Page 41 of RomeAntically Challenged
She might not have much in common with her mom, but there were countless traits she shared with her dad. They were both bookworms, homebodies, people pleasers, and they tended to fall somewhere between structured and neurotic on the OCD scale, which drove Maura nuts. Her dad was also big on hugging, which worked out because Annie needed a lot of hugs. Top 5 things he was not big on:
1.Surprises.
2.Clutter.
3.Stuffed peppers.
4.Impulsiveness.
5.Parties—dinner, birthday, block, or any other variety that included more than three people and/or cloth napkins.
Once, Annie had overheard Maura describe Marty as dull. Whenever Annie thought of her dad, she felt warm and safe.
“Flapjack . . .” The use of her childhood nickname brought a sudden flood of emotion to her eyes. “How do you feel about missing a day of work to have dinner with two people old enough to be your grandparents and Alex Trebek?”
“Dad, you don’t look a day over sixty.” Impressive, since her dad had turned seventy-eight this past spring. A child of two professionals who’d decided to adopt at the height of their careers, she was often taken for her parents’ grandchild. “And if I didn’t have work . . .”
“There, she’s been asked and she’s answered,” he said. “Now, let the girl be, Maura.”
Her mother ignored him. “If you come down this weekend, we can go shopping and find you a nice dress for the wedding.”
Annie’s head shot up as the word finally registered.Shitshitshit!The invitation had beaten her to the punch. “I’m not coming home this weekend, and Mom, we are not going to the wedding.” She made a big deal out of stressing thewe.
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we are. When I ran into Clark’s mom in speedwalking class, she was adamant that we were still on the list.”
“Of course she said that.” Likely after her mom interrogated Ms. Atwood about every detail of the wedding. “She was being nice and so was Clark by sending the invitation.”
“Instigated!” her dad shouted. “Damn, it doesn’t fit. Either that or I got nine across wrong.”
“Nice or not, she told me herself that the wedding wouldn’t be the same without her Annie.”
“That’s the point, Mom. I’m not her Annie anymore, so showing up would change everything. And not in a good way.”
Had it not been for her friends, Annie would believe that she was the crazy one. Because how could anyone think that her going to the wedding was a good idea? For her or Clark?
“Your father and I were talking, and we both think going to the wedding might be good for you. We will both be by your side the whole time in case you need us. We think you need closure, dear.”
It was the same speech they’d given her on the first day of dance class. Her therapist had suggested that enrolling her in a group activity might help with her shyness. The last thing six-year-old Annie wanted was to join something that required her to perform in front of a crowd of strangers.
Her parents lived up to their word that day. And every day after, until Annie was comfortable enough to go to dance class on her own. For three years, one parent or the other sat on the studio floor during class. They never complained or made her compete and, as it turned out, dance was the ideal outlet for Annie to express herself without the pressure of being perfect.
But going with your parents to ballet and going with them to your ex’s wedding were two wildly different things. She’d rather audition for Juilliard in a thong than sit at the table in the back of the ballroom, reserved for people whom the bride and groom are obligated to invite but hope don’t show up. On the seating chart for Annie’s wedding, it had been table nineteen.
Other people’s choices are not a reflection of me.And Annie was nobody’s table nineteen.
“I’m not going, Mom.”Be strong. “And I don’t want you or Dad to go either.”
“But I already RSVPed. For the whole family. I ordered us all the vegetarian option. The chicken is always so dry at those things.”
“Then un-RSVP.”
There was a long pause during which Maura strategized her approach. Annie didn’t need to strategize—she wasn’t going. End of story. What her mother did now was out of Annie’s hands. She’d expressed her opinion, even if it wasn’t the loudest.
Feeling a touch of indigestion coming on, Annie said, “Actually, I’ve got to get going. I need to prep OR Seven,” she lied, hating herself for using Clark’s trick. “I just called to ask if you could send me Grandma’s matzo ball soup recipe.”
“I didn’t know you liked my matzo ball soup. You always looked like you thought it was bland.”
Annie opened her mouth to say of course she liked it but paused. It was soup—what was not to like? But suddenly Annie found herself wondering about the soup her mother served every Passover. The soup her neighbors raved about, and her mother served so proudly.
