Good Enough (The Enough Series)

by Taryn Steele

  As we are about to take them upstairs, we hear voices above us that seem to be getting closer and closer. Jameson and I stare at each other with that look you have without saying anything. You know the ‘what the fuck is that’ look? As the voices get closer and closer we hear footsteps coming towards us. When we turn we see Marcie coming down the stairs with a man and woman I’ve never seen in my entire life. What is she doing with them upstairs in my home? When she catches my glare at her she stops moving.

  “What are you doing, Marcie?” I ask.

  “Oh, just giving a tour,” she tells me.

  I turn and pass on another glare, this time at Jameson. Hoping we are in sync, having another one of those conversations without needing words.

  “Marcie, considering this is our home and our house warming party we will be the ones giving the tours, but thanks anyway.” I spit out with the biggest fake smile I can deliver.

  She takes the couple back outside and I trek upstairs with my aunt and uncle closely behind. I really wish I hadn’t left my glass of wine outside on the deck. I am furiously pissed she is taking people around my house. I have to talk to Jameson first to make sure he didn’t tell her it was okay before I blow up. Who the fuck were those people anyway? Who invited them?

  THE DAY HAS COME TO AN END. It was filled with love from friends and family who are so happy for us starting our life together in our first home. In a few short months we’ll be married and living in our home.

  The day wouldn’t be complete, however, without guests coming up to me complaining about Marcie. Marcie complaining about the wedding invitation samples because they didn’t have her name on them; Marcie complaining about the flower choices for the wedding; Marcie complaining about the way my grandmother set up the food trays at the party today; Marcie complaining about our friends putting out more lawn chairs for people to sit at. Why? I have no fucking idea but it needs to stop.

  “Isn’t it enough that I’ve grown up with a mother who doesn’t like me, I have to have a mother-in-law just the same?” I admit to Karolyn while hiding out in the bathroom.

  “I know honey. I’m sorry. You do have shitty luck in the mom department. Marcie is very complex. She’s not happy, so everyone around has to be the same. She hasn’t had a boyfriend since the eighties. After spending some time with her family today they clearly aren’t overly fond of her either. That could either play in your favor or against it. Not sure which yet.” I nod in agreement with her. “Fight for what is yours Hillary. This house, Jameson, your dignity, everything. Don’t let her fuck around with you. Kill her with kindness. That shit pisses everyone off.” We laugh in unison. She’s right. I get pissed when people I can’t stand are nice to me. We hug, give each other a smooch on the cheek and she pees while I fix my makeup. I love how close girlfriends can be without a care in the world and that we aren’t shy around each other.

  “You’re too fat for that dress.”

  Memorial Day Weekend, 2003

  HERE WE GO AGAIN.

  My future mother-in-law says we have to have a picnic because it’s a holiday. I just moved in to my first home and have a wedding to plan. I don’t want to spend an afternoon with a woman who sees me as the person who is stealing her son away.

  Wondering if I should ask if we have to go through this again for Columbus Day in October, or President’s Day in February.

  I’ve been avoiding everyone’s questions about my wedding dress shopping. For most brides, it is one of the most highly anticipated events of the wedding planning. I am dreading it. Lily keeps telling me if I don’t make an appointment with Janet at Fairytales she’s going to do it for me. She knows I don’t want my mother to come, but she also knows my mother offered to pay for my dress. Lily admitted she knows its shitty mom guilt and to just take it. Jameson and I are already paying for so much of the wedding ourselves.

  My mind drifts back to high school prom season. In my junior year my mother let me tag along with her to the mall. I went into a dressing room at JC Penney’s to try on a few dresses. I was happily surprised that my friend Jonathan asked me to accompany him. I didn’t tell my parents, weary of their usual hurtful reactions.

  My mother hunted me down in the dressing room, shouting my name, completely embarrassing me. Within seconds of zipping up one of the dresses, I crack open the door, peek my head out so she can see where I am and stop yelling. She pushes the door open more, forcing herself in. With one hand still on the door handle, her body half in the room, she stood there, looking at me from head to toe, her brows furrowed and mouth agape.

  “What?” I question her.

  “Why are you trying on dresses?”

  “I was asked to the prom.” I admit.

  “It’s so blue… there’s so much blue. Take it off. You look like a whale, and don’t lie to me. You know no one seriously asked you to the prom.” She walks out closing the door behind her.

  I lean against the wall, close my eyes and shed a single tear. I couldn’t bring myself to put on another dress after that. I was so ruined by what my mother said I ended up cancelling my prom plans with Jonathan. I stayed home that night while the rest of my classmates celebrated at the prom.

  My senior year, while visiting with my grandmother for the Easter holiday my cousin Derek was talking about his prom plans. My grandmother turned to me and asked if I had found a dress yet. My mother chimed in with a hearty laugh and said, “No one is going to ask her. There’s no need for a dress.”

  I ran out of the room in tears.

  Shaking my head from those painful thoughts of my past, a wave of nausea comes over me with the thought of having my mother there while I try on wedding dresses. Right now, it all comes down to the money. I need to call Lily and fess up my dilemma. She’ll be able to think this situation through.

  Just as I had hoped, she did. Her first response was, “She has treated you badly since you were thirteen years old, Hillary. She is not your mother. She is just your birth person. Unfortunately, you need her to get the dress you deserve. You and I both know she’s only doing it so she can play the mother of the bride role. I got your back Hil’. I won’t let her do or say anything to ruin your first dress shopping experience.”

  I’ve tried on three wedding dresses so far at Fairytales and no luck. My birth person has been present but quiet. I’m not sure if Lily said anything to her while I first stepped into the bridal room, but if she did its working.

  “Okay, Hillary. Here is dress number four.” Janet the owner of Fairytales says as she comes back in to the room with a big smile on her face. Janet is a tiny Italian woman close to my birth person’s age. Carefully, stepping around me in her nude pumps and tight black leather pants she holds up the dress for me to look at.

  There’s not much to the dress and I think that’s why I find myself smiling while I stare at it. I’m not looking for fancy. I’m looking for just right.

  This dress is an off white satin ball gown that has a beautifully draped, strapless bodice, split-front overlay, adorned with ornate lace detail. “The A-line silhouette creates curves in all the right places,” Janet adds as she puffs out a breath to get her big, poofy Italian hair out of her face.

  As Janet helps me out of the main room to the platform with multiple mirrors I check out the reaction on Lily’s face. She’s smiling wide. My birth person next to her just has her head tilted to the side like she’s trying to figure out what she’s looking at. Whatever!

  I step up on the platform, my back to Janet, Lily and my birth person. I can feel my eyes start to well up with tears. I try to hold them back so no one sees. I’ve always related tears with weakness, watching my mother cry over everything and at every moment. I don’t want to be like her at all, so I have to reign in my emotions.

  I can see Lily’s face through the mirror I’m facing. She’s still smiling. I’m smiling. I see Janet out of the corner of my eye and she’s smiling. I turn around and Lily stands up.

  “You like it. I can tell. You didn
’t smile wearing any of the other dresses and you’re smiling now,” she says walking towards me.

  “I do like it,” I admit, still smiling. I turn to the mirror to get a side view. “Holy crap! My boobs look like torpedoes!”

  Janet barks out a laugh. “You don’t have the proper bra on right now, don’t worry. I’ll make sure your boobs look top notch.”

  My birth person is still sitting on the couch not saying a word.

  “What do you say, Theresa? She looks great.” Lily says, to the ‘oh-so-quiet-mother-of-the-bride.’

  “If this is what you want, I will pay for it,” she responds.

  Biting my tongue at her shitty attitude I turn to Janet and say, “this is the dress I want.”

  “You piece of shit!”

  June 3, 2003

  JAMESON IS UPSTAIRS SLEEPING and I’m in the kitchen cooking dinner ready to collapse on the floor from an exhausting workday and an over worked brain. The only thing keeping me going is the intoxicating aroma of the chicken stir-fry on the stove. The sizzling sound of the chicken and smell of the freshly cut peppers and onions puts a smile to my face. As soon as I notice the water has started boiling for the rice the phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Marcie. I quickly contemplate not answering, but since I’m not sure if Jameson remembered to shut the ringer off on the phone in our bedroom I immediately pick up, not wanting to wake him.

  “Hello.”

  “Hillary, its Ma Michaels. I wanted to talk to Jameson about his birthday plans,” she tells me.

  “Oh, well he’s sleeping but we were just talking about it yesterday, actually. He said he wasn’t doing anything, it’s on a workday, not a big number. He just wanted to sleep before work, have dinner with me and that was all,” I relay to her.

  “Well, I’m his mother and he deserves to see me on his birthday,” she barks at me.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me. He’s turning twenty-five years old. Can I tell her he couldn’t give two fucks if he saw her or not, or is that wrong? I would love to tell her.

  “Well you can take that up with him but for right now those are his plans but I’ll be sure to tell him you called, Marcie. I’m sorry to cut you short but I’m in the middle of cooking dinner, so I gotta go.”

  “Good enough,” she says and hangs up.

  I WAIT UNTIL JAMESON HAS BEEN up for a few minutes and had a cup of coffee before I tell him about the phone call from Marcie.

  I figure I better tell him about his mom calling before she calls again. Usually on the weekends she’ll call the house, and if we don’t answer she’ll call his cell phone. If he doesn’t answer she’ll start all over again, between twenty and thirty minutes and repeat until he answers or calls her back. It’s ridiculous!

  “So, your mom called while you were sleeping…” I start to tell him until he cuts me off.

  “Aw Christ,” he says in an exhausted tone. I can’t help but chuckle because that’s exactly how I felt when I saw her name on the caller ID.

  “She wanted to talk to you about your birthday. I told her what we talked about and she said that she’s your mom and you deserve to see her on your birthday.” I tell him all the while trying to not laugh hysterically.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I deserve to see her on my birthday? It’s in the middle of the week. I’m gonna be sleeping most of the day. I’m going to be twenty-five, not five—”

  “I know, I know, I know. I told her what we discussed and not that it’s a big surprise but she doesn’t fucking care, so just call her before the house phone starts ringing off the hook, please.”

  He lets out an exasperated sigh. I feel bad for him. He shouldn’t have to feel this frustrated when it comes to his birthday. “Alright, but not until I have another cup of coffee.”

  Twenty minutes later I’m cleaning up in the kitchen, and Jameson comes in and plants a kiss on my cheek, grabs the phone and tells me he’s going to call his mother back. I see him take a seat on the front steps and light up a cigarette. It’s a perfect almost fall New England night so I don’t blame him for wanting to enjoy the weather for a bit. I’ve had the windows open all day even while at work. Who doesn’t love fresh air?

  Leaning over the sink I can hear tidbits of Jameson’s conversation with his mom, and I can see where it’s headed. The same place he knew it was headed, Manipulation Island as he calls it, and Marcie is the tribe leader.

  “Ma, I don’t want to do anything. I just want to sleep, eat, spend time with Hillary, and go to work.”

  “Ma, it’s just another day.”

  “Ma, I’ll stop by over the weekend.”

  Shaking my head, laughing to myself listening to my future husband still having to fight for his independence as a grown adult.

  “When? Where? Down the road from us?” I hear Jameson say.

  Wait. What is happening? Please don’t let my biggest fear be coming true. Please God do not let her buy a house down the road from us.

  I’m trying to internally calm myself down. I only heard one side of the conversation. There is no sense in panicking until absolutely necessary. I control my breathing while I finish up the last few dishes and wait until Jameson comes back inside. I repeat to myself over and over ‘in through the nose, out through the mouth.’

  I hear the front door close, hear Jameson toss the phone on the dining room table, then let out a very long sigh. I silently say, “Oh Fuck,” to myself. I hear his footsteps coming closer towards me in the kitchen. He pushes my hair to one side, wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my neck. The out of the blue gesture gives me butterflies as if we were still newly dating.

  “That was a pretty big sigh. Conversation go that well?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, something like that. She’s looking at a house on Sunday a mile or two from us.”

  As soon as the words are out of his mouth the truth hits me full blast I drop the plate in my hand I was drying.

  “Shit!” I burst out with a combination of anger and frustration. Why? Why me? What did I do in a past life to deserve this torture?

  “Jesus! Don’t move, you’re barefoot. I’ll sweep it up.”

  “Please tell me this is a joke Jameson,” I beg.

  “I wish it was but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s just looking at it and asked me to go with her, and you too if you want to check it out,” he tells me. “And I told her as much as I love her I’m a grown ass man and don’t need to see my mommy on my birthday.”

  I love how well he knows me to see the panic from the house news he can quickly make me smile with his silly comments.

  “Oh, and she said a wedding gift from some out of state family delivered to her apartment today. She said you can stop by and pick it up during your lunch break if you want. She said she’ll leave it out on the table before she goes to work.”

  “Wedding gifts already? Wow!” He knows how to make me forget the bad and look forward to the good. So many reasons I love him.

  AT NOON SHARP I CLOCKED OUT for my hour lunch break to go to Marcie’s to get our surprise wedding gift. Not sure why it delivered to her apartment but I’m guessing it’s her family member who doesn’t know our new home address. I decided since I wasn’t far from work I would take advantage of the situation and watch TV and eat my lunch there. When Marcie doesn’t see me as Satan’s spawn she’s mentioned I am more than welcome to have lunch at her apartment even while she’s at work.

  As I let myself in and walk through the short hallway I drop my lunch bag on the dining room table next to a large box stamped with ‘Fed Ex’ all over it. I don’t recognize the name on the return address label. They’re from New Jersey. It must be someone from Jameson’s family I’ve never met. I decide to wait on opening it until tonight when Jameson is awake.

  I head in to the tiny kitchen to grab myself a glass and find something in Marcie’s refrigerator. She usually has a pitcher of Lipton iced tea made and I’m really in the mood for an ice-cold glass. As I hav
e my hand on the refrigerator handle pulling it open, something catches my eye. I push the door closed and stare.

  It’s an invitation to my “surprise” bridal shower. It’s in two weeks! Did she do this on purpose? Did she want to ruin my surprise?

  I stare at the invitation details. I now know when and where it is, and that my mother and Lily are throwing it. Now I wonder if I should tell them or not. I’ll never know if it was intentional. I’ve learned from past issues with Marcie she is the queen of denial. There is no sense is wasting my breath saying anything to her.

  “You’re a joke.”

  June 7, 2003

  I’VE BEEN LAUGHING TO MYSELF all morning over Jameson running around frantically making a big deal about leaving the house on time to go to my parents. For the time being I decided to keep it to myself about seeing the bridal shower invitation at Marcie’s. I’m enjoying this little moment of driving him crazy taking my sweet ass time putting on my makeup and changing my outfit multiple times.

  As soon as we pull out of the driveway I tell him I’m craving an iced latte from Dunkin Donuts and I want to stop. Late morning on a Sunday, it’s going to be a mad house there and he knows it. The low groan that escapes his mouth is proof but at the same time lets out a little secret because he is a coffee addict. He’s the one who always wants to get coffee so his little aggravated growl is not in his nature.

  I continue to mess with him for the first thirty minutes of the drive. Once we’re about a mile from the destination I’m not supposed to know about, I tell him.

  “So, how many people are going to be at my shower today?”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” He tries his hardest to play dumb.

  “The day your mom told me to come over on my lunch break to pick up that wedding gift; she had the invitation on her refrigerator. Kind of hard to miss.”

  “Jesus Christ! She did?”