In a Moon Smile (4 page)

Chesney’s attention immediately shifted as her mom appeared. Madelyn Blake seemed to stroll, not walk. Or maybe it was more like floating, with her chin lifted just enough to give her the air of a princess. Actually Chesney found herself gawking at her mother’s perfect posture as she perched on the far left corner of the leather sofa. The way her mother crossed her ankles instead of her legs. The way she cocked her head to the side, like she was posing for an invisible photographer. All of it was breathtaking to Chesney.

Madelyn wore a powder blue blouse and black slacks. Still confident, girlishly slim and quietly in control as always, she continues to be the queen of the local ladies tennis league. She is invited each new season to model holiday wear for specialty shops. She wears her beauty like a silent trophy. Never admitting that she knows about it, but always willing to go to great lengths to preserve it.

Madelyn smiled warmly and Chesney’s heart melted.

“How are you, darling? It’s wonderful to see you. Would you like some wine?”

Why do you do this? Your favorite daughter Charlotte is the one who guzzles wine with you. I’m not nor have I ever been a wine drinker, unless, of course, I’m grieving a failed relationship.

Instead of nicely declining, Chesney wrinkled her nose like a child then immediately cursed herself for not trying harder to seem more womanly and mature.

I wonder when I last saw my mother with a naked face, clean of foundation, rouge, mascara and that subtle, coral color dotted on her lips. It was probably 1997, when the whole family had that nasty flu.

Madelyn’s soft blonde hair was bundled into an old-fashioned French twist which, for some reason, did not at all make her look stuck in a past decade. Instead, a beautiful, breathtaking grace made her lovely; a significant femininity, a confidence in herself that still turned heads. Madelyn’s closet was a breeding ground for all colors of flat, slip-on shoes. Because she stands just shy of six feet tall, Madelyn Blake wears flats to offset her height. Chesney spent her little girl years disappointed by the fact that her mother didn’t own a single pair of high heels. Playing dress-up wasn’t possible with all those flat shoes or the boring, taupe tunics. There was nothing in the closet worth draping or strutting around in. It was filled with simple, tailored earth tone
s
eparates. Not a single boa to be found. Not one single blouse covered with rhinestones or ruffles or even lace. No plunging necklines, either.

But then one afternoon, Chesney and her neighbor friend Ruth Ann sneaked into the bedroom of a mom who was very different from Madelyn Blake. While Chesney’s mother requested that Ruth Anne refer to her as Mrs. Blake, Ruth Anne’s mom wanted Chesney to only call her Cookie, like everyone else. Cookie Reynolds did not play tennis or belong to the country club. She did not have a husband. But she did have a stereo in the small, sparsely furnished home she shared with her only child. And she did blast music and laugh and dance with Ruth Anne and her friend. Cookie allowed the girls to wear their shoes inside, unlike Madelyn who even had a small sign on the front door that read, ‘Shoes off, please.’ She allowed them to eat corn dogs on the couch, as long as they held the snacks over paper plates. And when Ruth Ann and Chesney rummaged around for dress up clothing, they found a regular gold mine in Cookie’s closet. There were neatly folded, fluttery see-through black gowns and lace panties and two bras with holes in the lace of the bra cups.

“My mom wants to poke her nipples through her bra,” Ruth Ann said proudly. “She is very proud of her ta-tas. She says I will grow some one of these days, too.”

For a long while, Chesney fantasized about becoming Cookie’s second daughter. She did not dare confess to her boring mom that Cookie Reynolds liked to show off her nipples. In the stuffy Blake household, there was no talk of boobs. Chesney instinctively knew that a conversation about nipples or see-through panties would not be welcomed. She kept her mouth shut about snooping through Cookie’s underwear drawer to find pink panties with feathers on the crotch. Chesney was fairly certain that saying anything about colorful Cookie Reynolds would result in being forbidden from ever visiting Ruth Anne’s house. She certainly did not want that to happen since Cookie Reynolds talked so openly about life. She talked about when the girls would someday start their periods. She talked about the importance of choosing good, honest men. She talked about deciding when they were mature enough to have sex.

“Don’t you have to take all your clothes off for sex stuff?” Chesney had whispered to Ruth Anne.

When she heard the question, Ruth Anne rolled across her blue bedspread, laughing hysterically. “Are you kidding?” Ruth Anne had shrieked. “Doesn’t your mom tell you anything about anything? Do I have to be the one to tell you about French kissing and first and second base? And tampons?”

Nodding her head fast, Chesney felt her heartbeat quicken. She was absolutely dying to know all about every single one of those topics. But none of those questions were allowed to be asked in her home.

A memory of herself as a sixth grade crybaby suddenly floated through Chesney’s mind. Wailing her way into the house from the bus stop, she told her mother about a traumatizing interaction with a snot-nosed boy in science class. “He said my hair felt like pubic hair,” Chesney sobbed.

Madelyn calmly offered an oatmeal raisin cookie, sat down next to Chesney and her Brillo pad hair and shared that, when she was a child, other children called her a giraffe. When Madelyn told that story, the word giraffe sounded shaming and hurtful. Chesney forgot about her peers razzing her about the frizzy auburn curls. She knew without asking, that her mother walked even taller when other kids teased her. That’s how Madelyn was, a proud, soft spoken Statue of Liberty kind of mother. She had many perfect traits that Chesney, as her daughter, could never hope to have.

Still staring at that maternal perfection, Chesney watched her mother’s coral-colored mouth move. Then she panicked.

Oh lord, Madelyn is gushing about the damn guest list, the reception hall and the terribly expensive caterer.

That’s when Chesney realized the sting of her big diamond ring. It was digging into her right cheek as she sat there, staring at her lovely mother, not even listening to the long spew about the wedding she didn’t yet know to be a total sham.

How ironic,
I am passively stabbing myself with the fancy ring Jack gave me. I’m branding my misery on my face. I am permanently tattooing my failure on my damn cheek. And I can’t seem to stop the sudden need to self-mutilate with my ring. I can’t stop smiling and nodding even though I have absolutely no idea what my mother is saying to me.

“Well?” Madelyn drummed her perfect fingernails on the edge of the shiny end table. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said? You look like you’re daydreaming.”

I’m not daydreaming. I’m actually planning my escape.

Chesney offered a weak smile and her mother’s face softened. Believing she had full command of the room, Madelyn chatted about ice sculptures while Chesney wondered if the giant engagement ring was now drawing blood.

Why don’t I care enough to move my hand? Why don’t I uncurl my legs and run like hell? Why don’t I just stab myself in the heart with Jack the ass’s giant princess-cut?

Chesney sat up taller, cleared her throat and smiled again. She was not running away for a couple of reasons. One, no matter how ridiculous it was, she was still sometimes in denial about the fact that she would not don that gorgeous gown and float down the aisle. And second, she was hypnotized by her mother’s perfection. If there was a third point, a more truthful point, it would be that Chesney was not yet brave enough to deal with the wrath of Madelyn. She glanced at a gathering of family photos arranged on top of a table. Her eyes rested on the wedding day photo of Charlotte, the perfect bride, cheek to cheek with her perfect husband, Cooper. A newer photo was next to that of Charlotte, smiling beautifully after the birth of Piper, her perfect Gerber baby. Charlotte’s gorgeous hair was soft and honey blonde like their mother’s. Her heart-shaped, peaches-and-cream little face showed no sign of exertion even though just moments earlier, she had puffed and panted for hours, to shove Piper, America’s next top model from her womb.

“Chesney?” Obviously frustrated and on the verge of irritation, Madelyn studied her daughter with a sharp expression on her face. Chesney’s heart quivered. Hell hath no fury like an irritated Madelyn.

Throw her a crumb before she unravels. Hurry. Quick. Think. Be Charlotte for a moment. Save your damn self.

“We reserved the string quartet. Did I tell you? And the odd little lady who plays a harp changed her schedule so she could provide music during seating.”

That’s what you wanted, Mom. Not what I wanted. In fact, I wanted to tie the knot on a cruise ship. By the way, all of that Princess Di fluff you insisted on will be cancelled since Jack won’t marry me. I should be the one saying that I won’t marry him. But I wasn’t the one who said it first. I wish I had been. But I wasn’t. Can you believe you raised such a weak daughter when you are a Statue of Liberty?

Madelyn noticeably relaxed and nodded. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

“You’ve done an incredible job planning a magnificent wedding, dear.”

“You’re the one who deserves the credit,” Chesney said tightly since this was true. Madelyn would not allow Chesney to make any of the decisions. It was Madelyn’s way or the highway. Not just about the wedding but everything else, too. Chesney finally removed the embedded diamond from her cheek, aware that her skin burned now where the ring stabbed her face. She placed her sock feet on the floor and curled her hands into a tightly folded mess on top of her knees. Madelyn chose every single something for the wedding, even Chesney’s dress. Even though Chesney was in love with the dress, the point was that she had no voice in her own wedding plans. She would have been just as happy on a sunny beach, saying her vows while wearing a simple sundress.

“Mom, please,” Chesney had whispered when they were at the bridal shop. “I don’t need all that sparkly embellishment. I definitely don’t need three veils hanging over my head like I’m the only virgin left in the world, slowly bringing my hymen to the altar.”

Actually
,
I haven’t had a hymen since that sweaty four-second experience in the back seat of Ian Komanski’s Camaro back in high school.

But Madelyn stood firm. She reminded Chesney that Jack expected an amazingly beautiful bride to float toward him wearing all those gorgeous veils. Charlotte had gently elbowed her sister in the ribs. “She won’t give up. Just let her have her way, Chez.”

Charlotte absolutely did know what she was talking about, especially since their mother also planned Charlotte’s wedding, even selecting the dinner menu and the cake.

“The wedding is less than one month away,” Madelyn’s voice made Chesney’s eyes sting with unwanted tears. “Chesney darling, your father and I just want everything to be absolutely perfect for your wedding day. We are so very happy for you and Jack.”

“
Umm-humm
,” Chesney managed as her stomach began to knot. If her mother continued to talk about the damn wedding, Chesney feared she might projectile vomit across the fancy living room. If she could find an antacid, she would quickly crush it into a powder and snort it right on top of that shiny coffee table. Guilt was an oily texture gurgling in Chesney’s throat. She could not look at her mother. She was doing everything possible to avoid a big cry fest.

“It’s so exciting,” Madelyn said cheerfully. “Charlotte and Cooper were married in the spring. And that was a breathtaking day. Your wedding, your lovely, winter wedding will be just as beautiful, but in an entirely different way. That’s one reason why I’m so happy you girls chose different seasons. My photographs of each wedding will be stunning.”

Charlotte and I chose the seasons? Are you kidding? The only decision you allowed either of us to make was what kind of panties to wear under the bridal gowns.

Chesney sighed, wanting to melt so she could slither down the heat vent and avoid the feelings churning around in her stomach like a storm. For a few moments, they were silent. Unmistakably, a tension was building between mother and not-so-favorite daughter. Chesney counted the stones in the fireplace, hoping to hypnotize herself. Maybe she would slip into a coma. Maybe her mother would suddenly turn into a warm, cuddly type of maternal figure, the kind who would never dream of beating her daughter to death with her own shame.

“You aren’t behaving like a happy bride-to-be,” Madelyn said suspiciously.

“Nerves,” Chesney shrugged and stood up though her legs felt wobbly.

“Jack is such a gift in your life,” Madelyn said. “He’s a power house attorney. He’s so confident and wealthy. He adores you, darling. He’s so many wonderful things.”

Hmm, you left out man whore. Or maybe we can overlook that characteristic since Jack is so filthy rich. Is that what you would suggest if I told you the truth about Jack’s sex sports involving Belinda’s fat ass?

“Chesney?” Madelyn was now staring, glaring even, at the daughter she had never quite understood. The air between them was thick with an unspoken fear. Chesney saw the fear, written in tight blue lines across her mother’s forehead. She was horrified, waiting to learn if her oldest daughter was once again on her way to making a mess of the perfect family plan. Chesney felt wounded as she realized that her mother did not trust her for happy endings. But then again, why should Madelyn trust that Chesney could bring joy? Charlotte was the bride. She was also the one who gave Madelyn a grandchild. Chesney, on the other hand, was the one the rest of the family made excuses for. She felt dizzy. Pain fluttered around in her chest.