"Megan, we need to talk," my mother insisted.
I managed a groan and let my head hit the table. It
seemed too much effort to hold it up, especially if we were
going to rehash the events of yesterday. I supposed I could
have said I minded, but when my mother has something on her
mind, five phone messages are only the beginning.
The phone woke me the morning after my cousin Brenda's
wedding. I ignored the first five messages from my mother
and a pointedly shrill message from my aunt, but when the
phone rang yet again, I grabbed it just so my head wouldn't
explode.
I managed to mumble something like "Hi, Mom," while I
tried to decide if it was better or worse to not remember
the evening. I had a pretty good idea what happened because
Mom left that graphic series of messages on my answering
machine. She started out with motherly concern, wanting to
know if I felt quite all right, but then asked if I'd meant
to yell at the band, kiss the groom's father, argue with the
caterers, and push Aunt Julia into the hors d'oeuvres while
trying to catch the bouquet before being evicted from the
wedding by Aunt Brenda. Not the Brenda who got married, not
even the mother of the Brenda who got married, but actually
the sister of Julia who landed in the hors d'oeuvres.
I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. Apparently
I'd actually gotten drunk enough to bust up a wedding, not
remember it, and still be standing the next morning–sort of.
It wasn't possible; it just wasn't physically possible.
Aunt Julia's message was more direct. She felt I owed
her for the catering bill, the musicians' bill, the
florist's bill, and an emergency room bill. Apparently I
caught the bouquet and then destroyed it. Oh, and she was
never speaking to me again. Aunt Julia, mother of
Brenda–the–bride, was appalled, outraged, livid,
and a few other adjectives she couldn't bring herself to say
and then did.
I wasn't tracking very well. Champagne chasers will do
that to you. So when my mother called again, all I could
think to ask her was why my aunts weren't more creative with
names.
"I'm sorry, dear," my mother said. "What was that
again?" My mother looks like she sounds, dainty and sweet,
like she's ready to serve tea at a moment's notice. She's
not dumb though, just deceptively childlike in a Miss Marple
kind of way.
"Why did Aunt Brenda and Aunt Julia name their daughters
after each other? It's confusing. Nobody could think of
other names? Katie, Katherine, Jennifer, Brittney?" I would
have gone on grousing, but my head hurt, and the aspirin
didn't seem to be kicking in.
"Well, you're named after me, dear." Mom soothed as if
talking to a small child, but at that moment, I didn't mind.
I was too tired and aching. "We're both Megan O'Malley."
"Well, that makes sense," I mumbled, trying to get some
coffee down. "You're my mother. We're supposed to have
something in common."
"Dear, do you mind talking about the wedding for just a
minute? We really need to discuss this."
I wasn't convinced we needed to discuss anything, but
since my memory was still cloudy, I was left scrambling for
a reason why not. It would have been easier without the
pounding headache or blurry vision. My stomach churned, and
there was an acid taste in my mouth.
As if she could hear me protest, my mother started
again. "I'm just concerned, dear. You don't seem yourself."
I pushed my head up off the kitchen table. "That was me,
Mom. I go out and party all the time. I'm a fun gal. I like
a good time."
"Yes, dear, but not like that. You usually enjoy a
party, not destroy it. Julia's been on my phone all morning,
complaining about your tearing up the decorations and the
food and I don't know what all. She says you deliberately
pushed her to catch the bouquet?" My mother's voice rose to
a quizzical note.
"Hang on," I protested. "I didn't try to catch the
bouquet." I sat up straighter, if not exactly vertical, as a
memory drifted up out of the morass of my mind.
"I didn't push Aunt Julia. Aunt Julia grabbed my elbow
and tried to march me out of the room like I was five!" The
anger I'd felt surged through me again. Aunt Julia had
smirked in pseudo–sympathy as she pinched the fleshy
part of my arm and told her friends that I needed a breath
of fresh air. "If anything, she fell when the damn thing
came flying. I know I ducked!"
"Well, that makes more sense." My mother sounded
relieved. "I thought you were having fun with your friends.
I didn't think you cared about the wedding."
"I don't. I mean, I didn't. It was Brenda's wedding, not
mine. Why would I care? I was just . . ." I stopped, wincing
as I remembered a furious look on a handsome face. Oh God, I
remembered the wedding now. I remembered sitting surrounded
by the women I worked with, all of us laughing and carrying
on, until I pinched the bandleader's ass.