The Truth About Unspeakable Things, Emily Myers [bookstand for reading TXT] 📗

and I had called off the wedding, she blamed me.

To her, Beaux was the most perfect, gorgeous man that she’d ever seen. Now, she speaks of Bill in the same way. She was so happy for me, proud of me, because nothing else in my life was worth her pride, and I threw it all away. And that’s why I didn’t tell her the truth about what happened between me and Beaux. I didn’t even tell her the PG version, which was that he cheated. Who can say if she would’ve even believed me if I had? Or worse, what if she blamed me for that too?

I knew she would take our breakup hard, but I could barely get it out of my mouth before she was jumping down my throat. We haven’t talked since.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, forcing civility. I don’t answer any of her prompts.

“Eva,” my mom says. “Why don’t you give me and your sister a moment. She sounds tired, anyway. You and I can look through the wedding magazines when I hang up.”

“Okay!” Eva says.

I imagine the smile on my sister’s face, and the image tugs at my heart. Not because it makes me sad, but because I know the happiness she feels now won’t last, and I don’t want to see her broken the way I was, the way I still am.

“Goodnight, Emma,” she says. “And keep your phone close by. Bill and I want a quick engagement, so the wedding planning will happen fast. I need you available for input.”

“I will do that,” I say. “Goodnight, Eva.”

Eva hands the phone back to my mother and I bite my lip in restraint.

“So, how have you been?” my mom asks. “It’s been a while.” I sense the disappointment in her voice, perhaps even a bit of sadness. I close my eyes as I speak.

“Nine months. And I’m . . . I’m good,” I lie. “I’m working a lot and—”

“Well, isn’t that nice?” she says, cutting me off.

“Yeah, um,” I stutter. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a moment of silence between us. Neither one of us knows what to say. In all honesty, I miss my mom. I missed her long before Beaux and I ever even met. It just so happened to be that my being with Beaux is what gave us common ground. Now that he’s gone, her judgement is more present than ever—or it would be if we were talking to each other.

A relationship between a mother and daughter shouldn’t be built on the shoulders of a man, be it Beaux, or be it my father. My father has always encouraged me to have a better relationship with her, to end all of this conflict. But even he can’t fix this problem.

“Well . . .” my mother says, breaking our silence. “How are you otherwise?”

My lips lift into a small smile. Is this a genuine inquiry as to my mental state?

“I’m . . . well, I’m not really sure what I am,” I say. “This last year has been hard. It’s been strange learning how to be alone again, single, among other things.”

“Well, maybe if you’re still feeling sad about everything with Beaux, then it’s a sign you should reach out to him. I mean, maybe you just got cold feet and you’re fighting that reality,” she says. “You know, I didn’t tell you, but we didn’t cancel the deposit at the venue.”

“What?” Sharp pains shoot up my neck to my temple. My head throbs.

“We moved the date,” she reveals. “If you reconcile now, you’ll still have plenty of time to prepare for an October wedding. Oh, the weather in New Orleans would be beautiful then. Not too humid and . . .”

“Mom, stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, stop,” I tell her. “Is that what you’ve been telling everyone up there? That we postponed the wedding?”

She doesn’t answer, which is all the answer I need.

“Mom, when will you accept that Beaux and I are over?”

My throat feels tight just saying his name. But for some reason, it’s unavoidable when it comes to my mother, which is a huge reason why I’ve refrained from talking to her.

“Oh, Emma,” she says. “You two were so perfect. And Beaux was just fascinated with you. I’m sure if you wanted . . .”

“But I don’t want it, Mother,” I say, cutting her off. “I don’t want him. I don’t want anything to do with him. And, quite frankly, I never want to hear his name cross your lips again.”

There’s a brief pause before my mother responds.

“Fine. Just . . . just promise me one thing,” she begs.

“I won’t ruin Eva’s wedding,” I tell her. “I won’t be a Negative-Nancy or a Debbie-Downer. I won’t express to her I think she’s too young and they haven’t been together long enough. I won’t explain to her that the older you get the more you know what you want, and the longer you’re with someone the less perfect they appear.”

My mom breathes heavy in the phone and I imagine she drops it to her side just as I did earlier.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I realize none of that is helpful,” I admit.

“No, it’s not,” my mom says. “And yes, if you could keep your thoughts to yourself, I would much appreciate it. Your sister is happy, and Bill is a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “I thought Beaux was too.” Oh no! I cover my mouth with my hand. Thankfully, my mom doesn’t engage my slip-up.

“Look,” my mom says. “I don’t know what happened between you and Beaux, but things are simpler in these parts. There’s no hustle and bustle, no long hours, long distance—”

“No time to second guess the most important decision of your life,” I say, cutting her off.

Again, my mother exhales.

“Sometimes all time does is allow the Devil to creep into your mind and distort what you know in your heart,” my mother says.

It’s a nice thought, but is it really true?

“Eva knows she loves Bill, and she doesn’t want to waste any time in a state of limbo. After all, we saw how a long engagement treated you and Beaux,”