The setback, p.20
The Setback, page 20
“Gabe’s small,” Mandy says. “So are the other kids. I bet we can squeeze an extra chair or two at that table.”
“Or that,” Eddy says.
Squeeze an extra chair or two? That’s about the Mandiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I don’t think that’s going to look very elegant,” Eddy’s mom says. “And the theme certainly seems to be elegance.”
“That’s not a theme. Besides, you shouldn’t butt in,” Eddy’s dad says. “You’re always butting in when people don’t need your opinion.”
“Alright,” I say. “Maybe we can have the waitstaff do two smaller tables of eight. Then we could have the kids at one table, and the adults at the other. Everyone will fit.”
The rest of the seating chart goes about like that, with every snag being compounded by Eddy’s mom and dad arguing about it. It feels symbolic, somehow, of this entire wedding. By the time we finish and Eddy’s parents finally leave, I’m ready to collapse into an Amanda-shaped puddle on the floor.
“See? One more task done,” Eddy says.
“Yes, and the kids come home in. . .” I glance at my watch. “Thirty minutes.”
“It would have been way faster without my mom and dad,” Eddy says. “Next time, just leave them out.”
“They’re the only ones, other than you, who know a lot of the locals.”
“Me and Mandy both do,” Eddy says.
“I wanted them to feel involved,” I say.
“They’re not that bad,” my mom says. “I mean, you can tell they love each other.”
Does my mom have ears? Eddy and I both turn toward her at the same time. “Excuse me?” I ask. “The two people who just left? Is that who you’re talking about?”
She shrugs. “I mean, they argued, but some people just do that. Neither of them said anything really mean.”
Mandy’s brow furrows. “You’re right. They do argue, and they cut each other off, and they disagree, but they never call names. You could almost call it bickering, like what siblings do.”
“I hardly think,” Eddy says, “that you could say it’s out of love or affection.”
“Abby’s kids do that too, sort of,” Mandy says. “They pick at each other a lot. I mean, this is a little more picking, and a little less joke-like, but maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s not that bad.”
“I do not want us to ever interact like that,” Eddy says.
I shake my head. “Never ever.”
“At least we’re on the same page.” He shudders. “Because even if they don’t hate each other, it’s not nice a nice atmosphere to be around.”
“Alright, I need to take photos of the bridesmaid dresses,” I say. “So once the girls come home, let’s get the three of you into them.”
“I thought it was cute when Abby put me in one,” Mandy says. “But now I’m starting to feel like I’m the comic relief.”
“That’s crazy,” I say.
“Is it?” Mandy ducks into her room and comes bouncing back out, holding the dress we chose. “Abby let us choose any dress we wanted in the right color. You have me wearing this.” She holds the dress against her chest, and I take a good look.
I mean, I’ve seen it before. I picked it.
It’s a flattering enough cut for her, and everything looks good on teenage girls, so I thought it would be fine. It’s bright red, A-line, and it has embroidered pine trees along the flouncy skirt.
It might look a little young.
Eddy snickers.
“Do you want me to kick you again?”
“When did you kick me?” Eddy takes a step away just to be safe.
“That’s it.” Mandy shakes her head. “I’m not wearing this.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “At least let me get the photos today. My Insta feed loves you. If you hate how they come out, we’ll find you something else before the wedding.”
But after we get some shots, out by the pine trees in the front yard, I see what she’s saying. She definitely needs something else, a dress that’s more age appropriate.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll pick a new one.”
She shakes her head. “Told ya.”
Just one more thing to do. By the time we finally finish, it’s time to make something for dinner. And when everyone’s eaten, and we’ve cleaned up, I want to curl up into a ball and cry.
“You okay?” Eddy nudges my slipper with the toe of his boot. “You look exhausted.”
“I hate this,” I say. “I wish we could just elope.”
“But we’re almost done, right?” Eddy asks. “Besides. You, elope?” He bursts out laughing.
“What’s funny about that?”
“Miss Instagram herself?” He shakes his head. “No way.”
“I’ve done all this before,” I say. “You’d think I’d be smarter the second time around.”
He tugs on my arm until I sit up. Then he tugs me against him. I collapse into my favorite spot against his chest. That earns us a few exaggerated ‘ewwws’ from the kitchen, but they should be getting used to it. “The difference is that this time, you’re marrying someone you love.” His voice is a warm hum against my cheek.
“That’s true,” I say. “But I don’t think this is helping me love you more.”
He pushes me up far enough that I can see his face. “Are you kidding?”
“Didn’t you just say this stuff is a drag? You’re surprised people survive the wedding.”
“I was kidding. Mostly.”
“We’re almost there, but I wish I could go back and just not do all this stuff. I wish we could just, I don’t know, make our own invitations, and pick wildflowers.”
“There aren’t any flowers growing wild. It’s winter.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “I wish we hadn’t invited our old friends, who are going to make fun of Manila. They won’t understand us or what we’re doing.”
Eddy stares at me then. “Is that really what you want?”
I think about all the invitations that have gone out. The people who have bought plane tickets.
My fiancé is someone who fixes flat tires for me, who buys the shoes I walk past and touch and say, ‘these are nice.’ He’s a man who grabs Drano the second I mention that a drain’s moving slowly and fixes it. Do I really want him to insist that we call this off with two weeks to go? A wedding in his town with all his friends and family?
No.
That would be too big of a mess. I started this, so I need to finish it.
“I’m just grumbling,” I lie. “It’s fine.”
And the thing is, it will be fine. The wedding itself may not be what I want, but I’ll be married to Eddy at the end. That’s the most important part.
“I thought you were still doing Instagram because you liked it.” Emery perches on the edge of the sofa, her eyes wide. “It seems like you hate it now, though.”
“I did like it,” I say.
“When adults do what they like for money, sometimes it’s great,” Eddy says. “But sometimes it takes the thing they like and ruins it.”
Maren drifts in and sits down, too. “What do you mean?”
“I love writing songs,” Eddy says. “I’ve always loved it. But lately, when I send a new song to my manager, I always cringe.”
“Why?” Maren’s looking at him intently.
“I write what sounds good. I write what I’m feeling. But my manager wants me to write what will sell. So I’ll get the song I loved back with notes like, ‘needs more romance.’ Or sometimes he’ll say, ‘too repetitive.’ Last week I sent him a song, and he said, ‘It’s too whiny. You’re not a country star.’”
“Ouch,” Maren says.
“Doing what you love for work can make you hate it,” I say. “He’s right about that.”
“Is that what happened with the cookies?” Emery asks. “Did making them for a job make you hate them?”
“No, that’s when your mom was in her ‘copy Abigail’ phase,” Mandy says. “I don’t think she really made cookies before or since.” Her cackling restores a bit of my joy.
Even if it’s at my expense.
These are the people I want at my wedding.
Abby. Her kids. Mandy. My kids. Eddy. His bickering parents.
And my mom. That one surprises me, but it’s true.
I wish I could go back and realize this a few months ago, but it feels important that I’ve at least learned this about myself now. Bigger isn’t always better. Sometimes it’s just bigger.
“Hey, does she usually pace like that?” Mandy’s looking at the entryway.
Where Snuggles is pacing.
“Oh, no.” Eddy sighs. “I guess it’s better than the day of the wedding, right?”
“Wait, what’s happening?” Maren asks.
“I think Snuggles is about to have puppies.” I stand up and walk toward her and Roscoe. He’s sitting down, but he looks nervous.
“I better get her home,” Eddy says. “Sometimes they’re in labor for a full day. But with bigger dogs, it’s usually not that long.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. “What do we do?”
“Depends on whether you all want to see it.”
“Could she have them here?” Emery looks like she usually does on Christmas morning.
“She could,” Eddy says, “but it would be better for her at my place. She’s more at home there. Plus, I have a big whelping box set up.”
“To the car,” Emery yells.
I’m digging around for sleeping bags and blankets when my phone rings. In all the chaos, I almost don’t hear it. “Can someone grab that?”
“It’s Steve,” Mandy says. “Does he call you very often?”
Never. I drop the blankets I’m holding and answer. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he says. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I wanted to update you. Abby had an ultrasound today, and they found that her amniotic fluid levels are low. Very, very low. They’ve given her a steroid shot, and they want to deliver the baby tomorrow or the next day.”
“Oh, no.” My heart races. “That’s not good. How early are we?”
“Eight weeks,” he says. “They’re checking for evidence of a fluid leak right now.”
“Are you in Green River? I’ll be right there.”
“Nah, the OB’s in Vernal—we’re at Ashley Regional,” he says. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to come. We know you’ve got kids and a wedding to plan.”
And puppies coming too, but I don’t even mention that.
Abby matters more. “I’ll be there soon.”
18
Donna
Back when we were married, Charlie usually saved his anger and abuse and manipulation for me. But one thing he did yell at Aiden for was being too loud.
My sweet little guy who loved to sing along to shows, who loved to exclaim with joy when he built the biggest Lego tower in the world, always got really quiet and nervous right before Charlie came home for the day. I didn’t even realize it was stressing him out until it had already changed his behavior.
He was afraid to be too loud.
He was nervous to take up too much space.
He didn’t feel safe in his own home. In his own skin.
So it fills me with joy when he gets dropped off and runs into the kitchen, slinging his backpack on the floor, and shouts, “Guess what?” He’s practically bouncing.
It feels like I have a little bit of the old Aiden back. It’s the same feeling I get when I see a sprout coming from the base of a plant I thought had died.
“Oh.” I belatedly realize that he actually wants me to guess. “Um, did you get a present at school from a friend?”
He shakes his head.
“Did you meet Santa Claus?”
“No. Mom, Santa’s super busy right now.” He rolls his eyes like I’m the idiot.
“Okay, well, you may have to tell me.”
Ethan comes out of Beth’s room. “Hey, dude. Welcome home.” Beth told him she was leaving after the baby’s born, and he’s still here, whenever he’s not working, around the clock.
Ethan and Aiden high-five.
“Guess what?” Aiden claps his hands. “I have good news.”
“Oh,” Ethan says. “Is it about the school play?”
Aiden’s smile widens. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Gabe said he was trying out, too.”
My sweet son starts nodding so hard that I worry he’ll scramble his brains. “Yes, yes!” He bounces more.
“Did you get a part in the play?” I didn’t even hear about the play. Ethan’s a better brother than I am a mom. How sad.
“I got the best part!” He jumps in the air. “And Gabe got the other best part!”
“Oh.” I wonder what that means.
“I’m young Ebudneezer Scrooge, and Gabe’s old Ebudneezer Scrooge.”
“He got Ebenezer?” Ethan asks. “Because that’s what he wanted.”
“Yes.” Aiden nods again. “We both wanted it, and it was Gabe’s idea that maybe we could both share it. Isn’t that totally awesome?”
“It really is,” Ethan says.
Especially because there’s no way my son would have beaten Gabe. He’s only a year younger, but he acts much younger, and he doesn’t read nearly as well.
“Since Gabe’s older,” Aiden says, “we decided he should be the older one, and I can be the young one.” He grabs my hand. “They’re both kinda selfish and greedy, Mom, but don’t worry. An angel tells us to be better.”
“An angel?” Beth pokes her head out. “Wow, they’ve changed that story.”
“Well, I think it says a ghost,” Aiden says. “But me and Gabe decided an angel would be better.”
“Is the teacher letting you say angel?” Ethan’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”
Aiden shrugs. “I don’t know, but the Angel of the past is our friend Hannah, and she said she really wants to wear wings.”
I can’t help laughing. This play is going to be interesting. “I can’t wait to watch it.”
“They’re throwing it together pretty fast,” Beth says. “Isn’t school out in like a week?”
Aiden frowns. “There’s not that much to do. You just read the stuff on the paper.”
Wow, this play is going to be amazing.
Ethan glances at me, and then at Beth. His eyes are wide. “We really cannot wait, dude. You’re going to be great.”
Will’s parking his car in the driveway, and when he comes in, Aiden starts all over again. “Hey, guess what?”
After a handful of decent guesses and a few really bad ones, Ethan and I take pity on him and spill the news.
“Wait, an angel?” Will’s face is priceless. “My mom is going to love this version.”
“Right?” Aiden asks. “The writer should have known that an angel’s better than a ghost, but good thing Gabe and I know.”
“Why’s an angel better?” Ethan is clearly having as much fun with this as I am.
“Ghosts just float, and they can’t touch anything,” Aiden says.
“Right,” Beth says. “Geez, Ethan.”
“Plus, angels have halos and they can go to heaven.” Aiden walks off then, as if there’s no contest.
When I start making dinner, since it’s my night, Will, Ethan, Aiden, and Beth start playing cards. Aiden’s gotten pretty decent at playing team spades, honestly. It didn’t even occur to me that a kid his age could play games like that, but he loves it.
This is a life I never thought I’d have.
Sautéing onions and ground meat while my fiancé, my son, my niece, and her boyfriend are all laughing in my kitchen. It almost feels too good to be true.
I’m nearly done with the ground meat when Aiden asks, “Why are you making dinner so early? I just got home from school.”
“Well, today’s my day off. I’ve been wanting to make a few freezer meals for Abby, so I figured, why not get started today?”
“That’s so thoughtful,” Beth says.
“She’s done a lot for me, and people like her usually don’t get much.”
“You’d think people who are always helping other people would get lots of help,” Aiden says.
“Why wouldn’t everyone help her?” Beth asks. “I bet they do.”
“People don’t help women like Abby,” Will says. “She’s too competent. They help people who look like they need help. The more capable you are, the more often you’re left to handle things alone.”
Will probably knows because his mom’s just like that.
“Donna’s like that too,” Will says.
“What?” I shake my head. “No way. I’m a mess.”
“Oh, no, he’s right,” Beth says. “You are.”
When the phone rings, I grab it without thinking. “Hello?”
“Miss Ellingson?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I say.
“I’m Garett Young, calling about the Navajo Cliffs. I’m a forestry service employee. The cliffs are part of the Ashley National Forest.”
I inhale sharply. This is my top pick for our wedding venue, but I’m not sure whether they’ll be open for weddings in February. “Great. I’m so happy you called me back.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“You’re not open in February?”
“We really don’t recommend making any plans like that before June. Mother Nature’s fickle, and while we do take bookings for May, they’re not always a good idea.”
I sigh.
“If you could move the date back—”
“Unfortunately, that won’t work. But thank you so much for calling me back.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”
When I hang up, everyone in the kitchen’s staring at me. “You’re getting married in February?” Aiden asks. “Isn’t that really cold?”
“Amanda’s getting married the day after Christmas, silly,” Ethan says. “February is the month of Valentine’s Day. It’s a great time to get married.”
“Not around here.” Aiden frowns. “Why don’t you pick the summer? Then you have more time. And you can do the waterfall place.”
