Three to Five If You're Lucky

My favourite, absolute favourite moment of the night, of the whole night was when you started crying and laughing and shrieking all at the same time. Right? That was awesome, you were so surprised, you were like, amazed weren't you? Ashley yammers on, 3 glasses of Rioja deep, while knawing on a mini maple glazed bacon blt. Marsha steps back, letting one of the 3 black clad identical wait staff push through her, traying individual lamb shanks overhead, while another one offers them chimmichuri flank steak on bamboo skewers while yet another one follows behind to pick up the detritus. The noise is cacophonous. Ashley keeps talking, laughing, shrieking herself, while Marsha stands stunned, still reeling from Mickey's surprise proposal an hour earlier as they stood in the driveway, waiting to enter her parent's house for her younger sister's 28th birthday celebration. This is chaos. This is not what she expected. Marsha and Mickey spoke of marriage but she didn't think he'd propose so soon, like this, with  hordes of friends and families watching on closed circuit iPad security feeds from inside the house, waiting for her to say yes or no. Ashley coughs, choking slightly on the medium rare shank, then giggles and snorts, moving past Marsha to get a rye and ginger from the bar. Of course she said yes. She loves Mickey; he worships her. Her father adores him. She is the second of four daughters, the last to marry off, pushing the limit in her Irish Catholic family at  the ripe old age of 29. Mickey's parents beam; Grace and Tom have been hinting at grandkids since Marsha started coming for Sunday dinners. Beef tenderloin and broccoli with cheese sauce. Horrendous. Marsha eats around the meat, too polite to tell them she's vegetarian. Mickey thinks it's sweet, endearing, but says nothing either, fearful to rock the boat; she knows there's trouble ahead but this party is swell- the food is great, the staff is amazing and they have two cakes, one for the birthday girl and another for the bride and groom to be. Marsha gives their marriage 3 to 5 years. At most. She knows she'll outgrow him by 35 but he's a solid starter. Anything to get her out of the house and off her parent's radar. For now. Not for ever. Marsha joins Ashley and helps herself to a parmesan caesar cup. Mickey seems so happy. Marsha sighs. It will be a good few years. That's all she hopes for.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more