for a few years. In the end, well, I think we both knew it wasn’t going to work out. If your father hadn’t walked away when he did, I’m not sure either one of us would’ve gotten a second chance at finding real love.”
I’m trying to process what she’s telling me. For years I’ve been placing all the blame for my parent’s breakup on my father, on his infidelity. Now I’m being asked to see things from another perspective, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
“But, Mama, he betrayed you.”
My mother turns her face toward me, and I see no resentment or hurt in her eyes. “Maybe he did, but he’s also given me another chance to know what love is and, in my own way, I’ve come to be grateful to him for that.” She squeezes my hand before releasing me and sits back, her feet crossed and relaxed before her.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve based my entire pursuit of happily ever after on your example. You always tell me to guard my heart and not give it away too easy, to listen to my inner voice,” I accuse, thinking of the alarm bells.
“What can I say?” she says, shaking her head comically. “You can try to avoid getting hit by a car but if you’re standing in the middle of the street, you’re gonna get run over eventually.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I stare, wide-eyed, at my mother. She sounds like she needs a straitjacket, not a wedding dress.
“Isn’t that clever? Vernon’s got a little desk calendar with all these funny sayings. But you have to admit, it’s got a ring of truth to it.” She shakes her head importantly and gets to her feet, putting an end to the conversation and, hopefully, her temporary insanity. “Now, do you want to see my dress? I went for a yellow hue instead of the traditional white. I figure if my grown daughter’s giving me away, there’s no use in pretending I can get away with ivory.” She winks at me and exits the room, knowing I’ll have no choice but to follow her.
I stand and move away from the bed, reaching out to steady myself on a chair placed in front of a little roll-top desk. There’s a picture, framed and freshly dusted, sitting on the small upper desktop. It’s me with my parents. We’re each holding up an ice-cream cone and I’m sandwiched between them, my face covered in brown chocolate as I smile wildly into the camera.
My mother looks every bit as happy in this picture as she looks today. I thought she’d given up, that she’d chosen the safe road, the one that kept her from giving away her heart only to get it broken again. But she never gave up. I’m the one that gave up. I gave up my chance at happiness with Sam before I even met him. Can what Hart said be right? Do I still have time to right the mistakes of my past?
I leave the room and follow the sound of my mother’s sing-song voice down another hallway. She’s removing her wedding dress from its protective plastic, smiling widely at me as I enter her bedroom. The dress is beautiful. It’s a pale creamy lace with a silky subdued-yellow sheath beneath. It took this moment, this view of my mother on the cusp of a new life, void of worry or mistrust, for me to truly believe Hart’s words. I love Sam, and I know in my heart that letting him walk away is the wrong thing to do. I just hope there’s still enough time to make him my ‘plus one.’
The high-pitched and pleasant whine of Dolly Parton singing, “He’s going to marry me…” reaches my bedroom door as I put the finishing touches on my hair. I tried to reach Sam by phone last night, but he must be ignoring my calls and I couldn’t bring myself to leave a message. What would I say, ‘Sorry for holding you accountable for every bad boyfriend I’ve ever had and rejecting you in front of my half-naked ex-boyfriend on the street, but I’m ready to fight for you. Call me?’
I finally broke down and asked Luanne for help in getting Sam a message through Jason. She didn’t put up any fuss about it, but I have a feeling I’ve now committed myself to being her experimental hair model for