He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be hearing about that one for the next fifty years, aren’t I?”
“Probably.” I turned back to Madison. “Would that work? I’d offer to take you to lunch, but you live kind of far away and all.”
“Email sounds good.” She started to say something else, then stopped herself.
“Please just say it,” I said. “I promise I don’t bite, no matter what Jake tells you.”
He held up a wrist, which, admittedly, did have a bite scar from me. Madison smiled finally, apparently knowing the story.
“I liked the blog.” I shook my head, but she continued. “The part about our wedding—about your grandmother—maybe it was because I know her, but I laughed so hard.”
“As much as I hate to give you credit for anything right now, it’s true,” Jake said. “I came running in to see what she was laughing about because she had been so upset when the whole thing broke.”
“I have a feeling she’s going to kill me over that.”
“If she runs you over with her car, it’s fifty-fifty whether it was intentional or not. Did you see the mailbox?”
“No?”
“Exactly. She hit it yesterday and it’s gone.”
Madison started to giggle, and that was enough to make me laugh, though whether from the strain of it all or from the lack of mailbox, I didn’t know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Oh, it’s my turn now?” my mother asked wryly when I walked into her bedroom. She was sitting in one of the club chairs in the sitting room area. I sank down wearily in the other and disloyally wished for a mother who would comfort me instead of needing comfort herself.
“To be fair, you’re further down the list, but I’m letting you line jump because Caryn isn’t answering my calls.”
“Everything is a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Not everything.”
“You wouldn’t know it from the way you’re willing to treat people. This is why you’re still single, you know.”
I flinched. She wasn’t going to make this easy—but then again, when did she ever? “Mom, I’m struggling here. I could use some support, not a lecture about how it’s time for me to get married.”
“I have never lectured you to get married.”
“Fine—hinted, begged, implored, whatever terminology you want to use. But marrying just anyone isn’t going to make me happy. And I’m not going to have those grandkids you want if I’m not happy.”
“I obviously never meant for you to marry someone who didn’t make you happy. But maybe your standards are too high. You think your father is the perfect man? Don’t answer that. You probably do.” She crossed her arms. “It’s not easy for me, you know. You all act like he’s the second coming, and me? I’m just your shrew of a mother.”
I pressed a finger to my forehead between my eyebrows, struggling with what to say and what not to say. “Mom, how do you think all those little jabs about how at least one of your daughters was getting married felt? Or comparing my weight with Amy’s? Or telling me that I should be using these weddings as an opportunity to find a guy?”
She crossed her arms. “I never compared your weight with Amy’s.” Of course that was the one thing she heard.
I took a deep breath. “Mom, I feel like nothing I do is good enough if I’m not living your exact life. And I can’t do that.”
“What’s so wrong with my life?”
“Nothing. But it’s not mine.”
“Yours doesn’t sound so great when you spend your time saying horrible things about your mother on some blog.”
The blog wasn’t about you, Mom, rose up in my throat and tried to come out of my mouth, but I blocked it. Because that was the bigger problem here, wasn’t it? The weddings weren’t about me, but I made everything about me with the blog. And I didn’t grow to be that way in a vacuum.
“I painted a caricature in broad strokes,” I said finally. “You—and Grandma for that matter—worked best as humorous foils to my narrator—kind of like a Falstaff character—”
“English, please.” The irony was completely lost on her.
“I used the two of you for comic relief rather than creating an accurate portrayal.”
“And do you see how hurtful that is?”
I exhaled heavily. “I do.”
She seemed mildly satisfied with that, then moved down her mental checklist to the next of my sins. “And your poor sister, to even imply such a thing about her at her bachelorette party—”