When Love Goes Bad Page 3

  She placed a hand over her chest. “Why, why of course. It’s just that I was caught by surprise.”

  “You certainly were,” Christian said wryly.

  Mrs. Thomlin blushed again. Then, after an awkward pause, she stepped up and patted my bare shoulder. “You’re a very lucky girl to have someone like my Christian. I’ve always wanted the best for him. Any young woman worthy of his affection has to be someone special.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Thomlin,” I said. “You’ve raised a wonderful son and I’ll be honored to be part of your family.”

  “We’re honored as well,” she said graciously.

  She turned to Christian with misty eyes and took his face in her hands. “I think I’m going to cry.”

  Christian took her into his arms. “It’s all right. I’m just getting married. I’m not moving to Mars.”

  “If only your father could be here,” she said.

  “No, under the circumstances, one of you is enough.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. If he could just see his little boy, he’d be as proud as I am. You know what he said to me on the day you were born—”

  Suddenly, I felt like I was intruding on a private moment. Also conscious of the fact that I was a mess, I slipped quietly into the bathroom. I washed my face, brushed the tangles out of my long, dark hair, and slipped on the simple, black shift I’d worn the night before.

  I took some deep breaths to try to get myself together after that moment of supreme mortification. I hoped that no lasting harm had been done between me and my future mother-in-law.

  I’d met Barbara Thomlin several months before when she’d had Christian bring me to dinner. Gracious and hospitable, she brought out her best china, lit candles, and served roast chicken and apple pie—Christian’s favorites. Afterward, she showed me his baby pictures. I’d had a wonderful time.

  It was apparent right away that Christian and his mother were very close. That was only natural. She’d been a widow since Christian was nine and had never remarried. Christian was an only child, except for a sister who had died in infancy.

  In fact, one of the things that attracted me to Christian was the courteous and thoughtful way he treated his mother. I knew this was a man who would make a good husband and father.

  I also held devoted mothers in high esteem, but for a different reason: I had been an abused and neglected child. When I was eighteen months old, the state took me from my drug-addicted mother. She had left me alone for as long as twenty-four hours while she went looking for men and a high. Within a year, I was adopted by a wonderful couple who gave me the love and attention I’d so sorely lacked. Although I loved my adoptive father more than anything, I was especially close to my mom.

  Common interests brought me and Christian together. I was at a bookstore during my lunch hour one day, as a paralegal I loved legal thrillers and was quick to grab any new ones that came out. As I was examining the latest selection, a man approached and removed a title from the rack. I couldn’t help but notice his polished, dark-blond good looks. His left hand was minus a wedding band.

  “You’ll like that one,” I said.

  A knockout grin appeared on his face. A short conversation followed and it turned out that he was a thriller buff, too. I found out that he was an architect who worked for a firm in the building next door to mine. The next thing I knew, he’d asked me to lunch to talk about our favorite authors. It turned out to be the easiest, most enjoyable first date I’d ever had.

  I was charmed by his crooked grin and his old-fashioned manners. After our relationship progressed, he started drawing funny cartoons with us as the main characters. He’d proposed the night before by giving me an empty ring box with a cartoon folded inside. The caption read, “Want to go engagement ring shopping with me?”

  I was twenty-seven and I’d waited a long time for the right man to come along. Finally, he had.

  Christian and his mother were in the kitchen when I ventured out of the bathroom. His arm was around her shoulders.

  “I was just apologizing to Mother again for the fact that our engagement announcement didn’t exactly go as planned.”

  “Let’s not worry about it,” Mrs. Thomlin said. “There’s so much to plan, so much to do. I think it would be lovely to have the wedding at St. Mark’s.”

  My stomach tightened. “I have a hometown church,” I said, trying to keep calm. “My family has gone there for three generations.”

  The light in her eyes dimmed. “The Thomlin family has been associated with St. Mark’s even longer. My grandfather’s name is on one of the stained-glass windows.”

  I turned to Christian for support.

  “Anywhere is fine with me,” he said with a shrug.

  “Christian’s father and I were married in St. Mark’s,” his mother added.

  “My parents were married in our family church.”

  She smiled stiffly. “Well, we’ll work it out.”

  I looked at her uneasily. I hadn’t done anything wrong and I already seemed to be off on the wrong foot with my future mother-in-law. Two awkward moments within a half hour.

  “Coffee, anyone?” Christian asked brightly.

  “I think I’ll pass, dear,” Mrs. Thomlin said. “I really should be going.”

  He touched my arm. “How about you, Sweetie?”

  “I’d love some.”

  Suddenly, Mrs. Thomlin seemed to change her mind about leaving. She began opening the doors to the kitchen cabinets. “Let’s see how we’re getting along with supplies,” she mused. She opened lids, shook boxes, and checked expiration dates. Then, she went to the refrigerator and scoped out the contents. “I’ve got to get you stocked up again. I’ll make a list.”

  “Don’t bother, Mother—”

  “Oh, hush. It’s no bother. You know how I love to dote on you. I’ll do your shopping tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll make some lasagna this afternoon. We could all celebrate your engagement tonight with a delicious Italian dinner. I’ll make homemade breadsticks.”

  Christian put down the coffee grinder. “Mom,” he said gently, “Megan and I are going out tonight.”

  “Oh.” She sounded slightly wounded.

  An awkward pause followed. “How about next weekend?” he offered.

  “I wouldn’t think of interfering with your plans.”

  Christian kissed her on the forehead. “You would never be interfering. We’d consider ourselves honored to be your guests.”

  She turned to me. “That would be lovely. And then we can all sit down and start making plans for the wedding.”

  I bit my lip. I had a family, too. Had she forgotten that most wedding details were the responsibility of the bride and her family? “My mother is very good at organizing events,” I said as tactfully as I could.

  Mrs. Thomlin smiled stiffly. “And so am I, dear.”

  She kissed her son. “Bye, precious. Call me.”

  She gave me a peck on the cheek with cold lips. “Congratulations to you both on your engagement.”

  The moment we heard the front door slam, we turned to each other and burst into embarrassed laughter.

  “I hope the shock wasn’t too much for her,” Christian said, suddenly looking worried.

  I dropped my hands from my face. “Does she come over often?”

  “Yes, but she usually knocks first. If I’m not here, she just lets herself in. She has a key.”

  “She does your laundry?”

  “She insists on it. I did it myself for a while, but my shirts didn’t pass her inspection,” he said with a laugh.

  “But what about having the dry cleaners do them?”

  “Mother wouldn’t have that, either. Doing things for me brings meaning to her life. I’m all she has, so I just indulge her. She brings over home-cooked food and, as you could tell, she likes to do my grocery shopping. Several days a week, she’d cook for me at her house, but there has been a lot less of that since I began seeing you.”

  “I hope
she doesn’t think I’m taking you away from her.”

  “Of course not, honey” he said. “She likes you better than anyone I’ve ever gone out with. She told me so.”

  I brightened. “What did she say?”

  “She was impressed with the ‘thank you’ note you wrote after dinner at her house. She’s big on those sorts of things. She thinks you’re pretty. And she likes the fact that you don’t wear clothing that shows cleavage. She doesn’t approve of cleavage or bare midriffs. She’s old-fashioned.”

  I gulped as I thought of my low-rise jeans. Luckily, I’d never worn them in her presence. “But what must she think of me now—after this morning?”

  He put his arms around me. “Don’t worry about that. She knows times have changed. Besides, we’re engaged.”

  I kissed him. “I love you. I want so much to make you happy, to fit into your family. I’m worried, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your mother seems intent on having the wedding at St. Mark’s.”

  He gave me a kiss. “Where the wedding is makes no difference to me. For right now, how about some scrambled eggs? There should be a fresh jar of Mother’s homemade orange marmalade in the refrigerator. After that, what do you say that we go shopping for an engagement ring?”

  I’d hoped he’d take more of a stand in my behalf, but I pushed my wedding worries aside.

  “That sounds perfect,” I said.

  I spent the rest of the morning telephoning the good news to my parents and my friends. Mom was elated, even though she was in the throes of planning a family reunion. My best friend and co-worker, Molly, agreed to be matron of honor.

  However, I soon had a dilemma. After shopping for an engagement ring, I found two that I loved equally. One was a beautiful round-cut diamond bordered by a crescent of tiny stones and the other was a solitaire, set on a beautifully sculpted band.

  Which one will it be?” Christian asked.

  “I don’t know,” I groaned.

  The clerk, a man in his fifties, chuckled. “Why don’t you sleep on it and come back tomorrow?”

  But the next day, the problem remained. “Which one do you prefer, Christian?” I asked, slightly embarrassed.

  “Both,” he said mischievously.

  Once again, we left the store without making a selection.

  I apologized. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Maybe it’s just a bride thing,” he said.

  But the following evening, help came in an unexpected way. After dinner in a small Greek restaurant, Christian ordered champagne. Once the cork was popped and we had made a toast, he slipped a small, dark blue velvet box out of his pocket.

  I looked at it in bewilderment.

  “Open it,” he urged.

  Inside was the simpler of the two rings. Before I could say anything, he slipped it on my finger.

  “I thought I’d spare you the agony of any more indecision,” he said with a grin.

  “But I thought you couldn’t decide either,” I said.

  “I couldn’t. Mother picked it out.”

  I blinked. “Your mother? Christian, don’t you think the choice should have been ours?”

  “She was just trying to help,” he said. “She knows a little about diamonds. Her father was a jeweler.”

  I took a swallow of champagne. “I like your mother, but isn’t she being a little too helpful?”

  “Well, that’s just Mother. She said this diamond has a better color. You’re not obligated to keep it. You can exchange it.”

  I relented. “No, she’s right. The ring is perfect.”

  Christian refilled our champagne glasses. I could barely take my eyes off the sparkling diamond on my finger as we talked about our future together. We decided on mid-August for our wedding date. Then, our quiet intimacy was shaken by the ring of his cell phone.

  Christian clapped it to his ear. “Oh, hello, Mother—”

  Inwardly, I winced.

  “Yes, she agrees with you completely. She’s going to keep it. You’re right as usual.”

  As he told her where we were and described what we were eating, the evening began to lose its charm.

  “And how are you feeling today?” he went on. “Is that new medicine working?”

  Discretely, I glanced at my watch. Five minutes had passed. Once again, I was the outsider looking in.

  I quietly slipped off to the restroom, but when I returned, he was still talking.

  “We look forward to having dinner with you, too” he said finally, before hanging up.

  He looked at me apologetically. “Mother was anxious to know what you thought of the ring.”

  “Christian, we were having such a romantic evening just to ourselves. Next time, maybe it would be better if you turned off your phone.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

  I tensed. “Why not?”

  “I have to be available at all times. What if she falls or something happens? She has osteoporosis and high blood pressure.”

  “Then if it’s not important, maybe you could ask if you could call her back.”

  “And risk hurting her feelings?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that. It’s just that sometimes people call at inconvenient times.”

  He touched my hand. “Try to understand. You love your mother. You usually don’t think of her as an inconvenience, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, I love my mother, too. She meant no harm. She just got excited. You know how she rambles sometimes. When she finds me busy at work, she’ll call back, but I can’t fault her too much for wanting to talk to me after hours. She gets lonely and I’m her only child.”

  To that, I couldn’t say much without sounding like an ogre. Maybe I needed to do some soul-searching. I couldn’t expect to have Christian all to myself. Yet his mother seemed to be everywhere we went, whether we were in bed or out to dinner.

  I had a good relationship with my mom, but she gave me space. Even though she loved me, she encouraged independence, saying, “The best thing parents can do for a child is to teach her not to need them.”

  I didn’t know quite what to make of Christian’s relationship with his mother. It was clear now that it was no ordinary mother-son bond. It would just take some getting used to. After all, Mrs. Thomlin’s mothering style was hardly the crime that my birth mother’s had been.

  “You’re a good son, Christian,” I conceded, in an effort to smooth things over.

  His hazel eyes glistened. “Thanks for being understanding. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  I loved Christian, and the last thing I wanted to do was to come between him and his mother.

  During the next few days, I indulged myself with a stack of bridal magazines and called Mom to tell her what I had found. We made a tentative date to shop for a gown. Since I’d been a little girl, I’d dreamed of walking down the aisle in yards of frothy lace and a long, sweeping train. The veil would fall from a wreath of orange blossoms and I’d carry pink roses. I still wanted the pink roses, but now I had my heart set on wearing one of the popular strapless gowns with my grandmother’s pearls.

  Now that I had so much planning to do, time started to fly. Before I knew it, it was Saturday evening and we were on our way to Mrs. Thomlin’s for dinner.

  “By the way, I have something here,” Christian said as he parked in his mother’s driveway.

  “What is it?”

  He reached into the back seat and retrieved a brown bag. He pulled out a small gift wrapped in glossy white paper. It was tied with a red satin bow.”

  “For me?” I asked excitedly.

  “Well, not exactly. It’s a gift for Mother. I’d like for you to give it to her.”

  I felt a pang of disappointment mixed with slight embarrassment. “What do you mean? Is it her birthday?”

  “No, I ran across it yesterday and thought it would suit her. It’s a silk scarf. She loves scarves
. I thought it would be nice to pretend it’s from you.”

  “You mean as a hostess gift? I brought a bottle of wine.”

  “Well, I suppose it could be that, too.”

  “Christian, I’m confused.”

  His eyes darkened. “Well, since we got engaged, I’ve been a little worried that she might feel excluded sometimes. I don’t want her to think for a minute that she’s losing a son. I want her to realize that she’s gaining a daughter instead.”

  A feeling of concern crept through me. “Are you saying that I haven’t won her over yet?”

  He looked mildly uncomfortable. “No, it’s not that. She likes you. It’s just that my getting married is going to be a big adjustment for her. I don’t want her to feel that I’m choosing you over her.”

  I looked at him, slightly bewildered. “But you’re not. A mother always has a special place in a man’s heart.”

  “That’s what I’ve always told her.”

  I looked at the gift, not knowing how to respond. “So, she’s afraid she’ll have to compete with me for your affections?” I asked nervously.

  “Well, she’s never said that, but nobody knows Mother like I do. I know how she thinks.”

  “But I wouldn’t—”

  Before I could finish, Mrs. Thomlin appeared on the front porch. “I hope we haven’t gotten her worried,” he said, quickly getting out of the car.

  Mrs. Thomlin held out her arms and Christian stepped into them. “Hello, Mother. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

  “And so have I. It’s so nice to have a son who’s not too grown up to want to visit his mother regularly.”

  Christian stepped aside so Mrs. Thomlin could give me a brief hug. Her hair was freshly done and she wore a red bib apron over her pale blue pantsuit. “Welcome back, dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  Christian placed a hand at the small of her back as I followed them into the house, carrying the gift bag.

  “It smells wonderful in here,” I said cheerfully, trying to cast my worries aside.

  “I love to cook and I love having somebody to cook for,” she said, patting her son on the arm.

  I handed her the gift bag. “Here’s something for you.”