The Marriage Pact

by Dinah McLeod

  “That’s bullshit!” she declared in her no-nonsense way. “Men are idiots, OK? They’re worse than idiots. They’re Neanderthals who evolved only through the grace of God and because they probably had wives to keep them from killing off the human race through their own stupidity.”

  “At least those women had husbands,” I grumbled, stabbing the predictable carton of triple chocolate fudge sundae ice cream.

  “He’s a cretin, Shana—they all are. Come on, this is not breaking news! And besides… I mean, I didn’t really want to go here, but seriously? If you wanted to be married, you’d be married by now.”

  “What? Are you kidding me, all the men I’ve dated have been awful!”

  “No, some of them were good guys; it’s just that none of them was the right man for you.”

  “Oh, come on! None of the guys I’ve dated have been husband material! I mean, I thought Sam was and you see where that got me.”

  “Did it occur to you that you don’t date men you think of as ‘husband material’ because you already know who you want to marry?”

  “Whose side are you on, here?”

  “Yours, of course, I want you to be happy. Which, by the way, in case you haven’t checked with you lately, you’re not. Maybe you should come back home, maybe then—”

  “What’s with this ‘all men are Neanderthals’ crap anyway?” I cut her off, the way I always did when she started talking about me coming home. “I doubt Seth will think very highly of his girlfriend talking like that.”

  “Please, he knows how I feel about these things,” she said, just as airily as she always would have, and yet, anytime his name was brought up, her voice changed. It was subtle, but there was no denying a sudden lightness to her voice. I’d known her for a long time and I’d never seen a relationship of hers last six months, yet, she and Seth were going on nine. They had even begun to talk about moving in together—a total taboo in our hometown, but since when did Becky care about things like that?

  “Thanks for everything.”

  “Anytime, you know, dork. But Shan…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Seriously, no implants. Like, if you even think about it, if you even think about thinking about it—”

  “You’ll hop on a plane to deliver a beat-down. I got it.” Somehow, I’d gone from nearly crying to smiling as I hung up the phone. Becky was magic that way and in large part, I supposed that was why we’d remained best friends all these years in spite of the distance.

  Still, it hadn’t taken too long for the grin to wear off and for me to start crying into Mr. Soft Paws. My pain was raw and fresh and it ran deep. The only thing I could think of to ease it even slightly was to recreate the little fantasy I called up whenever I had a horrible day and couldn’t take it anymore: I thought of Brody. I thought about us, in a quaint little starter home with a little girl drawing pictures at the kitchen table. I imagined growing azaleas by the mailbox and dreamt of erecting a white picket fence to house our three golden retrievers. Brody would come home every day from work, looking sharper than sharp in his suit, melting my heart with that wonderful smile of his that automatically made everything better.

  It was a fantasy that had popped into my head ever since we’d made the marriage pact and one that grew every time I turned to it for comfort. It was mostly PG… mostly. Sometimes, I took that suit off piece by piece, ripping his buttons off one at a time with my teeth. Once the clothes came off, I let my eyes rove over his perfectly tanned, muscular body until my breathing grew shallow.

  My little fantasy was a great coping mechanism and it had helped me get through rough times, particularly where Sam and his bimbo were concerned. And now, here I was, right back where it had all started: our little blue house on Pickett Street. It was so unchanged that I could almost forget the passage of time; in a way, it was a relief to find something that was exactly the same. I took a moment to breathe it all in. God, did even the air smell the same? It seemed like I could detect familiar scents of honeysuckle and fresh cut grass that I’d taken for granted every day of my childhood.

  “Hey, lady. Your bags?”

  I turned around, smiling apologetically at the cabbie who’d brought me all this way. “Sorry. Just reminiscing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you and everybody else. What’s the deal with Wednesdays? People get all nostalgic and crap.”

  “O-kay.” My smile was a bit more forced as I grabbed my suitcase and carryon from the car and paid him. “Thank—” As soon as he’d pocketed the cash, he took off, burning rubber. “You know he’s not from around here,” I muttered to myself, starting up the walkway.

  I hadn’t made it very far when the door swung open. My mom stood framed in the doorway, beaming at me, her face wreathed in a smile.

  “Mom.” I dropped my bags and hurried the rest of the way, into her waiting arms.

  “Oh, honey, oh, my sweet Shana Rae!” she exclaimed as she enfolded me into a hug. “It’s so good to have you home.”

  Right at that very moment, I couldn’t have agreed more.

  * * *

  I’d gotten Becky and Seth’s wedding invitation in the mail eight weeks earlier, though I’d known it was coming. She’d called me, squealing from the bathroom of the restaurant where he’d proposed, which she followed up by texting me photos of a very impressive rock.

  “It’s so untraditional, you know?” she’d gushed. “It’s like, he really gets me.”

  I was happy for her—for them—I really was. But I couldn’t say that it didn’t sting just a bit when I’d opened their gold embossed invitation. Becky deserved to be happy, I knew that, but… didn’t I deserve it, too? Just a little?

  She’d wasted no time in asking me to be her maid of honor, which I’d accepted without question, even knowing that she’d have at least half a dozen bridesmaids. It wasn’t until Mom called, once again panicking about noises on the roof that I’d assured her a hundred times didn’t exist, that I realized I’d be moving back home. Since Dad had passed almost two years ago, Mom’s health had been on a steep decline and I needed to be there for her. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything holding me back. The beauty of a degree in medicine was that I could practice it anywhere.

  Still, I had to admit it was a bit of a blow to my pride. What woman, as she’s moving out of the house, ever expects that one day she’ll have to move back in? Especially when that woman was thirty-four years old!

  But it just couldn’t be helped. My mom had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s with a bit of dementia on the side, for added flavor. My dad had cared for her by himself for almost three years before he’d died, leaving Jonas, the only child within driving distance, to take over.

  Jonas and I had initiated mandatory weekly chats the first year I moved away, doing our best to stay in touch. We both led very busy lives—me, the doctor and him, the lawyer, but we made sure nothing got in the way of those Saturday night phone calls. I could count on one hand how many we’d missed in the last fourteen years. I knew taking care of Mom had been wearing down on him. I could hear it when we talked about her—a topic that we both avoided for as long as possible, knowing it would be unpleasant. She was getting worse and his hours at work were becoming even more demanding. I hated the thought of my brother dealing with that all alone, but I’d been too far away to do anything about it.

  I’d gotten Becky’s wedding invitation on a Saturday afternoon and as we were on the phone that night, I’d picked it up to study it.

  “She’s not doing great,” Jonas sighed. “She couldn’t remember where the bathroom was this morning. She called me and I drove all the way from work because she was hysterical, insisting that someone had stolen her bathroom.”

  I couldn’t help myself—a little giggle escaped, hard as I tried to muffle it.

  “Oh, sure, laugh. It’s fine for you. You’re not the one taking time off from work because Mom keeps going in and out of the closet!”

  “I know, J. I’m sorr
y. It’s just… it’s a little funny.”

  “Maybe if you were the one dealing with it, you wouldn’t find it so amusing,” he replied tersely.

  Even over the phone, a thousand miles away, I could imagine him sitting with his brow furrowed and his mouth puckered, the way he always looked when he was annoyed. “I’m sorry I’m not there to help out more. I wish—”

  “No, Shana, forget it. I didn’t call to make you feel guilty. I just needed to vent.”

  “I know,” I replied softly. He always tried to reassure me and I knew he was doing his best. The truth was, I was beginning to wonder if all this might not be a bit out of his league. “Hey, why vent to me? What about that cute cocktail waitress I met at the Christmas party? Cindy?”

  “Wendy. And we’re not… she… we took a break.”

  “Ah,” I remarked neutrally. Jonas and I had an unspoken agreement: he didn’t criticize my love life and I didn’t question his.

  “Listen, I’ve got to run, but we’ll talk soon.”

  “Next week?”

  “It’s a date. Love ya, sis.”

  I’d made smooching noises through the phone, which I always did to annoy my little brother and he responded in the way he always did, by promptly hanging up. I hit the off button and plopped onto the loveseat with a sigh. Jonas always told me not to worry about it—it was his way of being a good, supportive brother—but I always did. With each new incident that he relayed, I could hear the strain growing, reaching out to me across six states, begging for the help he’d never let himself ask for.

  I knew that, even though we were both dancing around it, one day he’d bring up the dreaded n word, as in nursing home. It was inevitable. And even knowing that, I still couldn’t bear the thought. My mother didn’t belong in a place like that, especially when she had two successful, able-bodied kids.

  I’d looked down at the wedding invitation in my hand, tapping it thoughtfully as the cogs in my head whirled. The truth was, I’d never thought of Minnesota as home, even after all these years. It was too cold, too busy, too impersonal a state for me. My heart would always be in Georgia, it seemed. It wasn’t like I had anybody special holding me back… Which was why I’d decided to start submitting my resume to the hospitals near my hometown. I’d gotten a couple of nibbles right away, which had made it safe to turn in my resignation. I expected to feel a little sad, or panicky at the very least—I’d been working every single day since med school. But I felt nothing but relief, which only bolstered my decision that it was time for a change.

  In our last conversation before I’d bought my plane ticket, Jonas had said everything he could think of to try and talk me out of it. He’d insisted there was no need for me to come home, that he was fine on his own. He’d gone so far as to demand I go to the hospital and ask for my job back. I’d never known what a good lawyer he was until that moment, but the stubborn gene that made him a natural at his job ran in the family. I’d stayed firm until he’d given in—and was that a bit of relief I heard in his voice?—and I’d immediately started packing. It was strange how little I’d accumulated in all the time I’d lived in Minnesota.

  I’d scheduled a flight back home on a one-way ticket and now, here I was, sitting across the table from my mom, sipping coffee like nothing had ever changed. God, she looked so much better than I’d imagined. The phone conversations with Jonas had led me to believe that she was an old, frail woman, but to me, she looked much like she always had. Like the mother I’d always known and loved. Maybe she had a few more lines around her mouth, a bit more gray in her soft, coppery brown hair, but otherwise, she was the same. It warmed my heart to be sitting with her, looking into her familiar blue eyes and sunny smile.

  “How’s the coffee, dear?”

  “It’s great, Mom. Thanks. You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “Coffee’s no trouble, dear, no trouble at all. The day I can’t make coffee is the day I’ve really lost it.”

  My mouth dropped open a bit before I had the presence of mind to close it. I couldn’t believe she’d so casually mentioned her debilitating illness, in a light, easy tone, accompanied by a chuckle. Suddenly, I realized I was staring and I looked away. “Well, there’s always that, I guess.”

  “Oh, don’t look so morose, Shana!” she teased. “We all get old eventually. Why, your father always used to say, you’re either old, or you’re…” She trailed off, her eyes clouding with the memory.

  Or you’re dead, I finished silently, closing my eyes and sending up a quick prayer for Dad. I thought of him often and missed him terribly. But no one could miss him as much as my mother did—he had been the love of her life, and that was something you didn’t just get over.

  “How do you take your coffee, Shana?”

  I blinked in surprise. She’d already fixed me a cup, the very one that I was holding. “I—”

  “Cream and sugar, right? Now, where’s that sugar bowl?” She stood up and began to pace the kitchen, looking through cabinet after cabinet, opening every drawer as I watched. My mouth had dropped open and I watched in a state of shock, unable to stop her, unable to tell her that the sugar bowl had been sitting only two inches in front of her.

  * * *

  Even as I was driving to meet up with Becky’s bridal party for the first time, I still couldn’t get Mom out of my thoughts. Her frantic search had escalated to the point of screaming hysteria, which only worsened when I pointed out where the sugar bowl was sitting. By that point, it didn’t seem like she could even remember what she’d been looking for—all she knew was that she’d forgotten something and it seemed to terrify her. I couldn’t get her wide-eyed, crazed look of hysteria out of my mind, hard as I tried. Now I knew exactly what Jonas had meant; it changed her face completely.

  “Hey!” A chorus of loud squeals greeted me when I entered the bridal boutique.

  “Hi.” I waved warily, eyes searching for Becky. Her bridal party had staged chairs in a circle in front of two large full-length mirrors and Becky had planted herself right in the middle.

  She leapt to her feet the instant our eyes met, beaming as she raced toward me. “You’re home!” she squealed, grabbing me in a hug and twirling me around. “Shana,” she leaned forward to whisper in my ear excitedly, “I’m getting married!”

  I grinned at her wild enthusiasm, something I’d never thought to see from the most cynical, anti-romantic I knew. “I know!” I squeezed her hand.

  “Thank you for coming. I—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I scoffed. “Like you could get married without me. Who else is going to be able to hold it together when you get cold feet?” My smile dimmed a bit as I felt the eyes of her bridal party observing us with rapt attention. I leaned forward, miming kissing her cheek as I whispered, “So, who’s the entourage?”

  “Oh, God,” she groaned back. “My mother made me ask everyone, even crazy Cindy Lou. Jesus, this is going to be a nightmare. I told her I just wanted you, but she’s paying and I have to do what she wants. I thought I was a grown woman, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Shh!” I admonished with a giggle. “Keep it down!”

  “Oh, like I care?” she fired back, but she lowered her voice just the same. We turned back toward the wedding party and walked toward the other girls, arm in arm.

  “Sit with me,” she begged.

  I noticed Cousin Emily looked affronted and quickly guessed that she’d hoped for the coveted maid of honor title.

  “OK, girls!” Becky clapped her hands and every eye turned to her. Being engaged suited her; standing there, she looked like a queen about to address her subjects, confident and radiant all at once. “It’s time for you to hit the racks! Remember, the color is pastel green.”

  “Becky, did you think about—”

  “No, Patrice,” she snapped, cutting her eyes at the youngest cousin. “I am not changing my color to something that you feel would better suit your coloring. Get your own engagement ring and then you can call th
e shots.” That pronouncement, along with the steely-eyed glare she turned on her bridesmaids, quickly shut down any further debate and everyone scrambled to their feet.

  I watched in awe at the mad scramble to hit the racks—I wasn’t sure they were so much interested in finding a dress as getting away from Becky’s bad mood. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d morphed into a bridezilla,” I teased fondly. “But I know getting married has only enhanced your naturally loving personality.”

  “Bite me.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle; we fought like sisters and loved each other like the best of friends. “Remind me why you’re picking dresses now when your wedding is in three weeks?”

  “Mom insisted everyone had to be here to offer input.” She screwed up her face, making me laugh. “Do you seriously think she let her bridesmaids pick their dresses when she married my dad?”

  “Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

  “Exactly. Well, six of the seamstresses she works with volunteered to put in overtime to get the dresses done.”

  “You mean she volunteered them.”

  “Most likely, knowing Mom. She’s a steamroller.”

  I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t offer any comment on the apple not falling far from the tree.

  “And anyway, she’s right, it will look better than anything we could get off the rack.”

  “So you’re going to do what? Buy one?”

  “Unnecessary,” she said, holding up her iPhone 5 with a grin.

  “Got it. Well, I guess I should—” I was turning to go when Becky grabbed my arm.

  “Uh-uh. You stay with me.”

  “What? Don’t I need to find a—”

  “No, you do not.”

  “Oh, really? Why is that?”

  “Why do you think, doof? Because I, the best of friends who has ever lived, have already picked one for you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yes. You are the friend others aspire to be.”