re: The Wedding

Hunter Hague

Nancy,

I hate to email you again, but Teddy and I are feeling pretty low right now TBH. We just got a message from Violet's wedding website, and apparently I've been uninvited to the wedding. Is it a scam? 

I'm writing to you (sorry, I know you're busy) so I can get more information. I always feel calmer when I can review facts. First of all, can you confirm I was disinvited? If so, how was the decision made, and by whom (Violet?)? Have any other guests gotten their invitations revoked?

Sorry if this is turning into the longest email ever, but your phone can't accept new voice messages. (Also, Teddy said emphatically you don't text.) Can you send me Violet’s email address? I'd like to get her perspective. (Teddy's been a wreck since we got this weird message. He's been coping by playing too many video games. I find he can't be relied on to help remedy the situation). I just think it would be incredibly special to be at Teddy's sister's wedding and I'm confused as to why I can't all of a sudden.

I'd be willing to skip dinner at the reception if that helps.

Sorry. Thanks,

-Kath

Hi Nancy!

I found Violet's email address on the internet and sent her a message, I hope you don't mind. Violet replied really fast and guess what? I'm back in the wedding! Or, as Violet said: I was never out of the wedding. The whole drama was a mistake! When you do write back (BTW, I totally get you're busy) I'm curious to hear what you think happened. 

It's time I lay my cards on the table. There's a reason we kinda freaked out when we thought I wouldn't be attending Violet's wedding. The reason: Teddy is going to officially propose to me at the wedding. Email feels so cold for a daughter-in-law/ mother-in-law relationship (okay if I use these phrases?). Nancy, I really would call you, I really would text you, or visit with you in person, or contact you in any other way if I could. But I asked Teddy how I could contact you and he said to email. I hope I'm not making a total fool of myself by sending this.

There have been moments over the years, a condescending look (maybe?), a long pause, the feeling that when I'm not in the room I am being talked about by you. These are not facts. They are a collection of vague impressions, making the diagnosis difficult. But they are something. Teddy told me early in our relationship that you expressed hesitation with me because I'm "not very spontaneous." (I want to bury the hatchet between us. Is there a hatchet? I don't think there's a hatchet!)

If there was something specific I did to get myself uninvited, I beg you to please tell me. Med school has been crazy, and beyond that I am told I sometimes fail to pick up on social cues. 

Can I say, as if there were any doubt, Teddy is the man of my dreams. I love him so much, and I plan to tell him this every day of our lives together. (I've always wanted to marry a rugged, adventurous guy who's done tons of cool stuff: like work on a farm in Chile and hike the Appalachian Trail — both things Teddy's planning on accomplishing. Someone who is also cultured and knows his basic composers.) Guys like Teddy are so rare.

Thanks. Sorry,

-Kath

Nancy,

I'm really sorry to bother you, but I wanted to keep you posted. Teddy and I are all set to go with Operation: So Cute I'm Gonna Barf!

But . . . can I be totally honest for a minute? I am feeling cut off from you. Teddy tells me you are getting my emails, but you never write back. This dynamic feels a little awkward and wrong, not how I imagined my relationship with my mother-in-law going. I'm wondering, for example, what you think about everything that's happening? Your son is going to propose to his girlfriend in 7 days. If you have any reservations about Operation: So Cute I'm Gonna Barf, now would be a good time to discuss them. 

There's one more thing. Can you tell me what you and Teddy texted about today? 

As I was driving us home from the mountain, I was chatting with Teddy about the recent NASA Mars operation. Have you heard much about the robotic helicopter they deployed on the surface of Mars? The Martian atmosphere is about 100 times thinner than our planet's, which means flying near the surface of that planet is like flying 87,000 feet above Earth. The helicopter worked. What a feat of planning! Anyway, as I was chatting with Teddy, every two minutes or so, he'd glance at the phone in his lap and then tense up. I asked him is everything okay? He said yeah. But he kept acting strange and withdrawn. Finally I offered to give him a dishbuck in exchange for telling me what was going on in his head. (Dishbucks are a currency he can spend to not do the dishes.) He wasn't budging, so I offered two dishbucks, and then 3. He said, Oh, I'm just texting with my mom. I asked if you were alright. He said, yeah.

A few minutes passed, and I started thinking: oh no, is he having doubts? It seemed like the messages (from you, apparently) were causing his back and shoulders to tense up. I asked him what was the problem: something with Violet's wedding? He wouldn't say.

Teddy seemed on edge for the rest of the ride. When we pulled into the driveway he eyed all the snow that had built up on the roof of our apartment. Per a deal with the landlord, he's responsible for raking the snow off the roof. I imagined he was thinking of this chore as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. I'm shutting down, he said. I can't deal with everything right now. He sometimes falls apart emotionally. You've seen this. I said, We'll get through this together. Is there anything I can do to help?

That evening I washed the dishes and played Teddy's "Classical Music for People who Hate Classical Music" playlist. The only time I spoke was to announce the composer when a new track came on, to help Teddy memorize his composers. But he was quiet and weird all night.

Can you please tell me what you two were texting about?

I'm sorry, thank you,

Kath

Nancy,

I'm shaking right now. I can’t believe what happened. I guess now I know what you two were texting about: how to put me out of my misery. Well, congratulations. (I know even as I type this email I'm going to regret sending it, Nancy, but I'm just so f___ing mad! I'm not a vindictive person. I hope Violet has a wonderful wedding, and Teddy and you have nice lives.) Goodbye forever.

Can I just say one more thing? What's wrong with me? I'm organized, ambitious, intelligent. Why did you feel I wasn't good enough for your son? Is it because I'm "not very spontaneous"? I've nearly been engaged with two other guys, and they both broke up with me unexpectedly at the last minute. I guess everyone's afraid of the girl who takes control of the situation, who won't hesitate to speak her mind. Is that it? Or maybe everyone sees straight through her to the girl who was always moving schools and always feeling lost. Is that who everyone sees and hates? Well, I hate her too.

If you have any sympathy for me, can you please tell me what it is about me you find so wrong? I had our whole trajectory mapped out and it went away in seconds and I don't understand why . . . What am I saying? I didn't deserve to be blindsided. 

-K

Nancy,

I really wish your voicemail wasn't full. Can I begin with an apology? When I wrote my email to you yesterday it was late, and I was exhausted and stressed. So, I'm sorry. 

As for Teddy, I want you to know he's fine. He's sleeping thanks to pain medication. We plan on trying to reach you again in the morning. I figured a quick email tonight would help soften the blow. I know how you worry about him, but you don't have to worry anymore. 

Last night Teddy began packing up his clothes and video games. I flitted around the apartment out of my mind with grief. I kept trying to give Teddy redundant or unwanted advice, like, "Don't forget to rake the snow off the roof!" I didn't know what to do with myself. I sent that hasty email to you. Then I had to clear my head so I got in my car and drove. In the cupholder of my car is a plastic bag clip in the shape of a pizza slice. When I stopped at a red light and happened to look at it, I burst into tears. 

I came back a few hours later. Turning into the driveway, my headlights illuminated a scene of horror. Teddy lying on his back, not moving. The large green recycling bin on its side, receipts flapping around crazily. It was chaos. Teddy's snow rake in pieces. (Teddy had climbed onto the green plastic bin in order to reach the flimsy snow rake to the dormers, and he'd fallen off.) I've told him never to climb on that recycling bin. I jumped out of the car with the headlights still on him. My heart was racing. 

He pointed to his lower back. "What's here? Is this where the kidney is, Kath?" The fact that we'd just had a huge fight (and in a different universe he might have been moving his boxes into someone's car right then) just went away.

I told him to hold on. He seemed to think he had landed on his kidney, but I was more worried about the head or spine. My training took over. I barely had to think. After determining there were no apparent signs of trauma to the head or cervical spine, I took Teddy's pulse and respiration rate.

"Could it be the kidney?" he said, lying uneasily on the ground.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Here. Ow. It's bad." He pointed vaguely toward his hip. 

I unzipped his jacket and lifted his shirt. The spot he had indicated wasn't near any vital organs. Instead, I drew on my training to palpate the 2nd right interspace, the 2nd left interspace, the sternal border, and the apex. I was being extra thorough, Nancy, and checking his heart, an organ very dear to me. I felt for the carotid upstroke, which was okay.

"Kath—my kidney?"

I looked for the apical impulse.

Teddy stared into the night sky. "Should I call my mom?"

"You're okay, Teddy. We should go to the ER to get you scanned, but I think you're totally okay." As I zipped his coat back up, I mentally rehearsed how I would present my findings to the ER docs. 

"And what if my kidney explodes in the car and I never get to say goodbye to my mom—" Teddy closed his eyes as if he had just looked straight into my car's headlights. 

"We'll go to the ER." I helped him up, and put his arm around my shoulders.

He stood. "I'm so glad you came home when you did." 

I said, "We'll talk later."  

As we moved unsteadily toward my car, Teddy said, "I should have never . . ."

"What?" We stopped walking. "You should have never what? What is it?"

Teddy looked at me, confused.

"You just said: 'I should have never.' What did you mean?"

Teddy's eyes were glassy. He stared towards the car. We weren't moving. 

"What did you mean?" I said.

"I should have never. . . ended things."

"Oh, forget about that," I said, and now we began approaching the car again. My professional duties ongoing, I couldn't let any emotions in. I buckled up the patient and asked him to list his composers.

"Debussy," he said. "Shakespeare, Mozart, Joan of Arc. Do you think I'm at risk of dying?"

"No."

"I'm scared. I love you. I love you so much, Kath. I'm sorry."

"That's ok, Teddy. That's ok."

Later, the CT scan definitively ruled out any damage to his organs. We learned he had fractured his 9th right rib and had a transverse process fracture on one of his thoracic vertebrae (basically 5 or six weeks of taking it easy and he's fine; probably no dancing at the wedding). I took his hand in mine and told him that I loved him very much and we could simply forget all that breaking up business. He smiled and repeated that he loved me, too. I was swept up in a warm feeling. I mentioned how that stupid pizza clip had made me cry, and he said, "That's so cheesy." I literally laughed so hard I coughed.

Later on I inquired about your family's 1920's art deco ring. Teddy said he would ask you about it.

An eventful day. Anyway, Violet's wedding will be here in 2 days. Talk soon.

-Kath

Hello from Arizona. Teddy and I came to Sedona because the red rocks here are supposed to resemble the Martian landscape. Ever since the 5 successful helicopter flights on The Red Planet, I'm even more obsessed. The odds were so long, and the engineers planned so diligently. Staying here, I feel some of the magic of that inspirational mission. I watch the sun set and think about what it would be like from the rover's point of view. 

Back on Earth: I bet you are regretting your actions at Violet's wedding a week ago. You were so drunk, Nancy, I'll remind you what happened in case you blacked out. Remember our talk at the porta potties? You flaunted the art deco ring right in my face! What could I do but try to defend myself. I was feeling really cornered and attacked so I lied and said, I'd do anything to make sure Teddy makes the right decisions, even loosen the wheels on the recycling container thing that he stands on to do the roof. That really set you off. You said some pretty disparaging things about me and then left to have another drink or two or 3. You looked shocked when you were called on to do a toast. Did you forget Violet and Russ had asked you to give a speech? 

I have a pretty good memory. Should I remind you what you said? You delivered a mini-sermon on how parenting was a process of gradually losing control. You start out doing everything for them, diapers and food, and friends, and then as time goes on they gain independence and you have less and less control. Then there was a confusing transition. You made eye contact with me. And then this: "This girl who is with my son is a tricky, lying manipulative — I can't even look at her — am I . . . does anyone else see this? I can't be—" Here is where Uncle Harold made his first attempt to rescue the microphone. You pulled it back and made eye contact with me. "She's a rat. She's like a rat. A little . . . infestation. I don't know — wait. Wait! I don't know how to get her. Call the . . . people. Teddy, please. Who else can see this? Teddy, honey. Please. Dump this bitch. You won't believe what she said to me—"

Uncle Harold seized the microphone. You should have seen the looks on the Violet's and Russ's faces. Let's just say there are many embarrassed relatives who reached out to me to apologize for your behavior. Just so you know, Teddy took it really really hard. 

It's funny. I spent so much of my life worrying about being spontaneous. Believe me, you are not the first person to mention it. In college, I used to write down "random" topics on index cards and then go to the bathroom, read one, and return to the party or whatever and mention it to someone. But the truth is, when you're forced to move all the time like I was, you don't think wacky, spur of the moment ideas are such a blast. And here's the other thing: spontaneity doesn't get you to Mars, it doesn't land the rover or power the solar helicopter. Planning does. I'm a planner. And I've landed on the man of my dreams. Don't you EVER try to break up me and my fiancé again, Nancy.

We'll have to see if we think inviting you to our wedding is appropriate, what with how much of a scene you caused at Violet's. Why don't you send me a photo of the art deco ring so I can see what it looks like up close.

Warmly,

Kathy