In some ways, it’s as if they’re stuck in time, and in others ways it’s obvious that they don’t need to change or move up. They’re both content. Now, my dad does have an unhealthy obsession with reality television shows and zombies, but other than that, I would say that if you had to define my parents in one word it was content.
“Mom, I know Jackson has ideas for the wedding, and I want you to know, he’s willing to contribute. After all, it’s our wedding.”
“Samantha Ann, we paid for Jane’s wedding. We’ll take care of yours as well as Millie’s one day.” She squeezes my waist. “I think it’s wonderful that Jackson has ideas, but honey, you’re the bride. Tell me if you want this dress.”
I scan my reflection and imagine my hair styled, my makeup done, and then this dress. With each inch I see, the more in love with the dress I am. “I do.”
“Then this is the dress we’re getting. And the pearls will be beautiful with the neckline.”
By the pearls, she means a family heirloom and tradition.
I don’t answer her, knowing Jackson isn’t thrilled with the idea of me wearing what he calls hand-me-down jewelry for the wedding. I haven’t brought myself to tell my mother. I know how disappointed she’ll be. Every female descendant of my great-grandmother has worn the same pearls. My sister Jane was the last.
I should be the next.
As we were talking to the saleswoman, Mom gave her address instead of mine. “Wait.”
Mom turns and speaks quietly. “Now that Jackson has moved into your condo...”
“Our condo,” I correct.
“It’s yours and he’s there,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I understand the reasoning for his move, and so does your dad. But since he’s there, I’d rather anything wedding-related come to my email or our address.” She smiles and gives my arm a squeeze. “Remember, he isn’t supposed to see the dress until he sees you walking down the aisle.”
Jackson had moved into my condo shortly after proposing.
Remember the plan: partnership, wife, house...
Well, we’ve been looking at houses. The market is crazy. The ones we like are gone before we have a chance to see them or make an offer. Last month, we met with one of the area’s top builders. Now we are looking at land.
I never considered all the qualifying factors for residency.
Jackson doesn’t want to be in the country. He wants a neighborhood that fits our status. He researches everything down to schools and per capita median income. After all, it’s important for our children to make the right friends.
Honestly, the subject has lost its luster.
The last time we spoke about land, we got into a big discussion about moving closer to Johnson. Admittedly, outside of my hometown is more rural, but I didn’t see that as a bad thing. Apparently, living in Johnson would limit...well, everything. I hadn’t realized how deep his negativity of my hometown ran.
He grew up in an upscale neighborhood near Detroit. It’s where his parents still live. Just because two of my parents’ house could fit in his parents’ home, doesn’t make it better.
He did find a neighborhood near Sheffield’s Country Club that has recently opened up new lots. They won’t be ready to build for another six months, which means moving will be at least a year away. According to Jackson, living close to the country club will give us and our children access to perks such as tennis and swimming lessons.
I recall falling to sleep thinking about swimming lessons. Of course, everyone should know how to swim. It’s important. However, I couldn’t recall not knowing how. Instead of lessons, my siblings and I, Marshal, Marcus, and our friends simply jumped into the deep end or off the cliff at the lake.
“Sami,” Mom says as she secures her coat and steps toward the door to the bridal shop. “How about lunch?”
“I should go to the gym, but we can do lunch first.”
“Samantha Ann, you’re beautiful. Now don’t lose more weight. After all, they took your measurements today. We want the dress to fit and show off your beautiful curves.”
“That’s what alterations are for.”
Instead of staying in the city, Mom begins driving away from civilization and toward Johnson. Snow mounds line the country roads where the plows have pushed it out of the way. Today the sun is shining, but this time of year, it does little to warm the air. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
Sami
“Home? Mom, you should have dropped me off at my place. I can get my car. Now you’ll need to drive me back.”
She waves a hand in the air. “Sami, you’re about to be a married woman. I don’t mind an extra hour with you when I can get it. Besides, the invitations came in and I want you to see them.”
“What about the caterers?”
“I need to check with you and Jackson for your schedules and then we can make appointments to try their food.”
As we drive and discuss the wedding, I teeter between excitement and guilt. Mom can say what she wants, but I know without a doubt that this wedding is costing more than Jane’s. When we arrive at my parents’ house, Dad is home.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Dad gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Did something happen?” He turns to Mom. “Are you kicking me out?”
“You’ll know when I do,” she says with a grin. “I’ll change the locks.”
“Eating lunch, sweetheart. How was dress shopping?” Dad pauses the recording he’s watching. “Did you find the perfect dress?”
“I found one.”
“What’s the matter?” His eyes narrow with concern.
“Dad, please let Jack and I help with the cost.”
He shakes his head. “You’re our little girl.”
“I’m not. I’m an adult with a job and money. Jackson has—”
Dad shakes his head. “Can you please let an old man do what he wants? I’ve lived with four women, and it’s about time they let me have my way.”
I giggle. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that if I don’t finish this recording in the next seventeen minutes, I’ll be late for the rest of my day. I have three more classes and the teacher shouldn’t be tardy.” He shakes his head. “Freshman English. Let me find out who she chooses. It will give me strength to face those kids.”
My dad has been at Johnson High School since I was born. He’s the head of the English department and is always at work at least two hours early. He’s that teacher who makes himself available for help before or after school. His only request is a long enough lunch to go home and watch one of his shows. As I said, he’s obsessed with reality television.
Mom offers Dad her phone. “Look, Paul.”
My dad’s eyes glisten. “Oh, Sami, you’re radiant.” He narrows his gaze as he looks up. “You’re not knocked-up, are you?”
“Dad.”
“Good. We want the dress to fit.”
Why is everyone worried about the dress fitting?
It isn’t until we’re on our way to my car that I say, “You could drop me off at the gym, and I’ll walk to my car.”