Page 96 of The Wedding

Jamie rolled away from her, clutching her pillow in her arms. “I don’t feel good, no. Leave me alone.”

Etta bent down and kissed her before she left. “Why don’t you come down to the penthouse tonight?” she cooed. “I’ll spoil you, in all the ways you like.”

Jamie must have felt really shitty, because none of that sounded appealing. In truth, she wanted Etta to go the hell away. All she did was remind Jamie of what happened, how she had fucked up, and how much she didn’t deserve to have a woman like her. She was way too forgiving. A normal woman would have chewed her out until she was in tears.

Instead, Jamie would do that in her own head.

She knew she had no business being Etta’s wife. Until now, she had managed to ignore the feelings in the back of her head, weighing heavy in her heart. Until now. Seeing the way Hyacinth looked at her, judging her, silently informing her that she had no place in her world… it could have been anyone who suffered that, but it was Jamie. If that ordeal weren’t some sort of sign that she should pack up everything she had and head to the farming commune with her parents, well, what bigger sign could there have been?

Speaking of her mother, that was the last person she wanted to see late into the morning. Nevertheless, Luna burst the door open, wielding a key she probably stole from Beatrice – because Etta always locked the door behind her, whether Jamie was in there or not.

“What’s going on in here?” she asked, sinking on the far end of the bed while Jamie groaned into a pile of pillows. “Etta told me you’re not feeling well. What is it? Cramps? I’ve got stuff for that.”

“I don’t want pot!” Jamie couldn’t believe she said that. “Sorry… I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good in the head.”

“Uh oh.” Luna scooted up the bed. Whether she was clothed or not, Jamie had no idea yet.I hope she is clothed if she’s dragging ass on my bed…“What’s going on, Jam? There ain’t nothing I’ve never seen before.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Luna patted her on the back. “Etta said something about an incident on Saturday. What happened? You can tell me.”

Thanks, Etta. “It’s nothing important. Just made the social faux pas of my life at some really rich woman’s house.”

She didn’t expect her mother to understand, or to say anything other than terrible things about the rich elite. That was her bag, after all. Apparently, Luna had her mother hat on before all others, though, so she was quick to take a different route. “Start from the beginning. Let’s work this out.”

Sighing, Jamie rolled onto her back and looked at the muumuu her mother wore.Good. Clothes. Luna’s gray hair was loose on her shoulders and down her back, making her look a good ten years older than she actually was. “It’s a long story. There’s a lot going on.”

“Good thing I have all the time in the world today. Your father is meeting an old friend and I decided to stay here and hang out with you. If you’ll have your old, funky mother, that is.”

Jamie didn’t know where to begin. So she began with Etta proposing to her.

Before, Jamie hadn’t gone into any in-depth details regarding the sort of things Etta did for her. Partly because her parents had weird opinions on things, and partly because life was easier if she never brought them up. Jamie had no idea how her mother would take to finding outthat her future daughter-in-law was a capitalistic pig of epic proportions. Nor did she know how Luna would take to her daughter being regularly tied up, blindfolded, and fucked as if she were some rich person’s plaything.Well, I was.For as often as Luna and Saul proclaimed that they were down with whatever in people’s personal lives, things were different when it came to their fair daughter Jamie. Luna said it herself when she lauded her daughter for bagging a rich woman who could take care of her for the rest of her life. Sure, Luna would have preferred Jamie making her own money, but wife of a CEO worked too.

Jamie told her many details, but went light on the kink aspect. All she said on that front was, “We have a very healthy and imaginative sex life.” She also didn’t hold back that they met because Etta was her boss for a few months. Whatever Luna thought of that, she didn’t mention… although her lips suspiciously pursed and she pushed Jamie’s hair behind her ear.

As opposed to going on about her relationship, Jamie focused on the external issues at hand. The wedding. The pressure to find people and pick out things that didn’t work for her. Constantly embarrassing herself in front of Etta’s friends and business associates. When Jamie talked about what happened Saturday afternoon, however, she expected her mother to express confusion as to why Jamie cared so much about what some old woman thought of her.

Instead, Luna patted her daughter’s knee and said, “I’m sorry, Jam. That sounds like a terrible day, all right.”

Jamie sat up straighter, Etta’s pillow propping her against the headboard. “You don’t think I’m crazy or materialistic for caring about this stuff?” That’s what her mother would have said if Jamie were still in high school. Well, the materialistic stuff, anyway. Luna had the monopoly on crazy between the two of them.

“Honey, no. I may not personally feel bothered by such things but… I don’t live the life you do. If I were going to marry a woman like Etta, things would be very different in my life. See, I’m not willing to live a life like that. Not even for love. Did I tell you about Carlos?”

Jamie shook her head. “Do I wanna know?” Was Luna cheating?

“He was a while before I met your father. After I graduated high school, I went on that road trip with my friend Debbie. Along the way, I met a very fine young Hispanic man named Carlos. He nearly changed my life.”

“Oh?”

“I was in love with him in an instant. Real love. To this day, I can testify to that. We met in a cute little café where we talked about politics, art, culture and language… well, let’s say I learned a lot of Spanish that month.”

Jamie pulled the covers farther up along her chest, resting her chin on top. “Go on.”

“The way we met, I thought he was from a working class family like mine. We agreed on so many things and he lived a humble lifestyle, after all. When he asked me to go to Mexico with him, I was ready to say yes. Then I found out that he wasn’t one in a thousand Carlos Garcias. He wastheCarlos Garcia, of the Garcia line of multi-millionaires outside of Guadalajara. He didn’t work because he didn’t need to, not because he had something against the capitalistic idea of working a man to death for a non-living wage. His mother alone was sending him thousands a month. When he asked me to go to Mexico with him, I found out that it was to meet the patriarch of his family, who had an affinity for, well,gringas. I’m sure they were all very nice people, but I couldn’t imagine living that kind of lavish lifestyle, in any country. I don’t want maids. I don’t want someone to cook for me, unless it’s a community affair or I’m a guest in someone’s home. That doesn’t mean I look down on people like your fiancée, who live that sort of life, whether by want or necessity. I just do not want to live like that. I like simple.”