Page 10 of Not the Plan

“How dare you! How could you say such a horrible thing about your father?”

“Mother. I was talking about you. You’ve spent my whole life complaining about your sacrifice—”

“Ididsacrifice. First, I sacrificed my dreams for all your father’s pretty promises. And for a while, things were good. It was all worth it. Then things changed.”

Isadora didn’t point out that what had changed was her birth. Her mother continued.

“So, then I had to sacrifice even more, didn’t I? And then your dad got traded, and injured, and well…Anyway. Maybe if I’d still been ‘fun,’ he wouldn’t have been on that motorcycle in the first place. And I wouldn’t have lost everything, and we wouldn’t have had to come groveling back to my family.”

“And me?” Isadora asked.

“You?”

“Maybe I lost something too?”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess. But you need a man, Isadora.”

Then it started. Her mother’s script number whatever, that she’d beaten into Isadora’s head hundreds of thousands of times since childhood. About how men were simultaneously indispensable, but would ruin your life, all your hopes and dreams. And that it was expected of Isadora that she let them be ruined. Especially if she wanted to remain in her mother’s good graces. Isadora knew her mother was being illogical but being woken in the middle of the night meant she simply did not have the capacity to argue.

She zoned out. Was it the early hour, or hearing the long-winded script again? She’d always fought back against internalizing her mother’s speeches, but after thousands of repetitions over the years, how could they not sink in? Then her mother’s voice was loud in her ear.

“Well?” she shouted.

“Well, what?” Isadora sighed.

“I expect you to bring a date to the wedding,” she snapped.

“Of course, Mother,” Isadora said. “I’m going to go now.”

“Don’t you want to hear how he popped the question?”

“No, it’s not really any of my business. Goodbye.”

“Wait—didn’t you go to school with a Bob?” her mother asked. “I think his name is Bob.”

“Dunno. Gotta go.”

“Hold on—do you remember him? I think he graduated with—”

“Bye, Mother, hanging up now, bye.” She slammed the phone down on the nightstand.

Still in the doorway, RJ was awake enough to speak. “So, someone’s getting married?”

“Yeah. My cousin Sharee.”

“She had to call here before the sun was up to tell you that?” He raised a hand. “Sorry. Forgot who we were talking about.”

Isadora flopped back onto her back, rubbing her eyes. RJ sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t remember a Sharee. Are you close?” he asked.

“Not remotely.” She readjusted the scarf protecting her hair, noticing that all her muscles felt achy.

“So why did your mother have to call?”

“She was concerned about how I would take the news.”

RJ stretched out next to her. “Hmm?”

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