Where We Stand

11 | Where We Stand

Chapter 11

Saturday morning begins with bird melodies and pink clouds. I descend the apartment block, my coat thrown over my shoulders. The air is warm but taut like the strings of a harp. Or maybe it's just tension coursing through my veins. I'm not eager to see my mother. The last meeting left me bitter and defeated and I don't want to go through the same motions a second time. I lean against a wall and watch cars flitter through the street in a whirl of glinting metal and revving engines. A quick glance at my phone tells me I have seven minutes before Mom shows up. She is never late so I figured showing up early would spare me one more rebuke.

I start humming Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns and then I'm fifteen all over again, pretending to play the violin for Megan. She is standing on her bed, cheeks flushed from the flu, hands waving in the air and right fingers pinched together as if she were a conductor holding a baton, setting the tempo of a grand orchestra. Aiden had lined up rotating lampshades around her room, handmade so that the paper dolls he'd cut threw shadows of people across her walls. Megan couldn't go out with us for Halloween so we brought the party to her. I flaunt my pretend violin while I twist and spin, imagining the shadows as the undead dancing for us. Aiden joins me and together, we dance to the Danse Macabre playing from the retro-style CD player on the dresser, our hands hooked. Megan is laughing, teasing us for being the biggest dorks in the entire universe but our enthusiasm is infectious and she soon joins us.

The putter of an engine comes to a sudden stop. Mom pushes the car door open and pins me with her gaze. I stand still, teeth gnashing, steeling myself for her criticism. Her mouth opens and I see a play of emotions on her face—shame? Regret?—but in the blink of an eye, her features slither into an epitome of calculating calm. She greets me with a nod and ushers me forward so I take it as a yes to my clothes. I'm wearing a grey midi dress accompanied by ballet pumps and tiny pearl earrings. I slip into the car without a word.

"How is your father?" My mother asks as she drives us along Diez Avenue.

"He's fine," I say, resting my elbow against the window. "You should know since you were with Dad yesterday."

Her knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. I remember the deal I made with Dad and I wonder what part she played. For one fleeting second, I think she manipulated him into offering something in return for my cooperation. I hope I am wrong. 

I lean on my side, watching the town buildings whiz by. My posture clearly says, DO NOT DISTURB. Mom is not buying it. She tells me of her plans today to ensure the Colemans wedding becomes unforgettable. Mom is a wedding planner and the owner of Starsky Weddings and Events and her weddings have been featured in Instagram, Pinterest boards, popular blogs and online articles. It's only a matter of time before her company shows up in a Vogue magazine.

"The color combination for Emma and Julian is grey and orange so your dress is perfect for the occasion," she tells me, opening the glove compartment and removing a card. She sets it on my lap. It's a wedding invitation, made from scented ivory paper. The lace design looks pretty but fragile.

"The program I have in mind for you is job shadowing. I'll take you through the duties of a wedding planner as if you were in my place." She hands me her phone and I eye it dubiously. "Your first task is to call Mrs. Finn, one of my colleagues and the owner of Bluebeard Catering—"

My eyebrows dart up. "Bluebeard? Does she have a thing for blue-bearded guys?"

My mother gives me the poker-face. "She thought it funny to name her catering business after a certain joke shared with her husband."

I can't imagine any joke involving Bluebeard and husband being hilarious let alone worthy of having a business named after it but Mom doesn't seem the least bit concerned. It's downright disturbing. "I don't want to do this."

Mom glares at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "You agreed to this, Noami. Stop whining. It's unbecoming of a lady." She rolls her shoulders, refocuses her attention on the road. "Now, call Mrs. Finn and tell her the buffet must be delivered at exactly four o'clock in the evening."

I let out a weary sigh, a petty act of rebellion, and lift up the phone to my ear. Mrs. Finn picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?" Her voice is raspy and laced with the undertones of a foreign accent.

"Hi. My name is Naomi Jacobs and I'm"—Mom supplies a word and I mutter in haste — "her assistant. She asked me to tell you that the buffet must be delivered by four in the evening."

Mom nods and then points a finger in my direction. "Tell her to get rid of the corn and spinach sandwich from the menu. Nobody likes that shit."

I drop my jaw, my eyes wide. My mother never swears. Never. When she catches me staring, she slaps a hand over her mouth and slows the speed of the car.

"Hmph! I heard that," Mrs. Finn says over the phone.

I shake myself out of the shock and mumble an apology on behalf of my mother. She throws a withering glance my way. Yeah, well I just completed her first task and apologized for her so a little bit of gratitude would be appreciated. When I hang up, Mom eases the car to a stop in front of a red and white arm barrier. Behind the barrier, a carpet of lush green grass unfolds in the distance, enclosed by trees in varying shades of orange, red and vermillion.

A security guard walks to our car and says, "Hey, Mari. How's the wedding coming along?"

Mom hands him her entrance card. "Perfect. Nothing less than magical. You'll see."

The guard smiles, lifts the barrier up and lets us in. As we head for the parking lot, I close my eyes and see the words engraved in gold on the metallic signboard. Big Fish Golf Course. The place where the love story of Megan Carter and Aiden Rowe began.