In a Moon Smile (5 page)

“Is there something you need to say?” There was ice in Madelyn’s voice.

“Like what?” Chesney asked, feeling like she stepped quickly back to her defiant adolescence, which was spent, by the way, constantly at war with Madelyn.

“Did one of your bridesmaids ruin a dress? Is the menu workable for the caterer?”

Ha, those are the tiny worries, Mom. How would you feel if I told you about Jack’s obsession with handcuffs and other women’s vaginas?

“All the wedding plans are wonderful.” For her mother’s benefit, Chesney left out the part about the groom being a rotten rat bastard. She also left out the part about the cancellation, or at least the fact that the wedding would be cancelled. Soon. When Chesney could grow a backbone enough to face the family ground war.

“I need to go,” she said as calmly as possible. Knowing her mother was now studying every move she made, trying to anticipate the next disaster. Chesney stumbled across the room and forced her feet a little too aggressively into her boots.

“I hope you’re telling me the truth,” Madelyn said. This was also her mantra during Chesney’s teen years. Madelyn stomped now across the shiny floor and Chesney’s eyes stung with old pain.

I wish I could tell you the truth
.
But it would be one more example of how I fell short as your daughter. It would be one more moment when I failed to live up to your expectations. Brace yourself, Madelyn; I’m getting ready to rain all over your perfect parade again, just like I always do.

“How are things going with your book?” Madelyn asked. Then she adjusted the scarf around Chesney’s neck as if her daughter was eight years old. She smoothed the curls away from Chesney’s face, smelling of a faint mix of Merlot and spearmint.

“The book is fine,” Chesney lied again.

Actually I have not touched the manuscript for several days, maybe even weeks. It is not even remotely close to being referred to as a book. But I pile that lie right in there with all the other lies I have tossed out today to avoid criticism.

“Your father will be so upset that he missed visiting with you, dear
.
”

“Another time,” Chesney said as she tried to breathe through the stomach pain. “I really should get going.” She offered an air kiss before hurrying out the door of the house that didn’t look at all familiar anymore. She crunched across the snow-covered driveway, blinking away tears.

Why in the world do I regress the moment I step into my childhood home? Especially when it doesn’t look anything like the place I lived in as a child? Why don’t I simply sit down with my mother, tell her the truth and walk out with my head held high?

Chesney dialed Becca’s number while turning left at the end of Shade Creek Avenue.

“Well? Are you okay? How did your mom take the news? Does she need to be medicated?” Becca’s voice, a mix of humor and concern, took some of the hot shame away from the tears rolling down Chesney’s cheeks.

“I didn’t tell her,” Chesney said with a loud sigh as she rubbed her temples.

“What?” All the air gushed through Becca’s voice on the other end of the line. “Chesney, what in the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Chesney whispered, now suddenly honest. “I just couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t destroy her dream wedding. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do you see a problem, Chesney? You aren’t confronting anything. You’re pretending you are still a bride-to-be,” Becca said. “Tell your family the truth. No one would expect you to marry that guy if they knew what he did. He cheated on you, Chez.”

“I’ll handle it,” Chesney rolled her eyes, now aware that she was sweating profusely.

“When?” Becca squealed. “You’re driving me crazy. You are absolutely the queen of procrastination, Chesney. The wedding is…”

“Less than a month away,” Chesney mumbled.

“Get busy,” Becca said sternly. “Take control. Do something about this mess. It won’t fix itself. And the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“Okay,” A pounding headache now pulsed behind her left eye.

For a few moments there was silence. Then Becca’s voice was softer, more patient. “Why don’t you stop by?” she asked. “I’ll help you make a plan.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Chesney flipped the cell phone shut and tossed it into the passenger seat. “Becca is right, you know,” She said aloud. “You’ve got to stop acting like you don’t have major issues to resolve. You’ve got to stop being so damned afraid of doing what is right for you instead of what everyone else expects you to do.”

Chesney and Becca sat together at Delilah’s, the local coffee shop. It was one of the few non-chains left on this side of town. The wallpaper, a faded newsprint theme, was peeling. It was the same décor since the early eighties. Fresh, homemade pastries lined the glass counter, lovingly prepared every morning around four a.m. by Delilah Dixon, her daughter Sam, and Rueben, Delilah’s fourth or fifth husband. Chesney guessed the bakery business was hard on marriages. Or maybe Delilah was hard on men. But the cheerful fiftyish woman certainly didn’t look like the type who married and divorced so frequently.

Standing behind the counter with her huge torpedo-shaped breasts barely contained under a stained polyester tank top, Delilah smiled warmly at Chesney. “Do you know I am a psychic?” she whispered. Chesney shook her head and Delilah moved closer. “Come to see me very soon.”

Chesney didn’t know how to respond so she simply nodded and made her way to the wobbly table by the window where Becca was already devouring a cream cheese pastry. She sipped hot chocolate since she hated coffee. It was a truth that made Chesney feel unworldly. She felt the same way when everyone else at a dinner table ordered wine but she requested sweet tea. Sometimes Becca required five entire minutes to place a coffee order, soy milk and a dash of blah blah with extra blah. No wonder Jack was banging Belinda. She was a grown woman who knew about espresso and which wine to order with what meal. Chesney had none of those skills and rarely cared about them.

“That guy was trying to be nice to you,” she said as a mild-mannered jock-looking guy with iPod buds in his ears introduced himself to Becca. When Becca practically growled a response, Chesney cringed. “If you aren’t interested in someone, can’t you get your point across without castrating him?”

“Men never ask themselves, ‘Do I have anything to offer that woman? Will she be uncomfortable if I walk right up to her table and start my bad version of being sexy? Does that woman have more class than me? Will she find me attractive?’” Becca sipped her coffee and stuffed a bite of apple fritter in her mouth. “No, Chez, I can tell you they never ask themselves those questions. And so, my answer is no. I never feel bad about squashing the bad intentions of slimy bugs dressed in big boy clothes.”
     
Chesney sighed, wishing she had just a bit of Becca’s confidence. Men did not take advantage of Becca. Her best friend absolutely refused to be treated like anything but royalty. And because of that demand, Becca rarely dated and had not been involved in a relationship since two years ago, when she and Mike parted ways. Chesney stared at the naked place on her left ring finger, where the big fat diamond once glistened. Just yesterday, while soaking in the tub, she had again removed the ring. There was no drama. She simply placed it in her jewelry box and an unmistakable calm trickled through her veins. It was finally over. She wasn’t headed down the aisle. She was not changing her address or her last name.

“I still don’t know how to break the news to my perfect mother,” Chesney said softly. “She’ll crack up. This might be the last straw. I could be kicked out of the family, you know. This could be the big one.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Becca grinned. “You’re thirty-three years old and you’re still so afraid to be yourself.”

“Try being me,” Chesney said with a whine. “Try being the only woman in the Blake family with bad hair. The only one with small breasts. The only one who can’t whip up a gourmet meal or stand taller than five feet, five inches. The only one who isn’t married. Well, actually, try being the only one with two cancelled weddings. The only one who hasn’t used her uterus to produce a grandchild for Mother Madelyn.”

“There’s more to life than marriage,” Becca said. “Plus, you really need to take a look at your situation, Chez. For some reason, you just don’t attract the right kind of men.”

“The last time I nearly made it to the altar but failed, my mother swore she got a bald spot from all the stress,” Chesney reminded. “Did you forget that? She actually got shingles. And it was all my fault.”

“Ernie was gay, Chez,” Becca gently reminded. “It’s not your fault that Ernie chose to jump on out of that closet the night before the nuptials.”

Because they had been dear friends for so many years, Becca knew all about Chesney’s tormented life story; from the bad boyfriends to the difficult relationship with Madelyn to the fact that Chesney had the self-confidence of a dead cow. She rarely found it necessary to drag out all the dirt from Chesney’s turbulent life but at that moment, Becca suddenly decided to discuss Chesney’s college beau, Calvin, the guy with a stuffy nasal voice and the personality of a dish rag, who Chesney sweetly left behind.

“Tell the truth,” Becca challenged. “You only stuck with the relationship because your dad liked to play golf with Calvin, right? And you tried not to care about the fact that you and Calvin had absolutely nothing in common. He was absolutely the worst lay in the world. You said so yourself. In fact, I remember Chesney, that you described his penis as a small cocktail wiener, the shriveled, uncircumcised kind of sausage, perhaps a bit bigger than my thumb but certainly not as wide.”

Shrieking with laughter, Chesney hid her blazing red face behind her napkin. “I can’t believe you actually brought that up,” she laughed. “We haven’t talked about poor Calvin for at least a million years. I wanted that nightmare to stay buried, Bec. Calvin and his annoying habits, cat dick and all. In the ground, gone and forgotten.”

“I brought the subject back to life because I wanted you to remember another time when you did something you did not want to do, Chez. But you did it hoping it would make your parents happier with you.”

“Oh, God,” Chesney sighed and offered half of a chocolate fudge donut to Becca. “When you add all of that to the conversation, it’s not funny anymore.”

“Your mom is quietly psychotic,” Becca said. “And you are right, Chez. There’s nothing funny about it. She has a weird hold on you. And your sister is a clone of your mother, with that matching bun on the back of her head. It’s scary, really, to see the two of them together.”

“I can’t put all the blame on them,” Chesney said. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things. I’ve given both of them a lot of reason to worry about my decisions. I’m not sure I know who I am.” Her voice trembled and she swallowed hard. “I can’t remember the last time I made a decision based solely on what I wanted.”

“You made an excellent decision a few days ago,” Becca said brightly. “You broke off the engagement.”

“Not true,” Chesney shook her head sadly. “Don’t you remember, Bec? Jack walked into the kitchen and announced that he didn’t want to marry me. He had to say that to me, even though I walked in on him and Belinda the dominatrix. I’m so embarrassed to admit that. I wanted to salvage the relationship. I suggested that we rush into counseling with Father Martin, just as soon as Jack got the handcuffs removed, of course.”

“You were in shock,” Becca offered a lifeline and Chesney wanted to believe that might actually be true. But she knew it wasn’t.

“Are you tossing up some positive bullshit for the sole purpose of making me feel less suicidal?” Chesney asked. Then she leaned toward Becca and whispered. “Here’s the truth, Bec. I probably would have married Jack, just because he impressed my parents. I haven’t lived up to any of my mother’s expectations. And she just keeps pulling harder at those invisible puppet strings, trying to get me to be who she wants me to be. So yeah, I would have turned my head and pretended Jack wasn’t cheating. It meant that much to me. I would have sacrificed myself to avoid disappointing my family again.”

Becca placed her hand on top of Chesney’s and smiled. “You are so crazy awesome for being so brutally honest, Chez. I’m really proud of you. But here’s the deal, okay? That is an extremely screwed up way to look at life decisions. Maybe it’s time for you to find your own expectations,” she blinked sudden tears from her kind brown eyes. “Live up to the expectations you set for yourself,” Becca smiled sweetly. “And to hell with everybody else.”

Chesney sat back against the pink metal chair and smiled. These were the moments when she thanked God most for Becca’s friendship.

She believes in me when I don’t. She encourages me to fight back and grow up. She shoves me toward adulthood, even when I’m subconsciously looking for that plastic box filled with Barbies.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Chesney said softly.

“Leaving?” Becca asked, looking alarmed. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I want to get away for a while,” Chesney said with a shrug.

“Chez,” Becca moaned. “Come on. Stop this. You can’t leave and just pretend this will all go away. You’ve got to tell your family the truth about the wedding.”

“I’m going to southern Indiana, to visit my grandmother’s place,” Chesney said evenly. “And when I get back in a day or so, I will go over to the Blake family home and drop the big fat bomb.”