Page 47 of Selfish Desires

“I sure did. And she’s never sounded happier. Come on, are we really surprised? You know she’s always liked you more than her own son.” I gestured up and down my body. I wasn’t lying, either. Half the time, I swore my mom always wished I was a girl, but instead, she settled for a bratty son.

“Well then,” she began hesitantly, “I guess I should start preparing for Marjorie then.”

“You’re going to be just fine. After all, she’s already on your side.”

“I love this. I absolutely love this!” Marjorie, the mother of all mothers, in her oversized silver-rimmed sunglasses she refused to remove and draped in cream cashmere from head to toe, gushed while staring at Wendy’s love bangle I locked around her wrist two weeks ago. She ran her thumb along the bracelet’s surface, burgundy fingernails juxtaposing against the gold. “Vincent has always had a penchant for jewelry.” Marjorie paused. “Definitely not like his father,” she added, licking the sticky red lipstick off her lips.

“I’m very happy with it,” Wendy replied, wrapping her fingers around the bracelet.

“Mom, let’s not talk about Dad. It’s rude.” I hated it when Mom did this…hated it.

“Oh, stop.” Marjorie waved a dismissive hand. “Vincent only lets me talk about his father in a positive light. God rest his soul.”

“It’s rude to talk about him when he’s not here anymore.” Shit, sometimes I really missed my dad.

“Growing up, I could never compete with Vincent’s father,” Marjorie said to Wendy, like I wasn’t even at the table as I stuffed my face with a buttery lobster roll. “Forget about it. If his father was in the room, I didn’t exist.”

“Mom, that’s not true.” I rolled my eyes and dabbed at the corner of my mouth with the white paper napkin.

“Aw, you were a daddy’s boy?” Wendy teased, winking at me.

“I loved my father. He was a great man.” I turned to Mom. “And he was okay to you also.” That was the understatement of the century. My father was an amazing man to anyone important in his life. He treated my mother like the rarest of diamonds and me like a prince. If he only knew what I had done and who I had become, I often wondered what he would have thought of me.

“Fine, you’re right. Your father worshiped the ground I walked on.” Marjorie swatted me on the arm. “Hopefully, you’re treating Wendy the same.”

I choked down the last bite of my food. The bun was buttery and soft but stuck in my throat like cotton. “I...yes, of course.” I managed to cough out the words, reaching for my glass of sparkling water. As I took a long sip, I met Wendy's eyes, soft and understanding. There was a look in there that was more than just affection. It was patience, faith even.

“Well, I'm not sure about worshiping,” Wendy replied lightly, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “But he does take good care of me.”

“Ah!” Marjorie trilled, clapping her hands together like a giddy schoolgirl. “That's what matters.” She speared a loose red pepper and white chunk of juicy lobster on the plate, popping it into her mouth. “So, do you plan on getting married in Newport?”

“What?” Wendy and I asked.

“I have to tell you,” Marjorie added, not missing a beat. “When Vincent moved to Florida during your break, let’s call it? I didn’t visit him once.”

Wendy glanced at me for confirmation.

“It’s true.” I clasped my hands and shrugged.

“I hate the humidity. It doesn’t agree with my skin. My hair.” Mom fluffed her hairspray-stricken chocolate brown mane. “There was nothing for me there.”

“I was there, Mom.” I jutted my neck forward.

“Yeah, but I was really angry with you at the time. You just took off and left,” Marjorie said while gesturing toward Wendy, who shifted in her seat.

“Mom, can we not do this now?” I interjected, pushing down the bile in my throat.

“What? It’s the truth.” Marjorie shrugged. “You abandoned us and went off to... wherever you went.”

“We've been through this, Mom.” I sighed, glancing at Wendy for reassurance.

“Yeah, Marjorie,” Wendy said, offering a small smile. “Let’s not revisit the past.”

Marjorie lifted her glass of white wine and twirled it, the liquid sloshing around gracefully before taking a slow sip. The silence was palpable as she set her glass back on the table. “Fine!” Marjorie finally broke the tension, throwing up her hands dramatically. “I see how it is.” She reached out to pat my hand resting on the table. “But remember, no one loves you more than your mother.”

Wendy and I both laughed, exchanging knowing glances that Marjorie might be the ultimate piece of work, but she was my mother.

“You really are crazy,” I said to Mom.