Tables

I tap my fingers on the table, hoping to accidentally knock the large pile of reply cards onto the floor. They’re gaudy, and frankly I don’t care who comes to my wedding. Maybe a small crowd would be better. The fewer people who witness this train wreck, the better.

Mother goes on another tizzy because my orthodontist isn’t coming to my wedding. It’s not like he’s family or a friend. We haven’t seen him in eleven years. Mother just wants me to have more gifts, I suppose. Still, she looks disappointed—even more upset than when the consultant at the bridal salon brought me a V-neck wedding gown to try on. Mother doesn’t like revealing dresses. She says my body is a temple. I agree, of course, but perhaps I’m a little more modern than her. I liked the V-neck dress.

“Bless his heart!” Mother’s tizzy ends, and she sits down at the kitchen table again, picking up her iced tea and Jeremiah 29:11 pencil. “Who else did we get replies from?” she asks as she sips from her drink.

I continue going through the stack of reply cards, ripping open envelopes and reading off names of people who were overjoyed to be able to attend my wedding. Mother scribbles down the names and clicks her tongue victoriously whenever I mention one of the wealthier church members. She wants the wedding to be the talk of the town and the celebration of the church. It should be second to only the Rapture in her opinion.

I rush through the stack of reply cards. I have other things to do and other people to see. Samuel comes home in just a few hours. He has two days off before he has to report back to the base. I’m going to pick him up at the airport, and we’ll spend the rest of day in the city. It’ll be our practice honeymoon.

I spot the last unopened reply card on the wood tabletop and hug it to my chest. Finally! One part of the wedding planning is done.

Mother laughs at me. “Now don’t get too excited. We still have to plan the seating arrangement for the reception, and trust me, Lys, you’ve got a large crowd coming to celebrate with you.” She puts a cold bony hand over mine.

She sounds happy when she says this, but I only feel overwhelmed.

I hit my head softly against the kitchen table. “Just kill me now.”

Mother takes her hand off my hand and touches the top of my head. “Don’t dent your forehead before the wedding pictures are done. It’s bad enough you’ll have that nose ring in the photos you’ll look at for the rest of your life. You’ll take it out for the wedding, won’t you?” Before I’m able to reply, mother loudly rips open the last envelope. She reads the card. “Oh thank God the hairdresser is coming! Maybe she’ll give me a discount on my next coloring as part of your wedding gift.”

I fake a smile. Who else would I rather have at my wedding then Mother’s hairdresser, Lamilda, who doesn’t speak a lick of English and keeps hair cutting scissors in her purse at all times? At least I know that if the groomsmen look scruffy on the big day, she’ll take care of it.

Mother doesn’t waste a second more. “On to the seating arrangements.” She clears her throat and takes another swig of iced tea. “The tables can seat ten. The church currently has fourteen tables, but your father is going to rent some extras. You should have about twenty tables. Our first table is full with your father and I and Samuel’s family. Does Samuel have a large family?”

“No,” I answer. “All Samuel has is his little brother and his mom.”

“Well, perhaps I could meet his family when I get to meet Samuel.” Mother shuffles in her seat. I know she doesn’t like that she hasn’t met Samuel yet, but Father has met him. Father approves. He’s a bit more open-minded than Mother.

Mother continues, “I’m very excited to finally meet him face-to-face tomorrow.” She hands me a long list of names. This must be the guest list. With all the invitations, reply cards, and lists, I wonder how many trees we are killing.

I divert my eyes to the guest list. There are many names, but I can only put a face to a few of them. These are my mother’s coworkers, church members, and Pilates partners. On the last page of the list are the names of all my family members. I recognize these people well. There’s cousin Blake—the actuary with a sense of humor drier than the Sahara. Then there’s Aunt Betty and Uncle Dale—the world travelers who met in an AA meeting. Pappy and Nana are next on the list. They’re the lovebirds celebrating sixty years of marriage.

I’m shocked to find that my whole family is on the list but mortified when I see a name that doesn’t belong written sloppily at the bottom.

“Is Aunt Cora supposed to be on this list?” I asked. I assume Mother made a mistake. Perhaps she meant to write someone else’s name or her handwriting is just atrocious and I read it wrong.

Mother gently rubs the top of the table. “Your aunt Cora, bless her heart, is coming to the wedding.”

I don’t mean to knock her iced tea over, but I don’t feel bad for doing it either.  She jumps up from the kitchen table and runs to grab a towel. I stay firmly seated where I am.

“What? Did Cora find out about the wedding or something? Mother, why would you do this?”

She quickly finds a towel and places it on top of the spilled iced tea. “Alyssa, she’s your aunt.”

I feel the iced tea dripping off the table into my shoe, but that is not my priority.

“Since when has Cora being my aunt meant anything?” I think back over the timeline of my family versus Cora. “No one in the family wants to see her.”

She finishes sopping up the iced tea. “Now you know that’s not true. You’re the only one still holding a grudge with your aunt. You know Uncle Jared wouldn’t want that, right Alyssa?

“But Uncle Jared is dead. I always wondered how Cora and Jared ended up together. Is it true you introduced them, Mother?” I ask.

“Now you cannot blame me for your uncle Jared falling for that Cora lady. All I did was introduce the two. Besides, Jared needed to settle down. Before Cora, the closest thing he ever had to dates was taking you to get ice cream on Sundays after church. I’m very happy you’re not going down the same paths he did. At his age he was looking for love in all of the wrong places and with the wrong kinds of people. Don’t get me started on all that, Baby. This is supposed to be a happy time for us, so let’s move on to the matter at hand. Tell me, Alyssa, have you and Samuel talked about children? You’d be a little late in the game but there’s still time. Jared never had children. I don’t want that for you. I want you to have beautiful children for me to spoil.”

I can tell that Mother has successfully forgotten about the real matter at hand.

“Cora, Mother. This is about Cora, not about me having kids.” I remind her as I look back at the guest list. “Will you please tell me why you thought you should invite her to the wedding?”

“I thought it would be a good idea,” Mother begins. She pauses to collect her thoughts. “Because Cora is family and family is not perfect. The Bible talks so much about forgiveness that I thought it might be time for us to show it to some people who have done us wrong.” 

I finally have an answer, despite the fact that I am not okay with my mother’s decision.

She sighs. “Maybe if we are lucky she won’t come.”

“One can only hope,” I mutter. I think back to all the birthday parties, dance recitals and Christmases Cora skipped out on. I can count on one hand the number of conversations I’ve had with Cora since she married my uncle back in 2007. I was only fifteen then, and I didn’t want my uncle to get married to anyone, much less an old hypocrite like Cora who led the women’s Bible study at church despite the fact that she has never read the Bible.

Cora is nothing but a liar. I know she pretends that she loves children, reads the Bible, knows how to cook and clean, and loved my uncle. It was hard for me to tell that Cora and Jared were ever married with their occasional side hugs and every-once-in-a-while taps on the shoulder. Cora never called my uncle hers until he was on his deathbed and she was blocking my family out.

Mother lets out a deep sigh as we both go silent. Then she speaks again. “Alyssa, you’re about to be a married woman. You can’t make such a fuss over an extra wedding guest. After all, another guest means another gift. You’ve got so many good things going for you. Your dress is perfect, the pastor I found is amazing, and the reception will be wonderful.”

I roll my eyes. My self-instated wedding planner has it all covered with her lovely spin on it. The spin where the dress is a floor-length ball gown, where the accent color is yellow, and where my bouquet is made of sunflowers. The pastor’s fine I guess, so long as he doesn’t kick the bucket in the middle of the ceremony. And then the meal—a potluck luncheon. I’m having someone else’s wedding, but I’ll bite my tongue on it. If Mother loves the wedding, then maybe she will try to love Samuel too. Samuel is the only part of the wedding I picked.

I don’t realize that I am crying until I see drops of water on the RSVP list. Mother comes around to the back of my chair. She rubs my upper arms and gives me a tight squeeze.

“Baby, don’t cry,” she says like she’s reading a cue card. “You can’t seriously be making such a big deal of this. I don’t want to have to tell Cora not to come. Come on, dry those tears. Honestly, you’re being selfish, Baby.”

The tears stop. I have to know if I just heard her right.

“What?”

She sits in her chair. “Well I mean you should be flattered by the number of people who want to be there with you on your special day after you’ve left them all in the dark so long about your relationship with Samuel. I mean I couldn’t even send a picture of you and him with the invitations. That doesn’t look good, Baby, but it’s how you chose to do things. Honey, why haven’t I met him yet?”

“He’s been away.”

“But I still could have met him. He comes around sometimes, doesn’t he? Alyssa, I just don’t think that it’s fair to me that I am planning this beautiful wedding for you without even knowing who the man is that I am giving you away to.”

How dare she play the fair game with me. I bite back. “Well it’s not fair that you’re claiming this is my dream wedding when you know dang well it isn’t.”

Mother looks as if she’s seen a ghost.

Her eyes are wide. “Pardon?”

“I didn’t ask for Cora to be invited or for the church to be invited, and I don’t know where you got the idea that I like sunflowers.”

“I thought that this is what you wanted.”

“No, you didn’t. You know that this wedding is what you want.”

“Of course I want this. I want my only daughter to marry a nice man who will love her and protect her. I want her to have a wedding more beautiful than any of the ones in the magazines.”

I know she means a different adjective than nice. The one she really means starts with a “w.”

“I want you to be happy just like I wanted my brother to be. Yes, I introduced him to Cora, and yes, there were some challenges in their relationship, but at least Cora is a Christian and a respected lady and white.”

And then I hear the bag drop onto the tile by the front door. My heart sinks when Samuel walks toward the kitchen into plain view of my mother. His eyes are wide. He heard her.

Mother sees his dark skin and yells like we’re being robbed. I try to calm her down while assuring my fiancé that I am overjoyed by his surprise visit.

“This is Samuel, Mother,” I say as I link my arm around his. Sam’s muscles feel tense. “Were getting married in two months. I hope you’ll be there.”

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Micki Brushwood is a comedy, realistic fiction, and sci-fi writer from Tampa, Florida, and holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Belhaven University. She spent four years as a scriptwriter for her high-school drama department and is currently a member of the Florida Writer’s Association.