I took a deep breath and stepped out into the shop.
My mother and Amy both tilted their heads to the same degree at the same time. Amy needs to get out of that house, I thought. Like right now.
“You look great!” Amy said.
My mother smiled gently. “You look lovely, Lily.” I waited for the “but,” and she did not disappoint. “I just wish Madison could have picked something that would look good on both of you.”
Amy’s shoulders sank. I gave my mother a murderous look, which she missed because she was looking at the dress, not my face. “It was good on Amy too, Mom.”
“Everything looks good on Amy, of course,” she said absently. “But it does nothing to show off her waist, and her waist is so small. It makes hers look the same size as yours.”
My teeth clenched involuntarily. “And I’m clearly the size of a hippopotamus, so that’s a problem.”
“Don’t take that tone,” she said. “You’re just a bigger girl than Amy.”
I was two inches taller than her and maybe twenty pounds heavier soaking wet.
I wanted to tell her that she was ridiculously unfair, and it had taken me a good thirty of my thirty-two years on this earth to get past the body image issues that she had instilled in me. I wanted to tell her that I liked how I looked, so whatever she thought was irrelevant. I wanted to tell her that, by her standards, nothing would look good on both me and Amy. And I most definitely wanted to tell her to go to hell.
But you can’t do that with your mom, can you? Somehow, all of those things that you want to say, that maybe you should say, just don’t have the courage to come out of your mouth. Because it’s different when it’s your mom. Whatever she says cuts deeper, scars worse, and makes you feel like maybe it’s actually true, even when you know it’s not.
Instead, I counted to ten and bit my tongue.
Not that she noticed any of my internal struggle. In fact, she was talking to the saleswoman about whether there was any way to belt Amy’s dress to make it more flattering.
Now that? That I could say something about.
“Mom, you can’t change the dress from how Madison wants it.”
She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “None of the girls have ordered the dresses yet. So she should at least see it with a belt and see how much better it looks.”
Amy’s eyes were wide. She at least understood the magnitude of the faux pas my mother was committing. And even though I really didn’t know her, I felt bad for Madison. Amy was the golden child and had it easier than I did, but Madison clearly hadn’t grown up with a mother who didn’t have boundaries. She had no clue what kind of storm was about to hit her in the form of Hurricane Joan.
I exhaled audibly. “Nope. I’m calling a foul here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t be that mother-in-law.”
Her hands were on her hips. “I’m going to be a wonderful mother-in-law. Madison is lucky to have someone to make sure everything looks its best.”
I glanced back at Amy. This is why you don’t invite her to stuff like this, I thought. “Mom, you have Amy’s wedding to do this kind of thing. Madison gets to call the shots here. You’re not in charge at this one.”
“Of course I’m not in charge, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have an opinion—”
“Yes, it does. It means exactly that. Your job is to show up in a neutral-colored dress, tell Jake and Madison that you love them, and then keep your mouth closed.”
Her brows came together murderously and she pointed a finger at me, which, no matter how old I got, made me feel like I was about to face major consequences for whatever infraction I had just committed. “Now you listen—”
“How did you feel when Nana told you what to do?” I asked, cutting her off. Her mouth was open like she was going to say something, but she lowered her finger.
“I’m nothing like Nana,” she said. “That woman was a nightmare.”
“Madison is shy and isn’t going to argue with you. But this is her wedding and if you tell her how the bridesmaids should be dressed, she’ll probably say okay. Then she’s going to resent you. Is that what you want?”
“Why would she resent me?”
I dug desperately for an argument that would sway her and, thankfully, a light bulb went off in my head. “Remember that New York Times article? The one about how paternal grandparents aren’t usually as close with their grandkids because of friction in the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship?”