Read Daddy Issues by Kate Goldbeck Chapter 30 – Mom walks down the aisle in her blush-colored “effortless crepe sheath.” She was very correct to go for a “geometric keyhole cutout” in the back.
She was also correct not to appoint me to an official role involving walking down the aisle, reading a poem, or maintaining good posture for the length of a wedding ceremony. She and Perry aren’t flanked by any supporting actors in matching outfits—they are the stars of the show.
All the lists, the deposits, the stern-voiced phone calls, and trips to Goodale Park at various times of day to analyze the glare of the sun seem to have been worth it.
They wrote the vows themselves and I get surprisingly teary listening to my mom deliver them with a little quiver in her voice. If you want to see your mother as a full person in her own right, watch her kiss her spouse in front of a cheering crowd.
I’m genuinely happy for her. And the side of my brain that can’t just let that happy feeling stand keeps reminding me that Mom’s life would be across-the-board amazing right now if not for me. I feel like a dark smudge on her tasteful blush-color scheme.
Jen always has everything together!
Well, except for the daughter who won’t leave the nest.
She has to cross an ocean to get her kid to launch.
I’m bracing myself for various family members to ask questions for which I have unsatisfying answers.
At least today I don’t look like a smudge. Nick is sitting with Kira somewhere behind me. I wonder how different it would feel if he were here as my date, sitting in the front row on my left. Would we hold hands? Or give each other sly “that could be us someday” smiles?
When I let myself imagine a “someday,” it’s always been about my career, my achievements, flying frequently enough to get lounge access. Holding Giuseppe Baggio’s vibrant paintings in my gloved hands.
A successful, stable relationship hasn’t figured in my aspirations. For most of my life, my only role models with healthy marriages were on TV. Placing trust in another person was always a losing proposition.
The fact that my mom is standing at an altar right now, given everything she went through with my dad? It makes me believe a little bit more in that other sort of “someday.”
Even if the potential other half of the “someday” was technically invited to this wedding to meet another woman.
Mom and Perry picked Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” for the recessional. As I watch them walk down the aisle, hand in hand, I see Kira bopping around to the music. Nick had assured me that Kira quickly got over our little blowup. I’m sure that’s true, but I still feel like shit for losing my cool so thoroughly on a nine-year-old.
My heels sink into the grass as I walk toward them. Nick folds me into a big hug that I’m not totally expecting but feels really good.
“You look beautiful,” Nick says into my ear. I don’t want to let him go. “Kira, what do you think of Sam’s dress?”
“I would’ve worn pink,” Kira replies. She’s wearing a bright pink dress and glittery cowboy boots. Honestly, an inspired sartorial choice.
“I don’t wear pink,” I say. “It looks super good on you, though.”
“She’s excited for the dancing,” Nick says.
“I hope you’ve both practiced your eighties and nineties moves. I had a peek at the playlist and I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a group singalong to ‘Get What You Give’ after the cake cutting.”
“I’m hungry,” Kira says.
I direct them to the food trucks and set off in search of my mom. Maybe I’m still feeling some emotional hangover from the ceremony, but I think I want to tell her about my “someday,” too.
Mom waves to me from across the lawn. She’s walking toward me with a woman I don’t recognize, scanning the crowd like they’re looking for someone. The woman is somewhere in between my mom’s age and mine, wearing a strappy green dress that looks sophisticated, yet appropriate for a casual outdoor wedding. A fellow Realtor?
“Have you seen Nick?” Mom asks.
“Oh, well, yes. I have. I actually wanted to talk to you about—”
“Perfect timing,” Mom says to the woman. “Oh, I forgot you haven’t met! Sam, this is Shawna.”
I take in a sharp breath that almost chokes me before managing to say, “I’ve heard so much about you.” She has no idea how much.
My mother leans a little closer to me. “How should we officially introduce them? I was thinking you could bring Kira over to the dessert table or something.”
Great. Even in this scenario, I’m the babysitter.
A few seconds later, Shawna’s mother, who must have a terrific radar for drama, appears beside her.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Shawna whispers to the rest of us. “I’m really nervous.”
I study Shawna’s face for signs that she was hoping for this meeting as opposed to either of our mothers, but all I see is minor embarrassment at being dragged to the wedding of a near stranger for the sake of a misfired setup. I wonder if her mother has been as insistent about this entire thing…if she’s also watching videos about “parenting emerging adults” and sliding their talking points into conversations.
I need to act quickly.
“Actually…” I touch my mom’s forearm. “I need to talk—”
I’m not sure what comes first: the ear-piercing “Boooo!” or the swift shove by sticky little hands against my back, pitching me and my champagne glass forward directly into Shawna.
In the background I hear Nick yelling to Kira in a booming voice, my mom’s theatrical gasp, Shawna letting out a little scream when the champagne hits her dress.
In the foreground, my body does the full fight-or-flight response: surge of adrenaline, racing heart, loudly unleashing several expletives as I crash into another woman in formalwear.
I manage to stay on my feet only because my stupid heels are stuck in the soft grass. And the accidental bodily contact from Shawna breaking my fall.
Nick crouches down and puts his face near Kira’s. “What did I tell you about that?”
“It’s a game we do!” she exclaims. My least favorite game ever.
The other women descend on Shawna with napkins.
“That’s not a game,” Nick says. “Come here and apologize to everyone. Especially Sam and…this nice lady.”
Kira tilts her head down and says she’s sorry with as much sincerity as one can expect from an embarrassed nine-year-old. At least there’s no baby talk this time.
“Well, I guess that answers the question of how to introduce you two,” my mom says, dabbing at Shawna’s shoulder with a napkin. “Nick, this is Shawna—I think you’ve chatted, right?”
In some other story, this would be a meet-cute. In this one, the timing is bad. I can tell Nick’s attention is still with Kira and he barely clocks the significance of the name Shawna.
I dislodge my shoe and tap my mother on the shoulder. “Mom, can I talk to you alone for just a sec?”
“Do you need to readjust your bra?” Mom whispers.
I gently hustle my mother to a quieter area behind a giant tree and attempt the impossible task of conducting an uninterrupted conversation with a bride at her wedding.
“I need to tell you something about Nick,” I say, trying to get it out quickly before more guests see us and want to take selfies with her. “He’s not interested in Shawna.”
“What do you mean?” Mom furrows her brow. “He literally just met her. She said they had a nice chat, but he’s not on Facebook very much so it’s been hard to get a conversation going—”
“Nick isn’t interested in meeting someone new right now.”
“People say that, but it’s usually because they haven’t met the right person. Is he still devastated about his marriage? Men usually bounce back so quickly. Do you think he and his wife are still involved?”
“No, Mom,” I say, probably with too much urgency. “He’s totally moved on.”
“Really? I did wonder if they might reconcile.”
“What?” I take a breath as one of the guests pulls her aside for a quick hug. “That’s not—”
My mom’s eyes flick past my face, lighting up at someone behind me.
“Barbara! This is perfect timing. Do you recognize this girl?” My mom puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me toward a woman about her age, wearing a flowing dress with a giant vintage brooch. She’s eating an empanada. “This is Sam. All grown up.”
“Congratulations, Jennifer! And Sam! Just the girl I was looking for!” Barbara Silverton says before reaching over to give my mom a side hug and air kiss. “We have an opening in the art department,” she says. “A maternity cover for the fall semester. I already passed along your résumé to Dr. Zelinsky.”
I allow my expectations to shoot skyward. Is she offering me the opportunity to be a visiting lecturer?
Mom gives me a squeeze. “That’s amazing, Barbara.”
It is amazing. I picture myself updating my CV to include actual teaching experience at the collegiate level. What an unbelievable stroke of luck.
Barbara takes a bite of her empanada and nods. “I’ll send you a calendar invite when I get back on Monday.”
“Wow…I…thank you,” I say, flustered. If she wasn’t holding a plate of hors d’oeuvres, I would have taken her hand. “I appreciate this so much.”
“In a couple weeks you could be the new temporary administrative assistant for the art education program,” Barbara says.
Administrative assistant.
Amid the din of the reception and the music, I only hear white noise. I barely register when Barbara hands me her phone and asks me to take a photo of her and my mom posing together.
I tap on the shutter button about twelve times while mentally berating myself. As if this woman was about to let me cosplay as a college professor.
But my mom looks overjoyed as she gives Barbara a last hug and turns back around to me. She probably feels like her last problem (what to do about Sam) was just solved.
“Hey, Mom—” I say, but I get drowned out by the amplified voice of their DJ, who I’m pretty sure is one of Perry’s close friends with a Spotify playlist and boundless enthusiasm.
“We’d like to call Jennifer and Perry over to the dance floor for their first official dance as spouses!”
I miss their first dance because I’m busy at the bar, replacing the drink that wound up on Shawna and spiraling.
I drown my double-pronged anxieties: Nick and Shawna on one side of my brain, a job I don’t really want in upstate New York on the other.
Nick watches my mom and Perry dance, while physically restraining Kira from joining them on the dance floor. Shawna and her mom haven’t left his side. I’m a little too far away to catch his attention, not that I have any idea how to politely extricate him from this situation.
The DJ executes a very abrupt transition and other couples trickle onto the dance floor. I watch Shawna’s mom physically push Nick and Shawna forward and I realize this is my karmic retribution for waiting too long to be honest with my mom. I fucked around and I’m finding out.
I take the world’s longest sip of champagne, set down the glass on the bar top, and head for the dance floor, only slightly wobbly.
I tap Shawna firmly on the shoulder and challenge her to a dance-off.
Okay, no. The champagne hasn’t hit me fast enough to be that confident in my dancing ability. I vaguely recall my mom telling me that Shawna did dance team in high school.
My target is the person on the dance floor who actually does exude that kind of confidence, despite her rather unorthodox movement technique.
I grab Kira’s hand with a dramatic flourish and she bursts out laughing. She immediately asks me to dip her. I comply, barely keeping my footing because she commits—letting herself go completely limp in my arms. She requests other moves: I spin her around, pull her through my legs, dip her about seven more times. We do every viral dance she can remember—sometimes being chronically online pays off.
When the song ends, I find myself looking around the edge of the dance floor for Nick. Instead, my eyes connect with Shawna’s. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I swear there’s some kind of knowing expression on her face.
When the song ends, she leans close to Nick, says something I can’t quite hear, pats him on the back, and leaves the tent.
I must have intimidated her with the Tootsie Slide.
Nick makes his way over to us. “Everything okay?” I ask, twirling Kira again.
“Yeah. I think Shawna was a little…confused.” He lets out a huge sigh. “I told her I’m not available,” he says. “Because I’m in a new relationship. And it’s kind of promising.”
Kira attacks him with a bear hug, demanding to be dipped.
“Kind of?”
“It would probably be more promising if we weren’t sneaking around behind her mother’s back like fifteen-year-olds,” he whispers. His tone is amused, but there’s a serious undercurrent that gives me pause. “I need to get Kira over to Nora’s.”
“We’re going to King’s Island tomorrow,” Kira says. “Mom, Dad, Grandma, Auntie Zoey—”
“You didn’t mention that,” I say.
We’re still in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by twinkle lights and sentimental music. But instead of Nick holding me in his arms and rocking side to side, I’m picturing him taking pictures at an amusement park with his ex-wife’s family in front of the Beast roller coaster.
“Kira really likes when everyone’s together,” he says. “Come over later tonight if you’re not too tired?”
“Maybe. I should probably find my mom…”
Shawna and Christina work fast.
“How long have you been lying to me?”
Mom corners me outside the bridal suite as I’m leaving the women’s restroom.
“What?” I’m a little less steady than I was an hour ago.
“About Nick. Christina is my colleague. Do you have any idea how embarrassed Shawna is? How humiliated I feel right now? Being the last person to know about my own daughter?”
“Mom, that wasn’t—”
“On my wedding day?”
“It happened after you came up with this whole setup scheme,” I say.
“ ‘Scheme?’ I saw two people in the same stage of life who I thought might hit it off.”
“And I was afraid to tell you—”
“You suddenly took an interest in the neighbor after I told you about Shawna?” She tilts her head, scanning my face, like she’s looking for a key piece of evidence. “Did you do this on purpose?”
“What? No! It just happened. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d blow up at me and say it’s a bad idea. Which is exactly what’s happening right now.”
“It is a bad idea. He has a child and you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. What on earth are you thinking?”
“Mom—”
“It really scares me, Sam. When you lie and manipulate people? It reminds me of your father.”
Perry jogs over to us, apparently oblivious to the ton of emotional bricks my mother has just dropped on me.
“Jen! My dad’s about to do the toast,” they say. “You ready? I think it’s better to do it now while he’s still relatively sober.”
I watch Mom recompose her face into a smile. “Let’s go.”
I don’t know if Perry’s father remained sober for his toast, but I certainly did not. The run-in with my mom sent me right back to the bartender.
I’m standing at the edge of the park, far enough from the reception that the guests won’t see me with a duffel bag slung over my shoulder, ordering a Lyft.
“Samantha.”
Apparently, I’ve been discovered.
Hal is wearing a suit and no knit cap. It’s jarring. It doesn’t fit with the carousel of images in my brain. I picture Jughead Jones at prom and I’m almost certain he still wore his crown.
He takes a step back with his hands up. “Don’t hit me.”
Given the night I’ve had up to now, I can only imagine the intensity of my resting bitch face.
“Why are you here?”
“I was supposed to be your plus-one.” He approaches again, cautiously. “You blocked me. I had no way of knowing whether you wanted me to be here.”
“The blocking should’ve been a pretty good indication of what I wanted,” I say.
“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll go.”
He turns and starts crossing the street.
“Where have you been for the last month?” I ask. “You just stopped showing up to work.”
“Why would I want to pour shitty drinks if we’re not talking?” He stops suddenly. “I spent a little time in New York.”
“With your author friend?”
He shakes his head. “She’s back with her boyfriend.” His mouth twists and he steps back onto the sidewalk. “I didn’t have sex with Leen that night. I want you to know that.”
“ ‘That night.’ ”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, after you froze me out, I saw her again.”
“You led me to believe you weren’t interested in fucking around with other people. Was I so off-base to assume that meant we were exclusive?”
“We never actually said we were exclusive,” he says.
“But you knew that’s what I wanted.” I look at his noncommittal face. “Like, please, just admit that so I don’t feel like we’re living in two different realities. Tell me the truth.”
“You caught feelings,” he says. “I understood that.” He reaches into his pocket for his key fob. “Do you want a ride?”
“Don’t touch me,” I say, but I start walking down the block toward his Prius. “I’m only agreeing to this because of surge pricing.”
“I take it you haven’t been saving yourself for me, either.”
“Definitely not.”
We get in the car and he starts the engine.
“I’m heading back to New York later this week. I have a place to crash in Manhattan.” He pauses. “You should come. We can split the cost of gas. You can stay as long as you want.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s New York; you study art. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be taking chances on anything that involves you.”
We’re stopped at a red light. My head’s pounding, probably from the many glasses of champagne, but also because I can’t shake the look on my mom’s face.
“Hear me out,” Hal says. “I don’t see why we can’t stay friends.”
“We were never ‘friends.’ There’s nothing to go back to.”
From our first conversation, there was a very specific crackle in the air between us that told me this wasn’t a friendship. I can’t run our relationship through a low-contrast filter to dial down the bright spots and dark shadows.
“Okay.” He nods. “That’s fair. But why can’t we try it as a new thing?” We continue up High Street. “You could at least unblock me? I miss you.”
He seems to wait for me to reciprocate this sentiment. But I’m not sure I do. I miss aspects of Hal. I miss flashes of inside jokes and little moments I’ve captured like scrapbook memories. I miss the individual panels where it feels like Lydia and Jughead are in some version of love, but not the entire book where Lydia spends thirty-two pages never asking for what she wants. How is it possible to know for certain that you’re better off without someone in your life…but still miss them? Why am I the one still holding on to these goddamn balloons?
“Actually, I might stay here,” I say.
He jerks his head to the right in surprise.
“In Columbus? Why?” I see it the moment that realization hits—that I’m really not saving myself for him. “Ohhhh. Fuck. The middle-aged guy? I mean, what is this actually about?” he says. “Proximity? Doing something transgressive in front of your mom? Finding a replacement dad? Jesus, Sam. You can settle for a Chili’s manager ten years from now if you want. Don’t do it now.”
“You don’t know a single thing about him,” I say, regretting engaging with this.
“I do. I clocked his whole nice guy scheme immediately,” he says. “I told you exactly what he wanted.”
“Actually, he told me himself. Which is a lot more than I can say for you.”
“You can’t deal with the fact that I’m a fucking real person, with the same messy problems and contradictions as you. You give up on things when you don’t think you’re winning. Now you can be the smartest person in the room again.”
I wanted attention from Hal so badly that I’d twist myself into knots trying to be whatever he wanted. Like some rigged puzzle I could never quite solve. How can someone feel like my whole world and also hurt me over and over again?
“Pull over,” I say. “I’m not doing this with you. Not tonight.”
He accelerates through a green light. “We’re three blocks away. Come on. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Something about that phrase is so familiar. For a moment I get lost in a memory of asking my dad why he was skipping another weekend. Of hearing those exact words when I stress cried because I stalled his truck while he was trying to teach me how to drive a stick shift. Of showing a hint of vulnerability or hurt.
“Look, I don’t know how to do this,” Hal says. “And I realize things are fucked between us. But we understand each other in a way that other people don’t. I think you know it, too.” He turns into a guest parking spot at The Bixby. “I get you. That guy never will.”
I reach for the door handle, pausing to look at this weird version of Hal, hatless and in a suit. I finally see him for what he is, without romanticizing any part of him. And I know in my gut, or whatever the deepest part of my body is, that I will never be vulnerable in front of Hal ever again.
“I always was the smartest person in the room,” I say. “I just let you believe you were.”
“Jesus.” I’ve never seen Hal look so genuinely wounded. “I just poured my fucking heart out to you.”
I get out of the car and swing my duffel back over my shoulder.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, slamming the door.
