Chapter 2 - Sabrina Today Marries My Son
I didn't stay in the bathroom. I couldn't look at that mirror anymore, not with the sconces throwing light straight down on the red of my scalp, so I stepped back into the hallway with my bare feet silent on the cool floor.
That morning the house didn't sound like my house. Downstairs someone was dragging a chair across hardwood. A man laughed. A woman's heels clicked fast over marble and then stopped. Through the open stairwell I could smell coffee and lilies, too much of both, and under it the faint chemical smell of hairspray. It was a wedding smell. It made my stomach turn.
Sabrina. Today, she marries my son.
I thought it exactly that way, in two beats. Her name first. Then the fact. I had known the date for months, had the invitation proof on my desk, had written the check for the florist myself. But standing there in my nightgown and robe, with my head stinging in the air, the fact didn't feel like a celebration anymore. It felt like a deadline.
My name is Helen, I was Michael's mother, and that morning I was trying to figure out how to walk ten feet down a hallway without being seen.
I pulled the edges of my robe up higher around my neck. The silk was thin and it slipped. There was a drawer in the hall table where I kept scarves I never wore. I opened it with one hand while the other stayed on my collar, like I was already covering something. My fingers found a pale gray scarf, soft from washing. I wrapped it around my head and tied it low, tucking the ends under. In the narrow hall mirror I checked myself. The scarf hid the stubble and the worst of the red, but the shape of me was wrong. My face looked smaller. My eyes looked too big.
I heard him before I saw him.
"Mom?" Michael called from the far end of the hall, near the stairs. "You up?"
My breath caught. I flattened my hand against the scarf, making sure it held. "I'm here," I said.
He came around the corner with his phone in one hand and his suit jacket over his arm. White shirt, top button open, hair still damp from the shower. He looked tired and happy in the way men look on the morning they think everything is finally set. He glanced at the scarf, then at my bare feet, then back at his phone.
"You okay? You look — did you sleep?" he said.
I nodded too fast. "I didn't sleep much. Noise."
He smiled a little. "Yeah. Caterers were here at six. Sabrina's got the whole downstairs taken over. Hair and makeup in the living room, photos at ten."
At the mention of her I felt my throat tighten. I wanted to say it plain: She shaved my head. I wanted to pull off the scarf and make him look. Instead I kept my hand on the knot like I was cold.
"What time is the car?" I asked.
"Car's at eleven. Ceremony at noon, sharp. The planner said no wiggle room with the church." He checked his phone again. A text buzzed and he typed back with his thumbs. "Have you eaten? They set up fruit and stuff in the kitchen."
"I'm fine."
He finally looked at me again, really looked. "You sure? Your eyes are red."
"It's the light," I said. "Bathroom light's too bright."
That was a lie, and it came out too short. He didn't catch it. He was already half turned back toward the stairs, listening to someone call his name from below.
"Michael!" A woman's voice floated up. "We need you for the boutonnieres!"
"Coming!" he called back. Then to me, quieter, "Hey. Today means a lot. To me. To us. Just... enjoy it, okay? Don't worry about anything."
Don't worry about anything. He said it kindly. He had no idea what he was asking. I felt a sharp pull behind my eyes and I pressed my lips together so I wouldn't say more.
"I'll be ready," I said.
He nodded and started down the hall. At the top of the stairs he paused. "And Mom? Leave the scarf? Sabrina picked a color palette for photos. Creams and gray might clash."
For a second I couldn't breathe. I thought of my scalp under the fabric, the sting, the missed patches. I thought of walking downstairs bare and bald in front of photographers and Sabrina's family.
"I'll figure something out," I said.
"Okay. Love you," he said, already moving.
"Love you too," I said, and I stayed where I was until his footsteps went down the stairs.
When the house noise rose back up, I let go of the scarf knot. My hand was shaking. I walked the last few steps to my bedroom door and stopped with my palm on the handle. Behind me the hallway was empty. Ahead was my room, quiet and dim after the bathroom light. I knew what waited in there behind the painting, but I wasn't ready to touch it yet. Not until I was sure Michael was gone and wouldn't walk back.
May you like
I would not accuse her aloud. Not yet. Not to him, not on this morning, not without thinking through what it would do to him at eleven o'clock with a car waiting.
I opened the bedroom door and slipped inside.
