“Mom, hi, is everything okay?” I ask.
“Of course, it is,” she says in a cheery voice. “Why do you always have to think that something is wrong?”
Maybe because whenever you call me, it’s to tell me about a crisis. I don’t say it out loud, though. Despite her cheerfulness, mom’s ego is a little fragile. After Dad left her for his secretary, Terri, a much younger woman, she’d been distraught.
What made it worse was that Arlen was a small town, and she ran into them wherever she went. I had begged her to come to LA and live with me, but she said no. She wasn’t going to run away from the only home she had ever known because two people couldn’t keep it in their pants. Her words, not mine. At first, I received many phone calls updating me on what had happened that day or week. Then the calls had petered off as she came to terms with the divorce and Dad’s new life.
Then, the hysterical call, almost three years ago now, when Terri’s pregnancy had started to show. So yeah, I have a two-year-old stepsister I’ve never met. My family life is all sorts of fucked up.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“It’s exciting news. Very exciting news,” she says, her voice rising. “I am ... wait for it.”
I chuckle at the heightened drama in her voice. In her best moments, Mom is hilarious. In her worst, she’s hysterical and needy, but despite all this, I love her to death.
“I’m getting married,” she screams into the phone.
That wipes off the smile on my face. “Married? Are you serious?” My head reels with that information. I haven’t even told her that I’m married.
“Yes, his name is Josh, and he’s a lecturer at the university,” she says breathlessly. “I can’t wait for you to meet him, so we’re coming down this weekend. You’ll love him.”
I grip the steering wheel of my car to steady myself even though I’m seated. “Wait.” This is moving at a mind-boggling pace. “How can you be getting married when I didn’t even know that you’re dating?” The irony of my words is not lost on me.
But my marriage to Declan happened under the influence of too many shots of something. Mom is stone sober, and she doesn’t drink alcohol. She likes to joke that she’s hyper enough, and if she is drunk, the added hyper-ness would be like helium, lifting her off the ground.
“I know,” she says. “It happened fast.”
“When did you meet?”
“Two months ago,” she says.
“Two months?” I shriek. “Mom, what’s the rush?”
“At my age, darling, when you’re offered a ring, you grab it with both hands.”
I slouch back into my seat.
“Anyway,” she continues. “We’ll come down on Saturday evening and spend the night in your new big house. I can’t wait to see it. We’ll spend Sunday together and drive back in the evening.”
“I’m meeting my in-laws on Sunday.” I close my eyes as soon as the words fly out of my mouth. That was not how I planned on telling my mother that I’m married.
“What? I don’t understand. Please don’t tell me that you and Leonard are back together?” she says, her voice heavy with horror.
“No, of course not.” I feel like a child again. “I didn’t tell you this, but I went to Vegas a week ago.” It feels like months back since I was in Vegas. “The wedding was for one of the firemen and …” my voice trails off.
“Go on,” she says.
I feel sick. I’ve never had to explain to anyone how I ended up married. It’s a ridiculous, embarrassing story to tell. Painstakingly I tell her the whole thing, and she’s at a loss for words at the end of it. My mother never runs out of something to say.
“This is so unlike you, Marian,” she says quietly. “Why not just annul the marriage?”
“Declan and I decided to make a go at it. We get along really well,” I say. “Think of it as an arranged marriage in India. The couples rarely know each other beforehand, and it works. Their marriages work.”
“Josh and I will join you on Sunday for lunch at your in-laws,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. I’m assuming that you haven’t told your father.”
“No, I haven’t.” The last time I spoke to my father was last Christmas to wish him a merry Christmas and a happy new year combined so I wouldn’t have to call him again.
“Will you tell him, or should I?” she asks.
“You tell him.”
We hang up after that, and I feel as if I’ve come from a two-minute intense boxing match.
Just as I’m about to grab my bag, my phone flashes with a new text. It’s from Declan.
I hope you got home safely.
The words warm my heart even if they’re to the point. It shows that he cares. After the way I left Santa Monica, I was not expecting to hear from him. Declan is a good man. His only bad point is to be fake married to someone whose skills for relationships are practically nonexistent.
I text him back:
I did, thanks. I had a good time today.
I hit send and wait for his response. It comes a few seconds later:
Me too. Have a good night.
I text him back:
Good night.
I’m smiling as I enter the house. It feels as if we’ve reached a truce. I touch my stomach as I walk up to the front door. I wonder if it has happened already?
Maybe Declan and I have already made a baby. The thought is as sobering as it is as exciting. My heart constricts when I remember the terms of our marriage. As soon as I get pregnant, Declan and I will part ways.
It will be for the best in the long term, I tell myself.
Chapter 12
Declan
Are we still on for lunch?
My palms are wet as I send the message to Marian. Rejection sucks, and my wife is pretty good at it.
