“You’re not.” Jaime was adamant.
“Of course you’re not,” Margot added.
I was, but it wasn’t their fault and I didn’t want them to feel guilty about being happy and in love. “Let’s talk about something else.” I turned to Margot and put on a smile. “Tell me what’s new with the wedding.”
While she filled Jaime and I in on how all the final details were shaping up, I found myself getting swept up in the romantic excitement. Although they’d considered getting married up at the farm, in the end Margot had caved to her mother’s insistence that she get married at Fort Street Presbyterian, where five previous generations of Thurber women had tied the knot. She’d chosen a ballroom at the Westin Book Cadillac Hotel downtown for the reception. “Wait until you see the centerpieces. They’re gorgeous,” she gushed. “And the invitations came out beautifully.”
With Margot’s sophisticated taste—and unlimited budget—I had no doubt the whole affair would be exquisite from start to finish.
Jaime and I were throwing her a surprise shower next month. It was a challenge since Margot liked to micro-manage every little thing, but we’d gotten her to set aside the date by telling her we wanted a spa day and “booking” a bunch of fake appointments. In reality, we were throwing her a champagne brunch, which included all different kinds of scones—a little inside joke about the time Margot had lost her cool at a party and hurled a bunch of scones at her ex-boyfriend.
It made me laugh every time I thought about it. She was normally the calmest, classiest woman in any room. Bad behavior was completely out of character for her. But if she hadn’t thrown those scones, she wouldn’t have had to leave town. And if she hadn’t left town, she wouldn’t have met Jack at the farm.
Maybe that’s what they meant by being brave—doing something different. Something surprising and out of character. Something that invigorated me, forced me off the usual path, opened my eyes to new possibilities.
But what?
* * *
My mother had called while we were having dinner, and I called her back on my way home, wondering what Christmas tune her ring tone was today. Holidays were like catnip to my mother, especially Christmas, so she was always in a good mood in December. Nothing made her happier than getting ready for the holidays, and she still carried on all the traditions of my childhood, even though Giselle and I were grown and out of the house. She still hung our stockings, moved the Elf on the Shelf around, and put out cookies for Santa. I swear if you cut her open, she’d probably bleed tinsel.
“Hi, honey!”
“Hi, Mom.”
“How was dinner with the girls?”
“Great.” I caught her up with Margot’s wedding plans, and she sighed.
“How fun to plan a wedding! Muffy must be in heaven,” she said wistfully.
Muffy was Margot’s mother. “Message received, Mom.”
“I’m not rushing you, honey. I just think it would be a fun thing to do, plan a wedding.”
“Well, maybe Giselle will announce another engagement soon. One that actually sticks.”
“Is she seeing someone new?” my mother asked, her voice full of hope.
“Not that I know of.” I’d talked to my sister last week and she’d told me about a threesome she’d just had, but I didn’t think my mom wanted to hear about that. “Anyway, did you call earlier?”
“Yes, I was just planning Christmas Eve dinner and I wonder if you’d make Grandma Flossie’s chocolate pudding.”
“Sure.” That pudding was a pain, but if I suggested making something easier, my mom would probably have a stroke. Christmas wasn’t Christmas without Grandma Flossie’s pudding! “What’s Giselle bringing?” I asked, although I knew the answer.
“Well, she’s flying in that morning, so she can’t really make anything. And she’s such a disaster in the kitchen, I’m not sure I’d ask her to prepare a dish, anyway.”
“Right.” I tried not to resent all the chores Giselle had always gotten out of doing because she feigned incompetence so well. Being a good actress was really useful in life, not just on stage.
“OK, dear. Talk soon.” She made her customary two-air-kiss noise and ended the call, and I tossed my phone on the passenger seat, feeling vaguely annoyed with myself for not telling my mother I wanted to make a pie instead of the pudding, or that it bothered me that Giselle never had to help with family dinners.
And maybe my mother hadn’t meant to dig at me with that wedding comment, although she was skilled at dropping hints and pretending to be innocent. But she also made no secret of the fact that she wanted grandchildren and thought she’d have them by now. One by one, all her friends were marrying off their sons and daughters and becoming grandmothers. It had become somewhat of a competitive sport among them.
Since Giselle always claimed she didn’t want kids, that left me as the only player in my mother’s lineup. Sorry about your bad luck, Mom.
That night I lay awake in bed, trying to think of possible ways to be more adventuresome, break out of my shell. For inspiration, I pictured Margot throwing those scones, and it hit me—the lipstick.
Margot always wore bold red lipstick. Maybe it wasn’t the reason she was so confident, but it didn’t hurt. When I thought about it some more, I realized Giselle often wore bright red lip color too. Hell, even Taylor Swift started dating more interesting men when she adopted crimson lips.