either of them. What do you know of being the only child, of having a world of expectations heaped on you from the time you first asked to go to art lessons but were sent to ballet instead.”
“There! There it is. Privilege, my dear. Oh no, I had to endure ballet when I really wanted to draw.” His impression of me is terrible. And so is he. “Do you know how many kids out there couldn’t afford either of those options?”
“Of course it’s about the privilege. I was never allowed to forget how lucky I was. Trust me, I’m well aware of the financial legacy that has allowed me to do all the things that many of my friends couldn’t. And I’ve tried not to rely on that. I’ve tried to get out from under the allure and control of their money and their expectations for ever.”
“That’s why you have two dresses at Ingrid’s? Why I broke the bank to buy you a dress that costs more than our monthly mortgage?”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me that damn dress! You did that. When you proposed to me. If you recall, I made a choice not to buy it. With my own money, mind you.”
“You dropped enough hints about how you loved it.”
“I thought I could safely look at things and covet them without it bothering you so much. Those weren’t hints. That was me, vicariously enjoying what I’d decided not to get.”
I storm to the bedroom and take out the Jenny Packham.
“Here you go.” I toss the dress at him. “See if you can sell it on eBay. I was going to wear it to our rehearsal dinner, but forget it. Forget the whole thing. I didn’t know how much of a chore it was being with me. Wasn’t aware of the heroic sacrifices you’ve had to make to endure my childishness.”
“Here we go. Grand fits again. I suppose you’re going to try to call off the wedding now, are you? Well, news flash. This is what grown ups do. We fight, we yell, we say mean things that are hanging out in our hearts, and then we let the air clear. The dust settle. We make a choice either to chalk it up to things that had to be said and forgive, or to act as if it’s the end of world and add it to an ever-growing list of slights. I’d like to take the first approach. I know you’re fond of the second. So why not leave the house, cool down, and think about it for a while. Because here’s my promise to you. I’m going to marry you, and love you, and take great delight in setting you straight when you morph from smart, witty Jillian into sooky, touchy Jillian.”
He marches to the door, opens it and hands me a sweater.
“Don’t call this wedding off unless you mean it. And I mean really mean it. Because if you do, there’s no point changing your mind. It’s time for you to act like your words matter.”
I’m numb. I have no idea how to respond to what’s happening. I don’t know what to make of this Evan. This forceful, angry, bossy Evan who seems to think that I’m so terrible. This is the man I’m supposed to marry?
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say as I grab the hooded sweater and stomp into my shoes.
“I’ll be here waiting for you to come home tonight.”
“You’ll be lucky if I ever speak to you again,” I hiss. Yes. I hiss. I’m pissed. And hurt. And I have no idea what to do right now.
Twenty minutes later.
T oo mad to drive, I just walked. I had no destination in mind. And yet, here I am in the one place I’m both surprised and relieved to be.
I half wondered if Evan would have called her, but I can tell by the surprised look on her face that he hasn’t.
“Mom,” I wail when I find her in the living room. I fall into her arms in a crying heap, my head crushing into the book she was holding when I found her in the living room. I can’t remember the last time I cried in my mother’s arms. But at this moment, it’s the only thing I want.
I pour my heart out to her, sobbing, and refuse to let her go so that we have no choice but to sink onto the floor. She doesn’t say a word. Nothing. She just
“There! There it is. Privilege, my dear. Oh no, I had to endure ballet when I really wanted to draw.” His impression of me is terrible. And so is he. “Do you know how many kids out there couldn’t afford either of those options?”
“Of course it’s about the privilege. I was never allowed to forget how lucky I was. Trust me, I’m well aware of the financial legacy that has allowed me to do all the things that many of my friends couldn’t. And I’ve tried not to rely on that. I’ve tried to get out from under the allure and control of their money and their expectations for ever.”
“That’s why you have two dresses at Ingrid’s? Why I broke the bank to buy you a dress that costs more than our monthly mortgage?”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me that damn dress! You did that. When you proposed to me. If you recall, I made a choice not to buy it. With my own money, mind you.”
“You dropped enough hints about how you loved it.”
“I thought I could safely look at things and covet them without it bothering you so much. Those weren’t hints. That was me, vicariously enjoying what I’d decided not to get.”
I storm to the bedroom and take out the Jenny Packham.
“Here you go.” I toss the dress at him. “See if you can sell it on eBay. I was going to wear it to our rehearsal dinner, but forget it. Forget the whole thing. I didn’t know how much of a chore it was being with me. Wasn’t aware of the heroic sacrifices you’ve had to make to endure my childishness.”
“Here we go. Grand fits again. I suppose you’re going to try to call off the wedding now, are you? Well, news flash. This is what grown ups do. We fight, we yell, we say mean things that are hanging out in our hearts, and then we let the air clear. The dust settle. We make a choice either to chalk it up to things that had to be said and forgive, or to act as if it’s the end of world and add it to an ever-growing list of slights. I’d like to take the first approach. I know you’re fond of the second. So why not leave the house, cool down, and think about it for a while. Because here’s my promise to you. I’m going to marry you, and love you, and take great delight in setting you straight when you morph from smart, witty Jillian into sooky, touchy Jillian.”
He marches to the door, opens it and hands me a sweater.
“Don’t call this wedding off unless you mean it. And I mean really mean it. Because if you do, there’s no point changing your mind. It’s time for you to act like your words matter.”
I’m numb. I have no idea how to respond to what’s happening. I don’t know what to make of this Evan. This forceful, angry, bossy Evan who seems to think that I’m so terrible. This is the man I’m supposed to marry?
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say as I grab the hooded sweater and stomp into my shoes.
“I’ll be here waiting for you to come home tonight.”
“You’ll be lucky if I ever speak to you again,” I hiss. Yes. I hiss. I’m pissed. And hurt. And I have no idea what to do right now.
Twenty minutes later.
T oo mad to drive, I just walked. I had no destination in mind. And yet, here I am in the one place I’m both surprised and relieved to be.
I half wondered if Evan would have called her, but I can tell by the surprised look on her face that he hasn’t.
“Mom,” I wail when I find her in the living room. I fall into her arms in a crying heap, my head crushing into the book she was holding when I found her in the living room. I can’t remember the last time I cried in my mother’s arms. But at this moment, it’s the only thing I want.
I pour my heart out to her, sobbing, and refuse to let her go so that we have no choice but to sink onto the floor. She doesn’t say a word. Nothing. She just
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