by Jen Waite
“Yeah, yeah, ok, I’ll speed it up.” She stepped back and peered at Theresa’s face. “Goddammit I’m good.” She whistled to herself.
“Are you excited? How are you feeling?” Lana asked in the dry monotone that Anne had finally gotten used to after rooming together their freshman year. Lana hovered closer and Anne inhaled her slightly musky scent. It reminded her of twin beds and deep purple sheets and listening to soft guitar playing into the wee hours of the morning.
“I am excited. I feel a bit nervous, but mostly excited,” she said. “I’m meeting Ethan’s parents for the first time today.” She looked across the room to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, swung open against the wall. She saw a woman in white, serene and radiant.
“What? You’re meeting them today? On your wedding day?” Lana’s tone changed almost imperceptibly at the end of her questions, deepening an octave. By now Anne knew that the slight variation in her monotone signified shock. Lana had met Ethan several times, along with her other bridesmaids, either in the city or at home in Vermont. The first time Anne introduced Lana to Ethan, at a dim, crowded bar on the Lower East Side, Anne had been nervous—usually she had a sense of what the dynamic would be like amongst her friends, but in this case, she had no idea what to expect. Lana’s taste in people was discerning and, Anne had noticed over the years, her directness made people uncomfortable, sometimes even combative. As Anne had chatted with Lana’s boyfriend, Steve, she’d strained over the din of the bar to hear Ethan and Lana’s conversation, but could only see glimpses of Ethan’s face, serious and intense, behind Steve’s head. At the end of the night, Anne hugged Lana goodbye and heard in her ear her friend’s raspy voice: “Interesting guy. I think you should keep him.”
But Anne hadn’t told Lana or any of her friends that she had yet to meet Ethan’s parents. It happened all the time, she told herself; couples didn’t meet each other’s family for various reasons—maybe they lived in another country or were too sick to travel. Some halves of a couple would never meet their significant others’ parents. They were lucky that both sets of their parents were alive and healthy. But that was the thing—Ethan’s parents were alive and well, and yet she knew almost nothing about them, other than what Ethan had told her on their first date. She asked Ethan occasionally, at the beginning of their relationship, about his parents: What do they do for work? What are their personalities like? When are they going to visit? Ethan responded vaguely that his dad ran the family farm, his mom had been a stay-at-home parent, and both of them, but particularly his mom, had a fear of flying. After Anne pushed for more details, Ethan responded quietly, “I just don’t fit into their world anymore. They think I’ve sold my soul to the devil . . . or Wall Street.” He sighed. “We’ve never understood one another. I’m sorry, it puts me in a bad mood to talk about it.” He looked down at the floor, and she felt a sharp pang of guilt for needling him about a topic that clearly caused him pain. “But you know what puts me in a great mood?” He paused for dramatic effect and then tackled her on the couch. “You.”
She never brought up his family again.
Now, she struggled to explain to Lana why it wasn’t odd at all that she’d never met her fiancé’s family. “They live in the Midwest and don’t like to travel so they haven’t visited us in New York yet. They were supposed to fly in last night but their flight got delayed and then canceled.” She jammed her words together without taking a breath. “But they got an early morning flight from O’Hare so they should be landing just about now.”
“Huh. Interesting.” Lana was back to monotone.
Anne picked up her phone off the bedside table and texted Ethan, Have your parents landed? She glanced down occasionally as Lana rambled on about the food co-op she and her boyfriend, Steve, had joined in Brooklyn. Anne nodded and asked about the gardening lessons they were taking together to grow organic vegetables. She hadn’t heard from Ethan since yesterday morning when they kissed goodbye before going to their separate hotels. She picked up her phone again. No response from Ethan. Then again, he was probably busy getting ready himself, with his three groomsmen (all of them colleagues from the bank), at the hotel where the four of them stayed last night. She couldn’t explain why she felt so anxious. Everything is fine. Right as she was about to place her phone back on the table, she saw the dots of Ethan typing. She waited for his response, staring at the screen, barely listening to Lana’s description of the best type of soil for a vegetable garden.
Just then, Rose popped her head into the room. “Ten-minute warning, girls.” Rose gasped when she saw Anne. “Oh my goodness. You look beautiful. You all look so beautiful.”
“Mrs. Thompson, don’t cry yet.” Theresa rushed to Rose and squeezed her tight. “You gotta save those tears for the vows.”
Anne looked at her phone—no dots, no text—and strode toward the bathroom, calling out, “Five-minute warning, guys” and then back to the bedside table, peering down at her phone. She was being silly, paranoid. Everything was fine. She ran through a list of reasons in her head why everything was fine and tried to shake the sick feeling from her stomach. Just then, a text from Ethan flashed across the screen.
They’re here. See you soon, Mrs. Mills ☺
A burst of air escaped her body. She wasn’t even annoyed this time that Ethan seemingly refused to acknowledge that she was keeping her last name: Thompson. “Ok, everyone, time to go!”
“Let’s fucking do this thing!” Whitney yelled as all six bridesmaids tumbled out of the room and into the hallway. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thompson.” Whitney slapped her hand over her mouth, blushing deeply.
Rose grabbed Whitney’s hand and swung it in the air. “You’re not the first person to drop the f-bomb in front of me. I’m married to an ex-marine, you know.”
They exited the inn and walked down a gray stone pathway to the last bus, waiting on the circular driveway in front of the barn. The morning had been overcast, the sky coated in gray, a slight chill in the air, but now Anne shielded her eyes as the sun suddenly broke through.
“Congratulations!” the bus driver hollered as Anne boarded. She beamed, the nerves starting to leave and her body filling with excitement.
Rose and Sam sat at the front of the bus chatting with the driver, and the bridesmaids and bride filled the last rows. Anne looked out of the back window as they rumbled toward the park and watched the weathered red barn fade into the distance in a cloud of chalky smoke. Whit grinned from across the aisle. “Ready?”
“Yes!” she shouted back.
* * *
—
Hours later, at the reception, Anne put her arm through Ethan’s. “Where are your parents?” She had glimpsed them at the ceremony, sitting in the front row, across the aisle from Rose and Sam, in their marked seats. “Should we go find them?” Ethan opened his lips and tipped a brown bottle back, draining the contents. He stood silent for a moment, looking around at the crowd, and then grabbed her hand. “All right, let’s go.”
They wove through the guests, over the empty portable wooden dance floor, past the bar area, and came out at a quiet expanse, filled with white-clothed round tables. Most of the guests were milling around, talking and laughing, but Ethan’s parents sat at their empty dinner table, chatting. She studied them as they approached. Ethan’s mom threw her head back and laughed at something Ethan’s dad said and gave him a whack on the arm. Ethan’s dad still sat stiffly but his face broke into a wide smile, pleased with whatever had just come out of his mouth. His smile opened up his face and he rubbed his shoulder dramatically where his wife had hit him. “Anne!” he cried, noticing them. “Look, Lynette, it’s the happy couple. And they’ve come just in time to witness some elder abuse.” At this Lynette roared with laughter, a unique high-pitched cackle that made Anne laugh, too.
“Tom,” Lynette finally said. “Stop that. She’ll think you’re being serious.”
“It’s so nice to finally meet you as well.” Anne squeezed Lynette back and then moved toward Tom; he tried to stand as she approached, but she quickly closed the gap between them and leaned down to him.
“Great to meet you, Anne. Welcome to the family.” Tom smiled again and she saw neat, square teeth up close. “And, heck, not a bad place you grew up in, eh?”
“How was the flight?” Anne asked, twisting her face into a sympathetic expression. “I’m so sorry that you couldn’t drive. I know you—”
“Anne.” Ethan grabbed her arm. “Can you come with me? It’s an emergency. Sorry, Mom, Dad, I’ll bring her back, I promise.”
“Do we get a hug from our son?” Lynette was still smiling, but her voice, for the first time since they’d met her, sounded uncertain. Anne looked from Ethan to his mother. Ethan broke into a grin and scooped his mother off the ground. “You get more than a hug.” Ethan whirled Lynette around as she let out one of her high-pitched laughs and hollered, “Put me down. Crazy boy.” Anne grinned. Ethan’s parents were lovely.
“It’s good to see you, son.” Tom strained against his chair and pushed himself to a standing position. Ethan shook his father’s outstretched hand and Tom pulled him into a hug, clasping him around the back. When they separated, Tom sat back down. “Well, go on, put out whatever fire you started.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Ethan called over his shoulder, pulling Anne beside him.
“What is the emergency?” she asked, bewildered. “We barely said hi. I absolutely love your parents. They’re so great,” she rambled on as they cut back through the crowd. “Ethan? Are you going to tell me?” She stopped midsentence. They were standing on the dance floor. In front of them a full band was setting up, a woman tapped a microphone as three men carried speakers and instruments from a white van to the stage.
“What?” she began, staring at the stage and spinning her head around looking for Rose and Sam. “What’s going on? We hired a DJ. Ethan.” She looked up at him. “What is this?”
Ethan’s face broke into a huge smile. “I canceled the DJ. I knew having a band was important to you, baby, so I got you a band.” He gestured to the group setting up. “They came all the way from New York. They’re supposed to be the best.” Ethan looked at her and his face dropped. “I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am,” she said. “I am. I’m just shocked. I’m sorry, this is amazing.” She tore her eyes from the stage and looked at Ethan. She smiled as she took in his face. “This is amazing,” she repeated. “Do my mom and dad know?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone.” Ethan waved at Rose and Sam as they approached the dance floor. Anne fought the tightness in her chest and smiled at her parents. She knew how much it meant to her mom and dad to pay for the wedding. Well, mostly Rose—she’d been the one who had planned every detail with Anne in the preceding months, from the bridesmaids’ bouquets to the DJ. But Ethan just wanted to do something nice for everyone; her mom would understand, might even be thrilled. Everything is fine. Anne kept the smile plastered on her face.
“Wow.” Sam clapped Ethan on the back. “Holy smokes. Did you do this?” Sam asked, pointing the beer in his other hand toward the stage.
“Yes, sir.” Ethan tapped his own beer against Sam’s. “I wanted it to be a token of my appreciation for everything you guys have done for us. I mean, welcoming me into the family and the wedding and—”
“We were happy to give you this wedding,” Rose cut Ethan off. “But, of course, we wish we could have afforded a band. Thank you, Ethan, what a wonderful surprise.” Rose gave Ethan a hug.
“It’s amazing.”
“Annie, you’ve said that three times.” Ethan laughed, looking from Sam to Rose. “Well, I just hope I get a dance with the mother of the bride before the night is over.”
Rose chuckled. “Oh, I’ll make sure you do.”
* * *
—
Later that night, after the band had packed up and left and one of Ethan’s groomsmen had puked into a bush beside the barn, Anne tugged Ethan’s arm for the third time. “Are you ready? I’m exhausted.” As if on cue, she yawned into her hand. Her parents and the bridesmaids had all left more than an hour ago. Hugging both of them goodbye, Rose had whispered in her ear, “That was a great party.” And it was. The band had been a huge hit—people danced for hours (with Uncle Bob freestyling in the middle of the dance floor to everyone’s surprise) and sang along to “99 Luftballons.” Anne felt silly, and a bit guilty, for her annoyance with Ethan earlier. He’d only been trying to surprise her with something she had wanted since they’d first started planning their wedding. She watched her new husband laughing with the last guests standing, his three groomsmen and some New York friends who were accustomed to staying out until four a.m. She was so lucky to have him, and she made a mental note to show her appreciation more often. “Ethan, are you ready?” Anne asked again, suddenly exhausted.
“Ok, ok. We’re going. We’re going. Let me just say goodbye to everyone.” She watched as Ethan stumbled over to his groomsmen, hugging each of them in a way that told her he was about six to eight beers in. She laughed as he made his way back over. “What’s so funny?” His speech was slightly slurred but not too bad—the “What’s so” came out as one word, but his movements were mostly fluid.
“You’re just cute when you get all touchy-feely with your friends.” She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “I’m so tired.”
“I hope you’re not too tired,” Ethan said as he circled her waist roughly with his arm and fell into clunky step beside her.
“What do you have planned?” She tried to sound coy and flirty; she tightened her jaw muscles against another yawn.
“Oh, I’m planning to keep you up all night tonight,” Ethan whispered into her ear.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” she said, nudging her hip into his side playfully.
As soon as they got into their room at the inn, Ethan pressed against her from behind, pinning her to the wall. “Do you like that?” His voice hoarse in her ear. She suppressed a giggle at his porno persona and nodded her head, the textured wall scratching her cheek. She felt his weight grow heavier on her; she flinched and waited for him to pull back.
“You’re hurting me,” the words came out muffled under his chin. His skull dug into the side of her head. The wall grated against her cheek. She shut her eyes and tried to breathe. The dress was already too tight against her rib cage and Ethan’s chest pressed harder into her back, squeezing the little air left in her lungs out of her body. She coughed, choking on her breath. “Stop,” she wheezed at Ethan. She felt his hand move into her hair and her neck jerked backward. She used all the air in her lungs to yell, “Ethan, stop.” Pressure came off her body and she gulped in more air.
“Annie,” Ethan’s voice filled the silence left after the yelp had dissolved. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I think I blacked out or something.”
Anne turned to face her husband. His eyes were glistening. He stepped toward her,
reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, as she placed her hand in his tentatively and he drew her in. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she replied slowly. “Not really. I just couldn’t get you to stop.”
“I’ll never get this drunk again, baby.” Ethan stroked her hair gently, kissing the top of her head. “I will never hurt you, I promise.” She felt his shoulders begin to shake. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ok.” She wiped the tears from his face. “Everything is fine.”
THE CABIN
THE MAN
The man watched the child from across the room. She looked peaceful, pushing air out of small, white lips. He suddenly felt calm. This was inevitable. His heart slowed, his fingers steadied; he readied himself.
The last time he felt this way was nearly ten years ago, before he went away. He remembered his last night in his childhood home. Staying up, waiting for his parents to fall asleep before sneaking downstairs and out the front door. He had already decided at that age, the age of sixteen, that if the hunger wasn’t going to go away, then he had to go away. He knew what he needed to do and he didn’t want to do it with his parents nearby. He already had the spare key to his father’s car in his pocket and he slipped into the old white Saab, holding his breath as the engine turned over and came to life. He backed out of the driveway of the long, tan ranch-style house he’d lived in since he was a baby and drove toward 95 South. The whole thing was too easy. Anticlimactic. If his parents had woken up and run out of the house, hollering in their bathrobes, he would have tapped the brakes, put the car into reverse, and resigned himself to another day of gray. If he had had neighbors who kept an eye out for that troublesome teenage boy, then he might have scrapped the whole plan, but like many houses in that part of Bridgewater, New Jersey, his nearest neighbors couldn’t even be called neighbors . . . just houses on the same street separated by long stretches of manicured lawns. Only his brother woke up, but a few choice words sent him scurrying back into his bedroom. He was on the highway within fifteen minutes, heading south and then west. Putting as much distance between himself and his house as possible.