“Huh?” Shannon looks like someone hit her with a rolled-up newspaper.
“Dad doesn’t have enough money saved to pay for the kind of wedding Mom’s planning, so James will cough up the rest,” Amy declares bluntly.
Shannon recoils in resigned horror and turns to me. “Traditionally, it’s the bride’s family who pays for everything except the rehearsal dinner and the honeymoon. Plus, Daddy’s pride is going to take a beating. But James said it’s all a business write off under the perfect circumstances, so...” She looks around the apartment. “Do you have an extra spray bottle of water? If Daddy and James get into another fight...”
“That’s old-fashioned tradition, honey. When you’re marrying into high society like this, it has to be different.” Marie sniffs, half-paying attention to the conversation as she rearranges eighty sticky notes. It’s like watching someone play Wedding Tetris.
“Right,” I say to Shannon. “It’s like groom and bride gifts.”
Shannon reddens.
“I see.” She goes uncharacteristically quiet.
All three of us—make that four, if you include Chuckles—look at her.
“What do you mean, you see?” I ask.
“When you put it that way...”
“What way?”
“The bride and groom gifts that they give to each other.” She mumbles something I can’t quite catch.
“What’s that?” Marie asks, cupping an ear.
I’m pretty sure I heard enough, though. Is she kidding? Declan’s giving her that?
“He’s giving you what as a wedding present?” I gasp.
“He’s paying off all my student loans,” Shannon says with a sheepish look, like she’s embarrassed to admit it.
“Hmph,” Marie grunts. “All Jason gave me was hardcover copy of The Joy of Sex and a sweater.” She smiles like a Cheshire cat. “Guess which one I got more use out of?”
“What are you giving him?” I ask.
Amy opens her mouth to say something. Shannon cuts her off with a karate chop motion.
“If you say ‘anal,’ I will turn you into the flower girl, cat tuxedo kilt and all,” Shannon says to her.
Amy closes her mouth and bites her lips.
“Speaking of weddings, let’s talk about your date with Andrew last night!” Marie chirps.
“What does that have to do with—”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Boo.” She closes her hand as if she wishes she could take back the high five. “What’s wrong with you girls? Enjoy your youth. Spread your wild oats. YOLO!”
Amy and Shannon look at her with twin expressions that say ugh. “That’s not what you’ve been saying to us for years!”
Marie pats Amy on the cheek. “Amanda’s not my daughter. I can encourage her to be a wanton floozy and it doesn’t reflect on me.”
“I’m not a wanton floozy!” I protest.
“Of course you’re not. You didn’t sleep with him on the first date.”
“I slept with Declan on the second date,” Shannon declares.
“And see where it got you?” Marie’s arms spread out over the tiny kitchen table in the apartment, which suddenly looks like a portable version of NORAD. Wherever she goes, folders and sticky notes and brochures and samples follow. How does she do that? It’s like Mary Poppins and her magic bag, except instead of pulling out entire lamps Marie extracts caterer plans and photography estimates.
And, oddly enough, cat kilt samples.
“If Shannon slept with Declan on the second date and it got her a wedding, what will I get if I sleep with Andrew on the second date?”
“Hopefully an orgasm,” Marie mumbles.
“MOM!” Amy and Shannon shout in unison.
“That was kind of a given in my mind,” I say quietly.
“Maybe he’ll give you a job,” Marie says brightly. “And an orgasm.”
I glower at her. “I don’t need to sleep my way into a job.” And I don’t need a man to give me an orgasm, I want to add, but I’ve been on too many sex toy shops with Marie to know that this conversation is veering into dangerous territory. Once she starts talking about sex, she’ll describe intimate details about her and Jason, and I won’t be able to make eye contact with the poor man or look at a dog leash in quite the same way again.
Ever.
Marie studies me, pursing her lips slightly. Her lipstick matches her earrings, a pale peach color that makes her look like a southern belle, coiffed and blessed with a genteel air.
Until she opens her mouth.
“Sleeping your way into a job is nothing to be ashamed of. But sleeping your way out of a job is something to be proud of.”
“What?” This time, all four of us say the same thing. Even Chuckles has gained the ability to talk, Marie’s statement so ridiculous that it instantly catapults his frontal lobe into forming a speech center.
“Shannon’s working for Declan right now because he’s humoring her,” she says with a sigh, as if we’re her ignorant little minions and she’s extending her wisdom to us. “Once they’re married and having babies—”
Shannon pales.
“—she won’t be working. She’ll become a society wife and manage the children and host lovely weekend dinners with my grandbabies and we’ll be all over Boston Magazine and—”
“I’m not quitting my job to become a baby factory!” Shannon argues.