me for. I knew her M.O.
“There’s something else, Gigi. You haven’t responded to my invitation yet.”
Oh. That.
Why didn’t people just figure out that when you didn’t answer an invitation, it was like saying thanks but no thanks, just in a quieter but avoidant manner? Why should I be forced to make up lousy excuses for not wanting to attend something? Which is what it all really came down to.
An RSVP had been due last week for my mother’s big idea, a family reunion. Her intentions were good and made perfect sense. My family was huge, but not because of a wealth of offspring. I mean, my mother and her sisters reproduced, but they kept that to a minimum. The way they expanded their empire was through a high number of second and third—and sometimes fourth—marriages. They collected spouses and innumerable stepchildren as if they were assembling an army, and even when the marriages ended, most everyone remained connected.
It was so… modern.
And weird, as my friends always told me. But it was all I’d ever known. And I didn’t mind it. I could hardly count all the ‘steps’ I had, there were so many and, on top of that, the number was always changing.
Many of the excess marriages were due to the untimely passing of the older men my mom and her siblings attracted. So, there was limited experience with divorce. And given that’s what was staring me down, I was the weirdo. The odd one out.
If only Peter had just died, my life would be so much easier.
“Oh, Mom, I completely forgot about the family reunion,” I lied. “You know, with what’s going on and all. Peter had papers served about an hour ago. This woman showed up wearing a delivery uniform and handed them to me in a little box.”
I envisioned the offensive legal documents, scattered on my coffee table staring back at me, mocking me. A neon sign that screamed ‘loser’ would have been kinder.
Just before I’d left the house, with a giant sweep of my arm, I’d knocked them all to the floor, where they remained.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. That sounds rough. But, you know, there is a new chapter ahead for you. And now you don’t have to worry about all that uncomfortable tension that’d come with bringing him to the reunion. Just bring yourself. You can use some time out of the house, see some of your brothers and sisters, and have a little fun. You probably need the stink blown off you at this point.”
Ah yes, a Mom classic. Go outside, get the stink blown off you. Her way of saying ‘suck it up,’ and a clear sign she wasn’t going to accept any excuse I could manage to come up with. My life was falling apart, my husband had left me, and she wanted me to smile and make nice with a bunch of step relatives, which she still referred to as brothers and sisters?
Grow a thicker skin, was another one she threw around, and since I was pretty sure that was what was on the tip of her tongue next, I relented. “Fine, Mom. I’ll be there.”
“That’s great, Gigi!” she squealed as we were seated for lunch. “There will be tons of delicious food from the caterer and, oh, be sure to pack your swimsuit. The weather report says that it’s going to be sunny and warm at the lake.”
Only my mother and her sisters hired caterers for cookouts. But it was much better that way. One year, when they took it upon themselves to cook, half the people came down with food poisoning from the potato salad. The other half remained healthy only because they hadn’t tried it.
I was one of the lucky ones. I knew Mom’s cooking, and knew her sisters weren’t much better. I’d always felt a little shitty for not sharing that information beforehand.
“I… thanks. I’m sure it will be very nice,” I said.
It just wasn’t worth the argument. She didn’t get it. Yeah, she went through hell when my father died. I got that. Her heart was broken. But it was broken in a different way than I was experiencing with my soon to be ex.
* * *
