Bursting at the Seams

“Mom,” Caroline interrupts, “I requested to sit outside. It’s a really nice day.”

Paula stares at the youngest Foster in disbelief before she clicks her tongue and sits down. “Well, I don’t know why you would elect to eat somewhere with bugs and no climate control. Do you not understand why humans invited houses to begin with? To get away from the bugs and the elements. I mean really.”

Caroline deflates a little, but I pat her leg under the table to reassure her. It really is a wonderful day outside, one of the first warm days of the year with just enough clouds in the sky to keep it from getting too bright. It just so happens that nothing can please Paula but her own way—and that is a forever elusive goal post.

The waiter goes around the table and gets our drink orders; I get a blackberry margarita. When my sisters all agree to order appetizers like French fries, southwest eggrolls, and chips and queso, our mother scoffs under her breath. She manages to hold in her opinion until the platters are sat on the tabletop.

“I have to say, girls, I’m surprised you’re all so brazen about your food choices. I mean, considering we’re so close to the wedding,” she remarks in a tone that is meant to make you believe she’s on your side, but I know better. And by the way Adaline and Caroline falter as their hands were mid motion to grab some of the fried goodness, I can tell that they did too.

Just as I start to open my mouth to sound off my disapproval, Macey snorts loudly. “One meal isn’t going to change the way a dress fits eight weeks from now.” She proceeds to scoop as much cheese onto a single tortilla chip as humanly possible before forcing it into her mouth in one go. While facing our mother. It crunches loudly, almost like broken glass, as she bites down to be able to close her mouth.

The look of pride on her face and the sheer disgust making up our mother’s face compete for being the thing that makes me laugh louder, along with our other sisters. Pride of my own swells in my chest, so happy to see one of them stand up to Paula for a change. Macey had never been as sensitive as the other two, but more times than not, she had a hunger in her eyes when she looked to my mother. A hunger for approval and praise, that she very well may never get.

“Yes, well… I suppose that’s true. Just mind your manners,” Paula sighs and sips her water. And for a while, the conversation manages to lighten up. Caroline goes over the appointment detail by detail, and how she so wishes they all could have been there. As she shows off pictures to the others, I signal to the waiter to bring me another margarita. It’s sweet, rich, and has a perfect balance of sour; I could happily drink my body weight in them. However, as my vision turns back to the others, I see my mother’s all-too-familiar glare locked onto me.

“What?” I ask, though I know I shouldn’t. I should just let it go and ignore her.

She runs her tongue along her teeth before shooting me a sinister grin. “Nothing, Wren. It’s nothing at all. I mean— more like I understand.”

“Understand what?”

Caroline sighs next to me. We all know what’s about to happen. Paula’s standards might be as fickle as the weather, but she somehow managed to have a very predictable pattern of behavior. “It’s okay to be upset about Caroline getting married. We all know that you’re happy for her… It’s not like it’s her you’re upset with, but yourself. It’s why you’re drinking the pain away, isn’t it?”

“Drinking the pain away? Is that what you really think I’m doing?” I remark. When she nods, trying to act bashful, I try my very best to swallow my rage. This day is supposed to be about Caroline, not me. “Don’t worry, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m quite content and in no rush. Just relaxing and celebrating.”

“Yeah, mom—” Caroline starts to assert.

She’s cut off by a horrible, sarcastic chuckle from our mom. “Oh, honey. You can be honest here, you’re with family! I mean really, I don’t know why you think such thinly veiled lies will convince anyone. Sure, you can play hardworking feminist, but it won’t fulfill you. A woman’s contentment is found in the home. With husband and children.”

“Every woman at this table works,” I remind her. “Including yourself.”

“Yes, dear,” she sighs and gives me that sort of smile that reeks of pity. The same smile she gives often and I always want to smack off of her face. “However, none of us are in such demanding fields that we can’t care for our families.”