Page 3 of The Housemaid's Wedding
Do you know what it feels like for your parents to call you a poisoned apple? It doesn’t feel great. Yet, no matter how much they pushed me away, I still craved their support. I loved them, and more than anything, I wanted them to see I had changed from the girl I used to be.
I had been worried I’d never see them again. And I was sad that since Enzo’s entire family is either deceased or back in Sicily, he would have no family members at our wedding. I told this to Enzo one night, not long after his proposal. He was the one who convinced me to call them to let them know about the wedding and the baby.
My mother did not sound excited when she realized I was on the other end of the line. At first, I thought she might hang up on me. But then when I told her I was trying to get my degree in social work, she thawed considerably. She wasn’t thrilled to hear I was pregnant out of wedlock, but she was glad to know that I’d soon be marrying the father of the baby. And when I extended a wedding invitation, she told me she would be there. My parents will be our only guests at our wedding—the only witnesses to our holy matrimony.
I’m so nervous about seeing them again after all this time. I’m scared I’ll say the wrong words and screw things up all over again. But I’m also excited. I love my parents, and I always hoped that they would forgive me for my sins of the past, especially since I honestly don’t think they were such grievous sins.
And no, this isn’t exactly how I dreamed my wedding would be when I was a little girl, but I want it to be as perfect as it possibly can be. We’ve already started the day with a death threat, so we have a lot of ground to make up.
I roll out of bed, tugging on my oversized T-shirt, which is feeling decidedly less oversized lately. Before hitting the bathroom, I walk over to the window to discover snowflakes have started to fall from the sky. It’s only the beginning of December, and the weather forecast didn’t predict snow, but it’s coming down fast enough to stick to the ground.
Is snow on your wedding day good luck? Or is only rain? Or is rain justironic?
Enzo yawns, still in the bed. “Hey,” he says, “how about Felicity?”
“Felicity?” I repeat.
“What is wrong with Felicity?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just not my favorite name in the whole world.”
“Okay, then you tell me, whatisyour favorite name in the whole world?”
Ever since we found out at our last OB/GYN appointment that we’re having a baby girl, we have at least three conversations every day about baby names. Or more accurately, we have at least three conversations every day where one of us suggests a baby name and the other explains why it sucks. Presumably, we will manage to agree on something in the next four months, or else our baby girl will go through life nameless.
“Let’s put a pin in the baby name discussion for now,” I say. “I need to take a shower.”
“But I like Felicity.”
“Yeah, well,Iliked Nadine.”
Enzo makes a face. “Okay. We put the pin in for now.”
I’m about to head into the bathroom to shower when my phone starts ringing again. Enzo glances at it and starts to pick it up for me, but I make a mad dash across the room to snatch it up before he can.
When I get a look at the screen, I’m glad I didn’t let Enzo answer the call. The 718 number flashing is unfamiliar, and I’m almost positive it’s the same number that woke me up this morning. I send the call to voicemail. I’m not in the mood for another death threat.
“Spam again,” I say.
He nods sympathetically but doesn’t ask any questions. And he has a right to ask questions, especially when I take the phone with me into the bathroom for my shower, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s a weird thing to do, but I can’t risk him picking up and hearing that voice telling me he’s going to cut my throat. Enzo will lose hismindif he hears that—he will not just shrug it off and go about his day.
I’ll tell him all about it—tomorrow.
I take a quick shower, noticing that my belly has popped out a lot more in the last week. A month ago, you couldn’t tell I was pregnant at all, even without any clothes on. At worst, it looked like I had a food baby. But it’s becoming increasingly obvious that something is growing inside me.
My baby.
Little Nadine.
Or not. But definitely not Felicity.
After I finish my shower, I leave the bathroom, wrapped in a skimpy towel. Enzo is still in bed, scrolling on his phone as I make my way to the closet, where my wedding dress is hung up inside.
As we are not having a traditional wedding, I do not have a traditional wedding dress. First of all, it’s not white. Ihatethat color, and not only that, it seems wildly inappropriate given my… situation. So a few weeks ago, I went to Macy’s and purchased an A-line silhouette powder-blue dress with lace sleeves. It was marked down from nearly three hundred dollars to just over one hundred, which was barely in our budget, but I bought it anyway, because, for God’s sake, it’s our wedding. Plus, the dress can serve as both my “something new” and my “something blue.”
It also has a scoop neck, which will be perfect to show off my “something old,” which will be a gold locket necklace that my mother is bringing me. The necklace is an heirloom passed down from her mother, and her mother before her. Honestly, I never thought she would ever pass that necklace on to me. And it means much more that I’ll be receiving it on my wedding day.
“You’re not supposed to see me in this dress.” I cast a worried look at Enzo. “It’s bad luck.”
