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Mom is the one who set this all up. If she comes in here, I’ll never be able to escape.
I’m twenty-four-years-old and have never even had a boyfriend. Rent and house prices are insane right now and of course, I can’t afford either of them, so I’ve been stuck living at home with my parents. My mother has been trying to marry me off for years now, and I finally cracked.
My parents want to sell their home and downsize in Buenos Aires, Argentina for their retirement. Mom spent a year abroad there when she was young and always dreamed of moving back one day. She finally got Dad on board, so the only thing left to do was unload me onto some poor unsuspecting schmuck.
That’s where my groom David came in. My mother talked him up formonths. Every day, all I heard was David this and David that.
‘David has a new car, Tara. It’s blue. Isn’t your favorite color blue?’
‘David has the nicest eyes. Wouldn’t you like your children to have nice eyes?’
‘Did you know that David got promoted at work? He’s an assistant manager now. Sounds like marriage material to me.’
She would go on and on and on and fucking on about arranged marriages too.
While I was eating breakfast - ‘That’s how most of the world picks their spouses, Tara, did you know that?’
While I was trying to read - ‘Divorce rates are lower for arranged marriages, Tara, did you know that?’
While doing my laundry - ‘Couples with arranged marriages are happier, Tara, did you know that?’
While trying to sleep - ‘You’re more likely to win the lottery if you have an arranged marriage, Tara, did you know that?’
I must have been worn down and sleep-deprived from all of the nagging, because I finally threw my hands in the air and shouted, ‘Fine! I’ll marry David just leave me alone!’
She wasted no time in setting it up. She wasn’t about to give me a second to regroup, recharge, and realize that this was a horrible idea. David was at my house (with his parents) for dinner three days later.
It was strange to say the least. It felt like we were the main exhibit in a freak museum with all four of our parents watching us like hawks all night. Every time we tried to talk, they would stop their conversation and lean in to listen, so we barely said a word.
The next week, my parents and I were at their house. We had some alone time while we set the table. We talked about five things:
1. Pretzels (he likes them but prefers chips)
2. The napkins on the table which belonged to his grandmother (they were painfully ugly)
3. The weather (it was cloudy)
4. The dinner (should be ready soon)
5. His fantasy football team (I don’t or won’t ever give a shit about fantasy football)
There was zero chemistry. Zero fireworks. Zero interest.
Looking at him made me feel as much passion as looking at a stalk of celery lying on the dirty tiled floor of the grocery store.
But things were in motion—our mothers working quickly behind the scenes—and all of a sudden we had a wedding date and my mother came home with a dress and the invitations were sent out before I even knew they were ordered.
And now I’m stuck in the backroom of the church with my sister, trying to fight back a panic attack.
“I can’t marry him, Cynthia,” I say as my hands start shaking. “Mom said he had beautiful eyes. They’re not even that nice!”
“There’s more to him than just his eyes.”
“There was no spark,” I say, feeling the panic bubbling back up. “I need some kind of spark at least. Is that too much to ask? You know me, Cyn. I cry at love songs. I watched The Notebook at least a hundred times. I want a passionate love affair. I want a man who will sweep me off my feet! I want to be around someone I’m so into that it’s a struggle not to rip their clothes off whenever I look at them. I don’t want boring David and his stupid fantasy football team!”
“Hate to break it to you, Tara, but every guy out there has a fantasy football team. It’s an epidemic.”
“I can’t marry him!” I screech. “I know I said I would, but I can’t.”
