getting married.”
Marci took that
back. Three things lit up her mother’s world. The third thing
being getting married. This would be husband number eight. Ever since
Glenda and Marci’s dad split, her mom seemed to be in a constant race to outdo herself when it came to the number and duration of her
marriages. At this rate, one day, Glenda would be getting married and divorced
weekly.
“What? You and
Daryl just got divorced in March.” And it was only October. And Glenda hadn’t
even met what’s-his-name until May. What was his name? Something with an “S.” Maybe Sam?
“I know that.”
Glenda’s tone started to cool. “Who’s the mother here?” Glenda let it be known
that she didn’t like being judged —especially by
her daughter. And a “wayward, liberal artsy-fartsy daughter”
at that. She never ceased to remind Marci of the paucity of black female
neurosurgeons in the world and that she, Glenda King, was one of the best. She
also wasn’t averse to dropping into a conversation that Marci had made a huge
mistake by “wasting” her intelligence and talent by not pursuing a career in
medicine.
Marci was not
in the mood for a fight with G.K. “Have you guys set a date yet?”
“We’re actually
in St. Martin right now.”
“For what?”
“We’re
eloping.”
“What?” Marci
couldn’t keep the startled half-scream out of her voice.
“Sherwin and I
are both busy people, Marci. We had to squeeze it in when we had time. And
really, after the first marriage, there’s no point in throwing a big party and
inviting all your friends.”
Or your daughter apparently.
Ah. Sherwin,
that was right. He was an E.R. doc. It was kind of coming back to her now. And
as for the big party, G.K. had stretched it out to the first five before
finally giving up. If people hadn’t started to talk after the second one, she
might have left it alone at three. But G.K. didn’t like people thinking they had
the right to judge her. Yet people’s opinions mattered to her so much in a way
she’d never admit.
“Well, I guess
all that’s left to say is…congratulations?”
Her mother laughed.
“Don’t sound so unsure about it.”
“No,
I’m—it’s great. So are you married yet?” Marci pulled at one of her
corkscrew curls.
“This evening,”
her mother said in a singsong voice.
“Congratulations,”
Marci said again. She didn’t know what else to say. At least she wouldn’t have
to dress up this time, find a date or make Tyler go with her—she loathed
actual dating—and take time away from her busy schedule to fly home to California.
Especially right now when she needed to focus on that American Progress class
before Professor Ming ruined her life. She needed to be on Professor Ming’s
good side. As much as it was possible for anyone to be on
Ming’s good side. The woman was harsh but brilliant. And Marci planned
on asking for her advice with how to approach the next steps in her doctoral
program, which involved the dreaded comps. There was a lot Marci could learn
from her—if given the chance.
“Well, I’ve got
to go,” Glenda King said. “I’m on my way to pick up my dress. I’ll call you
tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring you
something nice from St. Martin. We’re staying at this villa. You’d love it. The
next time you and I come here, Marci, we have to stay at this place.”
“You don’t need
to bring me anything.”
“I know. But I
will. Talk to you soon. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too,
Mom,” Marci said. After ending the call, she stared down at her phone until she
heard the balcony door slide open behind her. She looked up into Tyler’s
concerned face.
“What’s going
on?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slim fit pants. Any normal
person would wear sweatpants on a veg day, but Tyler abhorred and detested
sweatpants. The white cotton pants he had on were probably called something
like “leisure pants” or “Sunday brunch pants” and
Marci took that
back. Three things lit up her mother’s world. The third thing
being getting married. This would be husband number eight. Ever since
Glenda and Marci’s dad split, her mom seemed to be in a constant race to outdo herself when it came to the number and duration of her
marriages. At this rate, one day, Glenda would be getting married and divorced
weekly.
“What? You and
Daryl just got divorced in March.” And it was only October. And Glenda hadn’t
even met what’s-his-name until May. What was his name? Something with an “S.” Maybe Sam?
“I know that.”
Glenda’s tone started to cool. “Who’s the mother here?” Glenda let it be known
that she didn’t like being judged —especially by
her daughter. And a “wayward, liberal artsy-fartsy daughter”
at that. She never ceased to remind Marci of the paucity of black female
neurosurgeons in the world and that she, Glenda King, was one of the best. She
also wasn’t averse to dropping into a conversation that Marci had made a huge
mistake by “wasting” her intelligence and talent by not pursuing a career in
medicine.
Marci was not
in the mood for a fight with G.K. “Have you guys set a date yet?”
“We’re actually
in St. Martin right now.”
“For what?”
“We’re
eloping.”
“What?” Marci
couldn’t keep the startled half-scream out of her voice.
“Sherwin and I
are both busy people, Marci. We had to squeeze it in when we had time. And
really, after the first marriage, there’s no point in throwing a big party and
inviting all your friends.”
Or your daughter apparently.
Ah. Sherwin,
that was right. He was an E.R. doc. It was kind of coming back to her now. And
as for the big party, G.K. had stretched it out to the first five before
finally giving up. If people hadn’t started to talk after the second one, she
might have left it alone at three. But G.K. didn’t like people thinking they had
the right to judge her. Yet people’s opinions mattered to her so much in a way
she’d never admit.
“Well, I guess
all that’s left to say is…congratulations?”
Her mother laughed.
“Don’t sound so unsure about it.”
“No,
I’m—it’s great. So are you married yet?” Marci pulled at one of her
corkscrew curls.
“This evening,”
her mother said in a singsong voice.
“Congratulations,”
Marci said again. She didn’t know what else to say. At least she wouldn’t have
to dress up this time, find a date or make Tyler go with her—she loathed
actual dating—and take time away from her busy schedule to fly home to California.
Especially right now when she needed to focus on that American Progress class
before Professor Ming ruined her life. She needed to be on Professor Ming’s
good side. As much as it was possible for anyone to be on
Ming’s good side. The woman was harsh but brilliant. And Marci planned
on asking for her advice with how to approach the next steps in her doctoral
program, which involved the dreaded comps. There was a lot Marci could learn
from her—if given the chance.
“Well, I’ve got
to go,” Glenda King said. “I’m on my way to pick up my dress. I’ll call you
tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring you
something nice from St. Martin. We’re staying at this villa. You’d love it. The
next time you and I come here, Marci, we have to stay at this place.”
“You don’t need
to bring me anything.”
“I know. But I
will. Talk to you soon. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too,
Mom,” Marci said. After ending the call, she stared down at her phone until she
heard the balcony door slide open behind her. She looked up into Tyler’s
concerned face.
“What’s going
on?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slim fit pants. Any normal
person would wear sweatpants on a veg day, but Tyler abhorred and detested
sweatpants. The white cotton pants he had on were probably called something
like “leisure pants” or “Sunday brunch pants” and
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