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Thanks, douche, I thought. Way to stick up for your wife.
My therapist had told me to set boundaries and stick to them, and I was determined to do it. "No, I said orange," I told my mother.
"Nothing goes with orange," she said. "Why not pink?"
"I like orange."
Her lips thinned and she seemed to be sizing me up. "I think cream would work best. Cream with a tinge of pink. Orange is too gauche for a wedding, and cream with a tinge of pink is almost orange."
Almost orange is not orange! I wanted to scream. I didn't even care about colors, but now I wanted orange because I wanted my orange roses, goddammit, and why did I care so much now? It didn't even matter because I was already fucking married.
She was just going to push and push and get her way. I'd already had a wedding. And, I realized, it had at least been my wedding. I'd walked down that aisle with a vibrating bullet against my clit and my husband-to-be bringing me to climax, and while no little girl had ever dreamed of a wedding like that, it had been between Anton and me, and that was what had mattered. It was all kinds of fucked up, but it was my fucked up. This was for my mom, and she had cancer for God's sake. Why was I even thinking of fighting with her?
"Sure," I said. "Fine. Cream with pink."
My mother beamed at me. "It will go lovely with your coloring," she said.
I sighed. "I know."
My mother turned to Anton. "Cream with pink, yes?"
He shrugged. "Whatever my lovely wife wants."
I cringed inwardly, but I shot him a glare. He merely watched me as, next to him, my mother flitted and fluttered between choices. Invitations, favors, flowers, decorations—all flowed past me, out of my control.
All of it was out of my control.
*
For the tenth time in fifteen minutes my mother checked her watch. The service at the bistro Anton had brought us to was far too slow for her liking.
"Do you have to be somewhere?" Anton asked her, all politeness and courtesy.
She started, but recovered quickly. She looked tired. "Yes," she said. "I have an appointment to go to."
"Please, don't let us keep you waiting."
As if she were afraid of leaving me alone with him, my mother glanced at me, a guarded look on her face. "Well," she said, dragging the word out, "I suppose. If it's all right with you, Felicia?"
God, please, I thought. "It's not a problem," I said. Then, because it was getting too much for me, I said, "What appointment do you have?"
For a moment she was flustered. "Oh!" she said, waving a hand. "Just a doctor's appointment."
I raised my eyebrows. "In the city? Is something wrong?" Just tell me. Christ.
But she just shook her head. "No, it's nothing." Standing up, she gathered her purse and coat, then leaned over and gave me a kiss. The cloying scent of her perfume clogged my nostrils, but I held my breath and hugged her back. "I'll see you later today. Don't forget to go dress shopping."
I nodded. Like hell I was going dress shopping. It hadn't ended very well the last time I'd gone. Maybe Sadie wanted to go drinking with me...
The moment my mother was gone, Anton turned to me. "Are you hungry, Felicia?" he asked.
I looked at him in surprise, mostly because I hadn't expected him to be so perceptive. "Actually, I'm not," I confessed. Who knew getting run over all roughshod could wreck an appetite?
"Then perhaps I should take you home."
I gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."
"I have to get back to work," he said, "so I will drop you off."
