My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) (29 page)

I swallowed and looked at Cinco, who looked eager to get started. Marilyn assigned Glenda, of all people, to be the waitress, and then gathered the rest of the class to the side.

I searched my feelings for a moment, trying to identify the exact place humiliation was hiding. But to my surprise, I didn't really feel humiliated. I felt relief. If I could just say the words, even in pretend, maybe I'd find the courage to really do this thing.

I swept the hair out of my face and sat up tall, ready for my new role in a performance that was sure to be Oscar-worthy. From the side, Marilyn actually said, “Action!” I had to laugh. But Cinco was taking his role a little too seriously. Concern now plagued his normally placid expression. I tried to settle into the role-play.

“Edward,” I began, “I wanted to tell you why I brought you here, to this restaurant.”

“I assumed it's to celebrate our upcoming wedding,” Cinco said, a little too cynically for my taste.

I took in a breath. This was more nerve-racking than I thought it would be. “It is to talk about that.”

“Good. Because my whole life revolves around this marriage now. It's all I think about, all I dream about.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Edward wasn't quite that pathetic. Cinco reached out and took my trembling hands, startling me, then distracting me. I suddenly knew what it felt like to have my hands in Cinco's. It felt . . . right. But then again, he wasn't Cinco. He was Edward . . . or playing Edward.

Concentrate, will you? Let's get on with this thing. It's
actually pretty entertaining.

I gritted my teeth and tried to offer a casual smile. “Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that . . . well . . .” The words were on the tip of my tongue. Just one hefty push of courage, and I would say them out loud.

“May I take your order?” I whipped my gaze upward, and there Glenda stood, with an imaginary pad of paper in her hand, smiling and pretending to chew gum.

Cinco let go of my hands. He said, “I'll have the”—he looked at me—“chicken.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I'll have the bull,” I said.

Glenda raised an eyebrow. “I realize you're from the South, but we don't serve bull here.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” I said, avoiding Cinco's amused face by pretending to look over the menu. “Okay, then I suppose I'll have the . . . triple-garlic medallions.”

Everyone looked disgusted, but what could I say? The garlic might help my cause. Glenda walked off, and Cinco said, “So, there's something on your mind, besides making me the happiest man on earth?”

I wiped my mouth with my pretend napkin, which ended up just being the back of my hand, and with all the strength I ever had in me, I looked Cinco—Edward—right in the eyes and said, “I don't want to marry you.”

The room grew completely silent, but all I could do was laugh. I actually said it! I said it out loud! “I don't want to marry you,” I said again, holding my breath to contain my wildly beating heart. This was like riding a roller coaster. I engaged Cinco's eyes. “I can't marry you.”

“Why not?” Cinco asked, feigning a wounded expression.

“You're not right for me, Edward,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue as easily as if I were making weekend plans.

“You've been with me over two years, and you're just now figuring this out?” Cinco said, his voice growing angry. It didn't deter me.

“Yes. And I'm sorry. I am. But Edward, sometimes you don't realize that a person isn't right for you until you start thinking about the rest of your life. I need someone who is . . .” I looked into Cinco's eyes, and we connected so strongly for a moment that I lost all concentration. I couldn't even remember what I was saying.

“You need someone who is what?” Cinco asked softly.

I wanted to reach across our imaginary table and take his hands again, but instead I simply said all I knew to be true. “Someone who will make me the best person I can be.”

Now, wasn't that poignant. It almost sounded like a line from a movie. I couldn't help the self-satisfied smile that I knew was spreading across my face. Everyone commented on the good job I did. I looked up at Cinco, expecting to be met with a congratulatory expression from him. Instead, he said, “Speaking of that . . .”

“Of what?”

“The best person you can be.”

“What about it?” There was something odd in his tone.

“You lied to me.”

I cut my gaze sideways. Everyone was still watching, so I tried to keep the mood light. But Cinco's brow was heavy across his dark eyes.

“Lied to you?” I noticed I had that same ring in my voice that my mother used to indicate a mood change was in order.

“You told me Edward was your brother. But he wasn't. Just wondered if you wanted to address that now or later?”

All the applause and “good jobs” that lingered in the air fell to the ground with a thud. I wanted to glance around the crowd and smile as I normally would when assuring people that despite the humiliating situation, I was “perfectly fine.” But I knew this crowd wouldn't buy it. So I cleared my throat, ignored Cinco, looked at Marilyn, and said, “I'm not quite over the hump yet. Can we have two people play my parents?”

I called Mother after class to see if she and Dad were still up and asked if I could come by. Mother seemed to want me to. With Lola's untimely vacation, she sounded nervous about being all by herself to take care of Dad. I'd helped them home from the hospital earlier that day, but Dad had pretty much just gone to bed. Mother told me on the phone that he'd slept nearly seven hours, but now he was awake and propped up on the couch.

As I drove to my parents' house, I was still reeling from class. I couldn't believe Cinco had humiliated me like that. What he did was at the very least inappropriate. But Marilyn had talked a lot about keeping conflict in its place, not allowing it room to grow inside my head. So I did my best not to think about it.

When I got there, I went in the back door, through the kitchen. Mother was standing near the stove. “Hi,” she whispered. “I'm just making your father some tea. Want some?” I could barely make out what she was saying, but I gathered from the teakettle in her hand that she was offering me a hot beverage.

“Sure,” I said, joining her at the stove. “Why are you whispering?” I whispered back.

“Your father. He's very fragile.”

“Do you have to whisper?”

She nodded. “Yes. And I'm keeping all the lights low, so don't go flipping switches all the way through the house.” She handed me a large mug. “This is chicken broth. Why don't you take it to him. I'll bring the tea in a little bit. You want sugar?”

I nodded, a little taken aback by the lengths Mother was going to. “What, exactly, did the doctor tell you to do once he got home?”

“He said absolutely no excitement.”

“So he was referring to things like golf and lap dancers, right?”

Mother didn't find that funny. I wiped the smile off my face. “Seriously, Leah, he's still in a frail state. I have to do everything within my power to make sure he stays calm and collected. I'm forbidding him to take any phone calls until next week, at the earliest.” She waved me on into the family room with the chicken broth.

There was Dad, propped up by fluffy pillows, staring blankly at the television. He still looked pale, but when he saw me he smiled that familiar, easy smile I'd convinced myself he reserved just for me.

“Hi, honey, I didn't even hear you come in.” He tried to sit up. “What you got there?”

“Chicken broth,” I said apologetically.

He groaned. “I have no appetite, and your mom is trying to force-feed me.” I set the chicken broth on the table next to him and joined him on the couch. He didn't look frail or feeble. He just looked tired.

I'd performed perfectly at class when telling my parents that I was not going to marry Edward. Of course, Mother was played by Carol, who sympathetically nodded her head the entire time. And Pastor Ernest played Dad. He just hugged and consoled me, even though I didn't shed a tear and actually became pretty invigorated by how I handled the situation.

But it was from practicing with Cinco that I gained a confidence I never knew I had. And after all, wouldn't my parents want me to be happy? That's what Marilyn said. She told me I was being played by “fear and scenario,” as she called it, where I allowed a fear to play scenario after scenario in my head. It was true. I'd spent hours doing it with Edward and my parents, and Jodie, I realized, was not helping the situation by adding her unwanted commentary.

Dad patted my knee. “So, any new wedding news?”

I smiled. “I just saw you a few hours ago.”

“I wasn't in too talkative of a mood, though,” he said. “I want you to know I really am happy about this wedding, though I've never heard of one being planned this quickly. But, Edward has assured me that this wedding will be worthy of a senator's daughter and that this wedding planner has even done celebrity weddings before. He assures me you'll be well taken care of.”

“Um . . . how many times have you talked to Edward?”

“A couple, I guess. He called your mother to get phone numbers of all our relatives. He's really over-the-top happy.”

Mother entered the room, bringing the tea. She served Dad his, but not before blowing on it and reminding him in a whisper to be careful because it was hot. Dad shot me a look. I tried to hide how nervous I was becoming. I was losing my confidence. Yet this was not going to be as hard as telling Edward, and in fact Marilyn had said it would be a good practice run to tell them first.

Mother turned down the volume of the television, reminding Dad that he was not supposed to get excited.

“I'm watching C-SPAN,” Dad complained, “not NASCAR.”

“Don't be glib with me,” Mother said. “I won't put up with it like those nurses.”

Dad rolled his eyes and decided to try some of his tea. His hands were shaking badly as he picked it up, and I watched nervously, but he brought it to his lips and set it down without incident.

I was about to broach my subject when Mother said, “Well, Kate sure seems in love. She can't stop talking about Dillan. We may have two weddings this year!”

“Dillan's been good for her,” Dad said, like that wasn't the understatement of the year. Dad never liked to be overly obvious.

“And Dillan and Edward seem to get along,” Mother added. “It'll be nice to have two sons. Daughters are nice, but I always thought I'd be more suited toward sons myself.” She looked at me. “But God knows best, I suppose.” She sipped her tea.

I took a sip of tea. I knew it was time. I had to do this or I would completely lose my nerve. I looked at the television, focusing on the gray-haired man droning on and on about natural gas.

“Mother, Dad,” I said, and I could feel them both look at me, the mugs in their hands halfway to their mouths, “I'm not going to marry Edward.” I said it directly, just like Marilyn had taught me, with my emotions in check. It was very matter-of-fact. I kept staring at the television, waiting for a response. I didn't hear anything. Finally, I looked at Mother.

She had grown pale. “What did you say?” she asked, still whispering.

She was going to make me repeat it.
Great.
“I'm not going to marry Edward.”

Dad looked frozen. I couldn't make out any expression on his face. A different expression, on the other hand, passed across Mother's face every second. “What are you talking about?” she asked in that demeaning tone she was so fond of using with me. “We've just been sitting here talking about the wedding.”

“Edward's not the right person for me.”

“You couldn't have figured that out before?” Mother set down her tea. She wasn't whispering anymore.

“It's . . . something I'm just now realizing, Mother. The engagement came as a complete surprise. I was talking to Edward about how maybe we weren't right for each other, and the next thing I know I've got a ring on my finger.”

“It just slipped right on there, did it? Without you knowing?” Mother's usually well-hidden small-town Southern accent was starting to show.

I bit my lip and looked at Dad. He was still holding the mug just inches from his lips. “I know you are both disappointed. I'm disappointed too, but—”

“Disappointed? Only the entire world knows about this engagement, Leah. I even had a
Times
reporter call me about it! It's no small thing when a senator's daughter gets married, you know. It's an important matter. The wedding is two weeks away, for goodness' sake! You can't just call off a wedding that's two weeks away. I've already had Sylvia start designing a dress for me!”

I clawed the armrest of the couch, trying to hold back the anger that wanted to come out. “Mother,” I said, “all of that aside, doesn't it matter to you that I don't want to marry Edward? What if it was the day before? So what?”

“That would be so like you,” Mother said. “It would certainly fit your propensity for the dramatic. At least you didn't do
that.
”

Dad finally put his mug down and spoke. “Leah, why don't you want to marry Edward? Maybe this is just a case of cold feet.”

“I don't think it is,” I said. “I've given this a great deal of thought, Dad. Just like you told me to do in life. Give everything thought. That's all I've been doing.” I shook my head, trying to explain myself. “It's just that Edward is a very scheduled, predictable man. And I'm starting to understand about myself that I need more spontaneity. I need someone in my life who is going to challenge me. Edward doesn't challenge me. Everything about Edward is very safe and . . . and I need more . . . and I didn't know this until I met this guy who is everything that I'm not . . . everything that I fear, really, but when I'm with him, I feel alive and—”