And now he was getting married again.
It shouldn’t bother her. She shouldn’t care one way or the other. But she did, and that bothered her, too. If anything, she was more upset by the fact that his impending marriage upset her than by the upcoming marriage itself. She’d known all along that Michael would marry again; he’d told her as much.
That was the first time she’d ever really hated someone. But real hate, the kind that made the stomach roil, wasn’t possible without an emotional bond. She wouldn’t have hated Michael nearly as much unless she’d loved him first. Perhaps naively, she had imagined that they would be a couple forever. They’d made their vows and promised to love each other forever, after all, and she’d descended from a long line of families that had done just that. Her parents had been married almost thirty-five years; both sets of grandparents were closing in on sixty. Even after their problems arose, Sarah believed that she and Michael would follow in their footsteps. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but when he’d chosen the views of his family over his promise to her, she’d never felt so insignificant in her entire life.
But she wouldn’t be upset now, if she was really over him… Sarah finished her glass and rose from the couch, not wanting to believe that, refusing to believe it. She was over him. If he came crawling back to her right now and begged for forgiveness, she wouldn’t take him back. There was nothing he could say or do to ever make her love him again. He could marry whoever the hell he wanted, and it would make no difference to her.
In the kitchen, she poured her third glass of wine.
Michael was getting married again.
Despite herself, Sarah felt the tears coming. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but old dreams died hard. When she put her glass down, trying to compose herself, she set the glass too close to the sink and it toppled into the basin, shattering instantly. She reached in to pick up the shards of glass, pricked her finger, and it began to bleed.
One more thing on an already terrible day.
She exhaled sharply and pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, willing herself not to cry.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
With crowds pressing in around them, the words seemed to fade in and out, as if Sarah were trying to listen to something from a distance. “For the third time, I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
Maureen reached up and brushed the hair from Sarah’s face. “It’s just that you look a little pale, like you might be coming down with something.” “I’m a little tired, that’s all. I was up late working.”
Though she didn’t like lying to her mother, Sarah had no desire to tell her about the bottle of wine the night before. Her mother barely understood why people drank at all, especially women, and if Sarah explained that she’d been alone as well, her mother would only bite her lip in worry before launching into a series of questions that Sarah was in no mood to answer. It was a glorious Saturday, and the downtown area was thronged with people. The Flower Festival was in full swing, and Maureen had wanted to spend the day browsing among the booths and in the antique stores along Middle Street. Since Larry wanted to watch the football game between North Carolina and Michigan State, Sarah had offered to keep her company. She’d thought it might be fun, and it probably would have been, if it hadn’t been for the raging headache that even aspirin couldn’t ease. As they talked, Sarah inspected an antique picture frame that had been restored with care, though not enough care to justify the price. “On a Friday?” her mother asked.
“I’d been putting it off for a while and last night seemed as good as any.” Her mother leaned closer, pretending to admire the picture frame. “You were in all night?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Because I called you a couple of times and the phone just rang and rang.”
“I unplugged the phone.”
“Oh. For a while there, I thought you might be out with someone.”
“Who?”
Maureen shrugged. “I don’t know… someone.”
Sarah eyed her over the top of her sunglasses. “Mom, let’s not go into that again.”
“I’m not going into anything,” she answered defensively. Then, lowering her voice as if conversing with herself, she went on. “I just assumed you’d decided to go out. You used to do that a lot, you know…”
In addition to wallowing in a bottomless pit of concern, Sarah’s mother could also play to perfection the part of a guilt-ridden parent. There were times when Sarah needed it-a little pity never hurt anyone-but now wasn’t one of them. Sarah frowned slightly as she set the frame back down. The proprietor of the booth, an elderly woman who sat in a chair beneath a large umbrella, raised her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the little scene. Sarah’s frown deepened. She backed away from the booth as her mom went on, and after a moment, Maureen trailed after her.
“What’s wrong?”
Her tone made Sarah stop and face her mother. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not in the mood to hear how worried you are about me. It gets old after a while.” Maureen’s mouth opened slightly and stayed that way. At the sight of her mother’s injured expression, Sarah regretted her words, but she couldn’t help it. Not today, anyway.
“Look, I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Maureen reached out and took her daughter by the hand. “What’s going on, Sarah? And tell me the truth, this time-I know you too well. Something happened, didn’t it?”
She squeezed Sarah’s hand gently and Sarah looked away. All around them, strangers were going about their business, lost in their own conversations. “Michael’s getting married again,” she said quietly.
After making sure she had heard correctly, Maureen slowly enveloped her daughter in a firm embrace. “Oh, Sarah… I’m sorry,” she whispered. There wasn’t anything else to say.
A few minutes later, they were seated on a park bench that overlooked the marina, down the street from where the crowds were still congregated. They’d moved that way unconsciously; they’d simply walked until they could go no farther, then found a place to sit.
There, they talked for a long time, or rather Sarah talked. Maureen mainly listened, unable to mask the concern she felt. Her eyes widened and occasionally filled with tears; she squeezed Sarah’s hand a dozen times. “Oh… that’s justterrible, ” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “What aterrible day.”
“I thought so.”
“Well… would it help if I told you to try to look on the bright side?”
“There is no bright side, Mom.”