Page 8 of Husband to Go

I cringe.

“But Mom, you don’t listen to opera,” I say in a skeptical voice.

“I don’t have to go to the opera,” she says dismissively. “I just like to know that I have the option of sitting in the best seats if Iwantto,” she says with a queenly air.

I try not to cringe. Her reasoning makes no sense, but then again, who am I to judge? I just hope she stays married for at least a year. Any less would be embarrassing.

“Okay Mom,” I repeat.

We fall into a bit of a silence. But I came downstairs for a reason. It’s morning which means time for breakfast, and Iamkind of hungry.

“Hey Mom, did you want something to eat? I think I’m going to make some pancakes.” Since Veronica was never much of a cook, I ended up learning how to handle the stove.

“Oh, Kylie.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t have any carbs before the wedding. No unnecessary carbs or fat. The only indulgence will be alcohol because I still want to be “fun.” I just don’t want to look bloated in my dress because it’s fitted. But ifyoudon’t care about howyoulook, then I can’t stop you,” she says in a dramatic way. Geez. Veronica could have just said no.

But I don’t retort with a snappy comment. Instead, I just make my breakfast as quickly as possible and then take it back upstairs to my room. I don’t need her judgmental eye turned on me while I eat.

With my tray in hand, I sit on my bed, placing my food in front of me. I stare at my plate. Every time Veronica comments on my weight, it gets to me. I thought I was over this, but evidently not. It still stings and my eyes feel watery.

Oh, screw it.

I cut into my pancake and take that first bite. Good god, I’m amazing at making pancakes. If I’m going to get through these upcoming nuptials, and everything related to it, now is the time to grow a thicker skin. It’s inevitable my mom will say a boatload of insensitive things, offending people right and left.

I can make it though.

Iwillmake it through.

I just hope I’ll be able to flash a genuine smile when I finally meet Husband #4.

3

Kylie

Saturday comes and goes and now it’s Sunday morning. Time for the engagement lunch. Unfortunately, getting out of bed this morning isespeciallydifficult because yesterday was absolutely awful. I got roped into going to my mom’s fitting. I had no idea why I had to be there because it was only for the bridal gown, so it wasn’t like anyone was worried about my outfit. Plus, it was boring as all hell. Veronica fished for compliments as she twirled this way and that, surrounded by tailors bobbing their heads while doing her bidding.

At least my Aunt Jane was there. She agreed to be the matron of honor, and it’s probably because no one else would have said yes. My mom has a way of turning people off, to say the least.

I’m seemingly all alone in a random corner of the shop. We’ve been here way too long, and I’d very much like to leave.

“How has she not found a dress yet?” I mumble. I look up to see Aunt Jane standing in front of me.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s going to find a dress for at least another two hours,” my aunt breezes. I stifle a laugh because I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.

“That’s unfortunate.”

My aunt grabs a chair and drags it to be right next to me. She looks nothing like Veronica, and in fact looks a lot like me. We’re both curvy women with curly brown hair and ample figures. She gives me a wink, and sits down.

“How’s the planning been going so far?” I ask tentatively, dreading the answer.

“Over the top. I don’t know if I can take another day of this,” Jane says. It’s worse than I thought, and I sigh.

“I don’t blame you. Is there anything I can do?” Of course, I don’t really want to help, so it’s more of a courtesy question than anything. But before my aunt can reply, my mom’s screechy voice cuts through the store.

“Jaaaaane!” My aunt sighs and gets up, going back to help the bride-to-be.

“Sorry, sweetie. We’ll have to talk later.” she promises, and I flip my phone open with resignation, praying for this shopping trip to end.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Veronica is done and we’re able to head home. I avoid my mom for the rest of the day and manage to stay squirreled away in my room. But now, it’s the morning of, and I have to make an appearance. Gingerly, I pick up the dress my mom bought me for the party. I saw it last night and almost gagged. It’s something that a twelve-year old would wear. Make that anunfashionabletwelve-year old, come to think of it.