My Always One

by Aleatha Romig

  “Pull up a chair.” Jane’s direction is repeated by affirmations around the rest of the table.

  When I turn, I see my sister’s knowing grin. “You told him we were here?” I accuse.

  Jane smiles and leans back, lifting her hands. “I did it. I’m guilty as charged.”

  In the time I’ve been looking at my older sister, Marshal has pulled up a chair right next to mine. Within seconds, one of the waitresses is at his side, taking his order and probably giving him her phone number. Once she walks away, I turn and lower my voice. With each word, I lean closer and closer, working to keep his blue orbs in focus. “I thought you were upset.”

  “Upset that my best friend found her forever? Never.”

  Inhaling, I’m filled with a sense of relief that I hadn’t realized I needed. “Thank you.”

  “So am I going to be your man of honor?”

  “Do they do that?” Ashley asks.

  “I can do whatever I want,” I say. “I’m the bride.”

  “What is that show?” Linda asks before answering her own question. “Bridezilla.”

  I lean back, feeling Marsh’s arm on the back of my chair and sigh. “I’ve been imagining this feeling my whole life.” I shake my head. “I mean, I have wanted it all, not just forever. I want the friends and career. I want a best friend.” I squeeze Marshal’s knee. “And I want the always.” I look at Jane. “You know, like Mom and Dad. And you and Tony.” I turn to Millie. “You’ll get it one day.”

  “I’m not worried.” She smiles at Marshal. “After all, I know of one guy who’s still available.”

  My younger sister is probably one of the only women in this bar who has no chance of waking in his bed. My sisters and his brother aren’t part of our understanding; that was for friends. Siblings are totally and completely off-limits. After all, we all grew up together like stair steps: Jane was the oldest, then Marcus, Marshal’s brother, only a few months older than my brother, Byron, and then Marshal and me, and finally Millie.

  It would just be weird.

  “He’s taken,” I say as everyone looks my way.

  When I turn to Marshal, I smile. “Remember, you told me who you’ll end up with?”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, right before graduation.”

  “Who?” Linda asks.

  It’s as if a light bulb illuminates and Marshal’s baby blues open wide. “Sami’s right. There’s only one person in my forever and it’s me.”

  “Oh,” comes from everyone.

  “It’s okay,” he reassures. “That way I can share my attention with everyone.”

  “I’m free,” Linda says with a smirk.

  “Nope,” I answer. “Friends are off-limits as well as siblings.”

  “So you’re saying as long as I’m friends with you, Marshal is off-limits?”

  I know where this is going. “That’s our understanding.”

  “Well, Sami,” Linda says, “it’s been nice.”

  We all laugh.

  As the night goes on, food continues to be delivered to our table. First there were onion rings and then nachos. The last delivery was a large pizza. It wasn’t until we started to disperse that I questioned the tab.

  “It’s all taken care of,” Marshal says.

  In the past four years, our financial status has improved.

  Marshal’s old truck is replaced with a shiny, sleek sports car. My old Camry is now a midsize SUV, and my living arrangement has improved. I have an upscale condo near the river. Marshal also has his own place, high in the sky in a newer building not far from the museum. It’s all the rage with coffee shops, delis, and cafes that serve tofu.

  “Let me drive you home,” he says, plucking my key fob from my hand.

  “No.” I sway a bit. “I can’t leave my car here.”

  “I’ll leave my car. I’ll drive you home and Uber back for my car.” Marshal lifts his chin toward Jane. “I’ll get her home. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Marsh.”

  I lower my brow and attempt a scowl. “Did she tell you to come because I was drunk?”

  “She mentioned you were celebrating and not eating.”

  My fist goes to my hip. “Are you, Marshal Michaels, teaming up with Bossy Jane?” It was what we called her when we were kids. Being four years older than us, she felt it was her right to be Mom whenever Mom wasn’t about.

  Marshal pulls me close, tucking me against him. “The only Anderson on my team is and will always be you, Samantha Ann.”

  I lean back and stare at his blurry profile. “You used my whole name. I’m in trouble.”

  “No, you’re not in trouble.”

  It isn’t until Marshal has me back in my condo that I ask him what’s been on my mind since he didn’t return my text message. “You don’t like Jack, do you?”

  “He’s not my forever. He’s yours.”

  I reach out and take Marshal’s hand. “I don’t want to lose you. I still love you.”

  “Always and forever?”

  I nod. “I just want the other kind of love too. You know the one that takes your breath away and twists your stomach, the one that makes you fall asleep with a smile and wake with one?”

  “Honey, if you found that, I will never stand in your way. Just know that whether you’re celebrating your fiftieth anniversary or you need a shoulder, I’m here.”

  “I know that. I’m here for you too.”

  I slowly fall to my side and close my eyes, thinking of Jackson, of my friends, of my engagement ring, and how he proposed in front of the entire dining room full of patrons at Sheffield’s. My world warms as a blanket comes down over me and firm lips leave a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “Do you need an alarm?” Marshal asks.

  “My phone—it’s always...”

  “Let me know when we’re going bridesmaid-dress shopping.”

  I don’t see him with my eyes closed, but my cheeks rise as I curl my lips into a smile, and I drift off to sleep.

  Sami

  Present

  * * *

  “Oh.” My mom’s hands go to her lips as her eyes glisten. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. You’re beautiful.”

  I loved the dress as I slipped it on in the dressing room, but seeing Mom’s reaction tugs at my heart. I spin toward the three-way mirror.

  “Come up on the platform,” the saleslady says as she fluffs the skirt around me. “You look stunning, Sami. Your mom is right.”

  I crane my neck over my shoulder, taking in the lace and long line of buttons. The sweetheart neckline does a great job complementing my breasts without emphasizing them. It’s the dress I always imagined, but then I remember the price tag.

  “Maybe I should try on some other ones?” I say, pitching slightly from side to side, enjoying the full skirt while taking in the intricate details.

  Mom steps up on the podium and wraps her arm around my waist. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Sami, this is your wedding. I know what you’re thinking, but your dad and I have prepared for this since you and your sisters were young. If this is the dress you want, it’s the dress I want you to have.”

  I lean my head toward her shoulder.

  My parents were married and began having children when they were younger than I am now. Seeing her next to me, it’s easy to understand how we’re mistaken for sisters. My mom is the epitome of understated grace. I grin at her blue jeans and top. Even in her early fifties, she rarely wears much makeup or is excessive about her hair. She and Dad live in the same four-bedroom ranch where they raised four children. They attend the same church and are members of the local Moose Lodge.

  In some ways, it’s as if they’re stuck in time, and in others ways it’s obvious that they don’t need to change or move up. They’re both content. Now, my dad does have an unhealthy obsession with reality television shows and zombies, but other than that, I would say that if you had to define my parents in one word it was content.

  “Mom, I know Jackson ha
s ideas for the wedding, and I want you to know, he’s willing to contribute. After all, it’s our wedding.”

  “Samantha Ann, we paid for Jane’s wedding. We’ll take care of yours as well as Millie’s one day.” She squeezes my waist. “I think it’s wonderful that Jackson has ideas, but honey, you’re the bride. Tell me if you want this dress.”

  I scan my reflection and imagine my hair styled, my makeup done, and then this dress. With each inch I see, the more in love with the dress I am. “I do.”

  “Then this is the dress we’re getting. And the pearls will be beautiful with the neckline.”

  By the pearls, she means a family heirloom and tradition.

  I don’t answer her, knowing Jackson isn’t thrilled with the idea of me wearing what he calls hand-me-down jewelry for the wedding. I haven’t brought myself to tell my mother. I know how disappointed she’ll be. Every female descendant of my great-grandmother has worn the same pearls. My sister Jane was the last.

  I should be the next.

  As we were talking to the saleswoman, Mom gave her address instead of mine. “Wait.”

  Mom turns and speaks quietly. “Now that Jackson has moved into your condo...”

  “Our condo,” I correct.

  “It’s yours and he’s there,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I understand the reasoning for his move, and so does your dad. But since he’s there, I’d rather anything wedding-related come to my email or our address.” She smiles and gives my arm a squeeze. “Remember, he isn’t supposed to see the dress until he sees you walking down the aisle.”

  Jackson had moved into my condo shortly after proposing.

  Remember the plan: partnership, wife, house...

  Well, we’ve been looking at houses. The market is crazy. The ones we like are gone before we have a chance to see them or make an offer. Last month, we met with one of the area’s top builders. Now we are looking at land.

  I never considered all the qualifying factors for residency.

  Jackson doesn’t want to be in the country. He wants a neighborhood that fits our status. He researches everything down to schools and per capita median income. After all, it’s important for our children to make the right friends.

  Honestly, the subject has lost its luster.

  The last time we spoke about land, we got into a big discussion about moving closer to Johnson. Admittedly, outside of my hometown is more rural, but I didn’t see that as a bad thing. Apparently, living in Johnson would limit...well, everything. I hadn’t realized how deep his negativity of my hometown ran.

  He grew up in an upscale neighborhood near Detroit. It’s where his parents still live. Just because two of my parents’ house could fit in his parents’ home, doesn’t make it better.

  He did find a neighborhood near Sheffield’s Country Club that has recently opened up new lots. They won’t be ready to build for another six months, which means moving will be at least a year away. According to Jackson, living close to the country club will give us and our children access to perks such as tennis and swimming lessons.

  I recall falling to sleep thinking about swimming lessons. Of course, everyone should know how to swim. It’s important. However, I couldn’t recall not knowing how. Instead of lessons, my siblings and I, Marshal, Marcus, and our friends simply jumped into the deep end or off the cliff at the lake.

  “Sami,” Mom says as she secures her coat and steps toward the door to the bridal shop. “How about lunch?”

  “I should go to the gym, but we can do lunch first.”

  “Samantha Ann, you’re beautiful. Now don’t lose more weight. After all, they took your measurements today. We want the dress to fit and show off your beautiful curves.”

  “That’s what alterations are for.”

  Instead of staying in the city, Mom begins driving away from civilization and toward Johnson. Snow mounds line the country roads where the plows have pushed it out of the way. Today the sun is shining, but this time of year, it does little to warm the air. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  Sami

  * * *

  “Home? Mom, you should have dropped me off at my place. I can get my car. Now you’ll need to drive me back.”

  She waves a hand in the air. “Sami, you’re about to be a married woman. I don’t mind an extra hour with you when I can get it. Besides, the invitations came in and I want you to see them.”

  “What about the caterers?”

  “I need to check with you and Jackson for your schedules and then we can make appointments to try their food.”

  As we drive and discuss the wedding, I teeter between excitement and guilt. Mom can say what she wants, but I know without a doubt that this wedding is costing more than Jane’s. When we arrive at my parents’ house, Dad is home.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Dad gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Did something happen?” He turns to Mom. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “You’ll know when I do,” she says with a grin. “I’ll change the locks.”

  “Eating lunch, sweetheart. How was dress shopping?” Dad pauses the recording he’s watching. “Did you find the perfect dress?”

  “I found one.”

  “What’s the matter?” His eyes narrow with concern.

  “Dad, please let Jack and I help with the cost.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re our little girl.”

  “I’m not. I’m an adult with a job and money. Jackson has—”

  Dad shakes his head. “Can you please let an old man do what he wants? I’ve lived with four women, and it’s about time they let me have my way.”

  I giggle. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure that if I don’t finish this recording in the next seventeen minutes, I’ll be late for the rest of my day. I have three more classes and the teacher shouldn’t be tardy.” He shakes his head. “Freshman English. Let me find out who she chooses. It will give me strength to face those kids.”

  My dad has been at Johnson High School since I was born. He’s the head of the English department and is always at work at least two hours early. He’s that teacher who makes himself available for help before or after school. His only request is a long enough lunch to go home and watch one of his shows. As I said, he’s obsessed with reality television.

  Mom offers Dad her phone. “Look, Paul.”

  My dad’s eyes glisten. “Oh, Sami, you’re radiant.” He narrows his gaze as he looks up. “You’re not knocked-up, are you?”

  “Dad.”

  “Good. We want the dress to fit.”

  Why is everyone worried about the dress fitting?

  It isn’t until we’re on our way to my car that I say, “You could drop me off at the gym, and I’ll walk to my car.”

  Mom sighs. “You’ve been working out a lot.”

  “And I’m getting married in four months.”

  “You were just fitted for your dress today. You don’t want to lose too much.”

  “After the lunch you just fed me,” I say with a grin, remembering her homemade chicken salad and the flaky croissant, “I don’t think losing too much is possible.” It’s then I remember the dinner with Jackson’s partners. “Shit, Mom. Take me to my car.”

  “What is it?”

  “I forgot that Jackson and I are having dinner tonight with Fred and Martha Wilson.”

  “As in Wilson et al?”

  Mr. Wilson is the founding partner of the Wilson et al Law Firm.

  “Yeah, them.”

  “Oh, how fun.”

  “It’s a bit stuffy.” I turn to the window and watch as we get back to the city. My SUV is where we left it at the bridal boutique. Between school buses and afternoon traffic, it takes me longer than I expected to get to our condo.

  Instead of taking the elevator, I decide to hurry up the ten flights of stairs to the level of our condo. Taking off my coat, I take the stairs two at a time. I guess I figure it’s the workout I haven’t gott
en. It isn’t until I open the door and see Jack’s stare as he’s standing in his custom suit that my elation for the day completely evaporates.

  It isn’t Jack’s appearance that quells my enthusiasm. He’s a handsome man in a dignified way. Only in his mid-thirties, he has just a few strands of gray hair, the amount that makes a man look distinguished. He works out regularly, and I know that under that fancy suit is a toned and fit body.

  “Where have you been?” He looks me up and down. “Wearing that?”

  I’m wearing a pair of long workout pants and a shirt with a sports bra. When I’d dressed I’d planned on going from the bridal boutiques to the gym. “With my mom. You knew we were shopping for wedding dresses,” I say as I toss my coat and purse on a chair. I look up at the clock. “It’s only four. Our reservations aren’t until six. I’ll be ready.”

  “Did you even look at your phone?”

  I hadn’t.

  “Why?”

  “Fred wants to meet for drinks at five.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Jack. I was shopping for my wedding dress. Remember, we’re getting married.”

  “I’m well aware, Samantha.” He shakes his head. “Do you even care about my position at the firm?”

  “You’re a partner. Are they going to take that away?”

  He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and walks toward me. He reaches for my upper arms and pulls me toward him, leaving an attention-getting kiss on my lips. “I know finding the right dress is important,” he says, his tone mellowing as he still holds onto my arms. “Did you find one?”

  “I did.”

  “I hope you went to a boutique and not one of those stores where you buy one off the rack.”

  “We went to a boutique, Jack. You try the dresses on from the rack. I found one that Mom and I both liked. Now they will make one to fit my measurements.”

  “You told them that you’ve been working out? I mean, we don’t want it to be too loose.”

  For some reason, coming from him it felt different than the way it felt when my mom had said the same thing.

  “I told them.”

  “How is Jean?”