Don't Kiss the Bride

“She doesn’t even cook!” she yells, kicking the box with her sneakered foot. “I told you she wouldn’t care, Jude. Look at her.”

I am looking at her, and I’m getting more pissed off by the second at Nicole’s detached indifference. She’s just sitting there, flipping through a magazine, oblivious to her daughter’s emotions. I can’t tell if she’s a bitch, or if there’s something mentally wrong with her. Or both, which is a twisted mix.

Resting my forearms on my knees, I stare at Nicole, hoping she’ll make eye contact with me, but she doesn’t. “I just wanted you to know there’s nothing going on between us. We’re just friends. I want to help her, that’s all. She’ll have a safe place to live, and she’ll see a doctor.”

She makes a tsk noise with her tongue. “No man on the planet just wants to help a pretty young girl,” she drawls. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Stop it, Mom,” Skylar seethes, shaking her head. “He’s not like that.”

Nicole tosses the magazine onto the floor. “I don’t care what you do. This is my house and you better not take any of my things when you leave.”

Skylar rolls her eyes, and I regret suggesting this meeting and putting her through this. “Jesus Christ, I don’t want any of your shit. I’m trying to get away from it.”

“And I’m not paying for a wedding,” Nicole adds flippantly.

“There’s not going to be a wedding,” I assure her.

“Good. Don’t expect me to come. It won’t last a year.”

I don’t bother wasting my breath trying to explain that’s the whole point—it’s not meant to last.

“Can we please go?” Skylar asks, her eyes pleading. “The smell is making me sick.”

“What smell?” Nicole asks, twitching her nose up into the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

I guess being nose blind really is a true phenomenon. How the hell can she not smell the putrid air in this house she’s living in? I’ve only been in here for ten minutes and I’m tempted to snort bleach.

Standing, I clear my throat. “Nice meeting you,” I say as politely as I can. There’s so much I want to say to this woman about how she’s treating her daughter, but that’ll only turn this meeting ugly, and I don’t want to add to Skylar’s stress. “I promise your daughter will be okay.” Whether you give a shit or not. “If you need help cleaning this place out, I’m a contractor. Me and my crew could bring a dumpster over, help you get things cleaned up.”

She glares at me with a sudden rage. “Why would I do that? I don’t want to throw my things away.”

“Okay,” I answer. “You let us know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” she hisses. “You can take her, but don’t you even think about trying to take anything else.”

The way she just basically gave her daughter away without a second thought makes me snap, and I can’t hold back anymore. “Well, shit,” I say. “I was just thinking about taking that fucking giraffe home to stick in my sunroom.”

Nicole glares at me with a fiery wrath in her eyes. “Get out,” she hisses.

Skylar grabs my wrist. “Let’s go, Jude. Please.”

We gulp fresh air when we get outside the house, attempting to clear our lungs from the sour stench. I wonder if that bitch is hiding the dead body of her husband in there. Maybe he didn’t leave like Skylar thinks.

I smoke a cigarette while Skylar sits on the front steps, staring off at the sun setting behind the trees.

“I told you,” she finally says, her voice resigned. “She doesn’t give a flying fuck about me.”

I put my foot up on the step next to her and lean down into her line of vision. “I don’t really think that’s it,” I say. “I think she’s messed up in the head.”

“Ya think?” she says sarcastically.

“I’m serious. I think she does care. She’s just too messed up to show it or process it.” I hate defending that sorry excuse for a mother, but I have to say something to make Skylar feel better about the way she’s been treated.

“I don’t even care anymore, Jude. My father tried with her; he really did. She stopped taking her meds, stopped going to the doctor. I tried after he left, too. It’s just…” She shrugs helplessly. “It’s just impossible. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“You’re right.”

She tilts her head up and stares into my eyes with determination. “I want your help. I wish I didn’t, but you see what I’m living with.”

I exhale smoke through my nose and nod. She doesn’t need me to say anything.

“I want to leave tonight,” she says softly. Almost a whisper. “Can we do that? Can I move in with you tonight?”

Surprise speeds up my pulse. I wasn’t planning on her moving in for a few weeks. I thought we’d both have more time to let it all sink in. They say you shouldn’t make spur-of-the-moment decisions, ’cause that usually leads to a mess.