BETH- PRESENT
“I suppose the mulberry looks better than the plum,” Rachel is saying. She hands two scraps of fabric that look the same to me and I smile at her.
If I had a choice on how to spend my Sunday evening, time with Rachel would have been my least option. I mean, how much fun can spending time with your boyfriend’s mother be? Especially if said woman believes she is related to the Queen?
“Certainly Rachel. You have a good eye for color.” I praise her and set the fabrics aside, before lifting my cup to sip my tea, just to avoid further conversation. My phone vibrates on the chair beside me
you never place your phone on the table when with family or friends; Rachel educated me on our first meeting, and it has stuck
; but I discreetly check it anyway.
I wasn’t the most popular kid in high school, and I didn't have many friends; just one, a badass miniature spitfire Latina named Alejandra. I called her Alex and she, like everyone pre-Chase, called me Rainbow. We used to go everywhere together, thick as thieves. As my only friend, she knew all my secrets but I knew nothing about her. Her mystery added to her appeal for me.
She moved away during our senior year and things between us fell apart; not for lack of trying on her part, but due to my insecurities and mostly because of my boyfriend, Chase.
“What is Ophelia thinking though, choosing such gloomy colors for her daughter’s wedding? And she calls herself a designer.” Rachel complains and my attention reverts to her.
I resist the urge to heave a sigh, and sip my tea instead. I do not like tea, but I drink it every time I visit Rachel. Rachel is the granddaughter of an English Lady, so she takes pleasure in acting ‘British.’
“I'm sure you are wondering why I called you here.” She finally gets to the point.
I have been itching to ask her why she had summoned me, but I know that it is impossible to rush her. No matter how many times you ask, she circles round your question until she is ready to answer it. I also know that her statement is rhetoric, so I did not reply. After taking a sip of her own tea and savoring the taste in her mouth, her eyes descend on me.
“Elizabeth, you kno
w that I consider you my daughter, I don't have any myself, having borne three sons. Still, I cannot allow Ophelia to outdo me. I decided that you and Chase should get married.”
I am used to her setting the course of my relationship with her middle son. I have gotten so used to her domineering presence that it no longer bothers me, much. But this is sudden, and I try to hide the claustrophobic feeling settling in my gut.
True, Chase and I had been together for seven years, since high school. But in that time together, we have never talked about marriage. Truthfully I have never pictured a future where Chase and I are married, and I know that it speaks ill of our relationship, but it works for us.
“I don’t want you to feel like I am pressuring you, but it can’t be helped. When Blake married that girl…” ‘That girl’ is the way Rachel describes her first son’s wife. Emma is as headstrong as Rachel. One of the things Rachel and I had bonded over was our shared dislike of her; me because she intimidated me, being a big shot lawyer and all; and Rachel, most likely because Emma is no pushover, and never allows her to dictate in their home.
“...I was heartbroken. She did not allow me a choice in the wedding plans, I had to attend like every other guest!”
“She made such poor decoration choices.” I venture to say.
“Of course she did! She refused to use the wedding planner I suggested, even Ophelia has the sense to ask my advice on things.” Rachel boasts.
“But a wedding though.” I voice my uncertainty.
“Don’t be silly,” She chides in a superior tone, “the two of you have been together for ages. You live together and are practically married already, what is the big deal in making it official?” As she speaks, she pulls out a folder from her bag and hands it to me.
“I have put together a couple of wedding themes for you to go through. Once you select one, let me know and I will contact the planners. I promise you, it will be epic!” she says in an animated voice, a tone I have seldom heard from her.
“Chase and I will discuss this, and I will get back to you.” I hedge.
“George took him to the jewelers after speaking with him today.” Rachel explains. I don’t know how I feel about Chase proposing to me because his father asked him to.
I absently listen to Rachel while my mind wanders. I strangely feel pressured, and I do not like it. Chase and I make a cute couple, true. Our children will be lovely, whether they have my titian hair or his blond color. I love Chase with all my heart, so why did I feel uncomfortable with the thought of marriage?
My head is still full as I drive my beat up Chevy home. Chase hates my car, he says that it is not befitting his woman, but I don’t care. I bought it with my money, and it is the only aspect of my life that has attitude.
When I get home, it is almost dark; so I find it odd that no light has been turned on. I turn them on as I walk deeper into our space. Our apartment is not big, neither is it small, but it fits us. Chase always talks about relocating, but the proximity of the apartment to our respective jobs is enough motivation to retain it.
Chase is reclining on a loveseat in the living room and sipping a beer. His attention is glued to the game on the screen, but from the set of his shoulder, I know he is not watching. I feel a headache coming on and instantly begin clamping down on my emotions.
“Pops took me to a jewelry store today.” He begins, and points to the bag on the coffee table in front of him. His attention moves to me, watching, waiting.
“Go on,” he prompts, “open it.”
The lack of greeting has become a norm in our relationship, but I never complain. Instead, I pick the package and open the small black box inside. The simple cut of the ring inside did not detract from its elegance.
“It reminded me of the colour of your eyes.” Chase comes to stand beside me as I admire the emerald studded engagement ring. “Do you like it?”
“It is beautiful.” I reply, a little breathlessly. All my initial misgivings vanish and I look into his eyes giddily. There is no warmth in them so my heart begins to race. He looks too solemn for someone about to pop the question. “Is everything all right?”
He gazes into my eyes while my heart pounds away.
“I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could; honestly, I did.” He replies in a rush, runs his hands through his blond hair, and moves to pick up his beer to take a swallow.
“Baby, you aren’t making sense.” I say softly and offer a weak smile.
“We have been together for a long time, Liz.” He knows that I hate it when he calls me that, so why? He sighs again and sits to continue watching the game, but continues talking without looking at me. “I bought that ring for you, to ask you to be my wife; but I can’t.”
“I don’t understand.” I say weakly and sink into the space beside him.
“I can’t marry you, Elizabeth.” He intones with conviction.
