Page 78 of The Pucker and the Princess
I manage to mostly avoid engaging with anyone for quite a while, and I start feeling a little cocky about that, pulling out my phone to see if there’s anything more from Dozer to explain his, “See you soon,” comment. But no. Nothing.
When I look up from my phone, I feel like a deer in the headlights when I spot Peter’s parents, Tony and Martha, headed directly for me.
Martha looks like the quintessential Dallas housewife of my mom’s generation—hair dyed and styled within an inch of its life, sparkly gown, and from the way her forehead doesn’t move, a fair amount of Botox. She gives me a wide, toothy smile,reaching for my arm and hanging on like she wants to sink her talons into me. I always liked Peter’s parents, and despite her having a difficult time with my refusal to reconsider our breakup, Martha’s always been lovely to me. But right now, I feel like a mouse about to get scooped up by a bird of prey.
Tony, Peter’s dad, trails behind her, the buttons on his shirt straining across his middle. I’m guessing he’s wearing the same suit that’s been at the back of his closet for years, possibly decades, in denial about the fact that it doesn’t fit all that well anymore, or unwilling to buy a new one given that they’re expensive and he wears them so infrequently. Mom’s had the same argument with Dad too many times to count, and they finally compromised on her buying him a new sport coat when he needs one but forgoing a full suit.
“Marissa!” Martha practically shouts. “It’ssogood to see you. It’s been ages! How are you? I’m so happy you could make it.” She folds me into a hug, and I can practically taste her perfume.
Some part of me appreciates the familiarity, but the rest of me feels overwhelmed and out of sorts by her flood of attention. I force a smile and say brightly, “Hi, Martha! Tony. I’m really good. It’s great to see you too. How have y’all been?”
“Oh, wonderful! Just amazing. We’re just so happy that Peter finally found someone”—she has the grace to look a little pained as soon as the words leave her mouth—“I mean, you know we love you still, and I had my heart set on the two of you ending up together and throwing a party like this. But fate had different plans. And we’re just so happy now.” She beams at me, and I nod, hoping that’s enough to appease her.
After a slightly awkward beat, I clear my throat. “Yes, well, that’s wonderful. I’m happy to hear Peter’s doing so well.” Good forme. I managed to get those words out without choking on them or being struck by lighting for lying. Good thing we’re not in a church, I guess.
“And how are you, sweetheart?” she probes, patting my arm. “Did I hear you’d moved away?”
I nod. “I did. I moved to Seattle, Washington. I got promoted to the head of the northwest division for Garrison Automotive Distributing.”
Martha’s eyes widen almost comically. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing. Good for you.”
“I always knew you’d end up doing something great once you left your dad’s shop,” Tony puts in, surprising me. Surprising Martha, too, from the look she turns on him. But he ignores his wife and nods to punctuate what he just said. “That place was holding you back. I’m glad you found a company that appreciates you.”
“Thank you, Tony,” I manage to say, feeling a little choked up. My smile turns far more sincere than it’s been since we arrived. “I really appreciate that.”
“Yes, well,” Martha adds, her voice turning concerned though her brows don’t move at all, “have you found anyone? I know you were dating Misty and Baron’s son Charles for a while, but since you’re off in Timbuktu now, obviously you must’ve broken up. I can’t imagine him wanting a girlfriend that far away. How would you settle down and have kids with half the country between you?”
I shift on my feet, uncomfortable with the sudden turn this has taken. “Well, Charles and I only went out a few times?—”
“Oh, I know, I know, sweetie. But are you seeing anyone now? What will you do when things get serious? Are you going to move back here before you have kids so your parents can help out?” She clasps her hands next to her cheek. “Oh, I’m so looking forward to being a grandmother. I met your brother’s little boy a few minutes ago, and he’s just darling. But they live so far away, too. I know your parents must just be dying at how infrequently they get to see their only grandbaby. You’ll definitely have to come back to Dallas when you’re ready to have kids.”
My mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but Martha just keeps talking, making it clear that my contribution to this conversation isn’t entirely necessary.
She’s always been a little bit like this, but I guess the combination of the excitement for her son finally getting engaged—and apparently the impending grandbabies she’s expecting—plus the open bar have made her more verbose than normal.
“Have you seen Peter yet?” she asks, “And met his fiancée?” She finally pauses to let me answer.
“Oh, I saw them earlier, but they were surrounded by so many people that?—”
Her hand closes on my arm once more, and she starts towing me toward the corner where Peter and his fiancée are holding court. “Oh, I’m sure he’d love to see you. And youhaveto meet Anna. She’s lovely. I’m sure you two will be friends immediately.”
“Oh, uh, well …” But it’s too late. She’s already dragging me over to the cluster of people around them. The only way to get out of it would be to make a scene, and I’m not willing to do that. I couldn’t handle the personal embarrassment, not to mention theamount of grief I’d get from my parents if I did. Not even Gabby and Jonathan’s well thought out and rehearsed signals can save me now.
So I plaster on a smile and plan to make the best of it. Martha practically pushes me in front of her, standing off to my right. “Peter!” she shouts. “Look who made it!”
He turns, and his eyes widen at the sight of me. Then his face settles into a look that can only be described as supercilious. Though he’d be mad if he heard me call him that, and not just because he’d object to the idea that he sees himself as better than anyone—that conflicts with his self-conception as this working-class everyman because he’s a mechanic—but because he wouldn’t know what it means. He always got mad when I’d use words he didn’t understand. His answer was to belittle me for having a large vocabulary instead of expanding his own.
“Hey, Marissa.” He gives me a half-smile and reaches for the woman next to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. This is my fiancée, Anna.”
I decide to ignore both the fact that my mother apparently didn’t bother to include my name in the RSVP that I’m a hundred percent certain she sent in and the emphasis he puts onfiancée, like he’s trying to rub my nose in that. Instead, I offer a hand to Anna and give her a bright smile. “Hello! So nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement!”
See? I can be the bigger person. I’dloveto throw a meaningful glance at Peter, but I’m pretty sure that would undercut my point.
“Oh, thank you so much!” Anna says, taking my hand and shaking it limply. She glances between me, Martha, and Peter. “Thanks so much for coming. I take it you know the family?”
I have to choke back a laugh when Martha jumps in with, “Oh, yes! Marissa’s an old family friend.”
I’m not sure what exactly my face shows, but I know I have to get out of this conversation if I’m not going to burst out laughing.An old family friend??Is that what we’re calling it now?
