The Less Than Perfect Wedding Read Free Page B

and stay on everyone's good side, and he had been working to win my parents' approval ever since they first met.
    My dad nodded a couple times. "Good, good," he said. "And please, it's Rick. In fact, why don't we go and take care of that now? I'll grab my coat, and the you can meet me out in the garage." Before I could say another word to him, he bustled off down the hallway towards the mudroom and coat closet.
    As Alex set down the luggage and followed my father, I turned to my mother, who had been holding back slightly behind us. Just as my father had grown out his hair and had acquired a strange new scent, my mother had changed slightly too. The wrinkle lines on her face were more pronounced than when I had last seen her, and instead of wearing her hair down in waves around her face, she had chosen to pull it back into a tight ponytail, giving her a rather stern, no-nonsense look. "Mom, how are things?" I asked, slightly unsure on how to breach the subject. "When we talked on the phone the other week, it felt like there might be something going on."
    My mother gave me a tight-lipped smile in response. "Oh, it's nothing for you to worry about," she said, brushing off the topic. "Now, let's get you and Alex all settled into the guest bedroom." She grabbed the handle of one of our suitcases and bustled off, leaving me with no option but to follow behind her with the other suitcase.
    We headed down the hall and into the guest bedroom, which, just as my mother had promised on the phone, was vacant and showed no sign that my father had been sleeping there. However, as we entered the room, I once again caught the faint odor that I had smelled on my father. My suspicions were definitely aroused - something was going on. My father had changed, and my mother seemed unusually on edge. But I doubted that I would be able to ferret it out of my mother. She preferred to sweep any secret she knew under the rug, bringing it out only for the purpose of gossip.
    "Well, dear, while you settle in, I think I'm going to go out and do a bit of shopping for our meals," my mother called over her shoulder as she left the bedroom. "Will you be fine here?"
    "Oh yes, I'm perfect," I replied. In my head, however, I was already feeling on edge, and I strongly suspected that this feeling would stay with me for the entire time while we were at my parents' house. From outside the window, I could hear the scraping of snow shovels on concrete as my father and Alex worked on clearing the driveway. I also couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards Alex. Why had he insisted that we come here?
    *
    The next two days passed slowly. Alex and I, just as I had predicted, often found ourselves sitting uncomfortably on the sidelines as my parents sniped back and forth at each other. My father would scurry out the door in the mornings, driving out to parts unknown, with no explanation given. After a day or so with my mother, however, I could understand why he wanted to escape. I remember occasional negative comments from my mother when I was younger, but in the last few months, she seemed to have magnified her complaining about, well, everything. In a single day, I heard her criticize everything from the clothes I chose to wore ("Honey, those don't show off your figure at all! They make you look frumpy!") to the level of service that we received when out shopping ("I swear, these cashiers couldn't move any slower! They're probably paid by the hour, trying to steal as much extra money as they can."). By the time that Christmas Eve dinner rolled around, I wanted nothing more than to wolf down my food and dash off to the escape of the guest bedroom.
    Instead, however, I was stuck at the dining room table, staring glumly at the massive array of food spread out before me. My mother apparently channeled all of her frustrations into baking and cooking, and there was enough food now on the table for us to feed at least a dozen people. From the roast ham, to homemade