All of Me

Chapter 8

Diana shook herself hard to eradicate the memory of the last time she’d seen her mother. She had no idea what caused the woman’s hatred of white men, but she’d basically told Diana that if she married Marty not to come home again. And Diana hadn’t.

She stared at the invitation in her hand, the last one she needed to address, should she choose to invite her mother. She probably won’t even come, Diana told herself with a sigh. Marty’s parents were dead, and because she didn’t know her father, the only parent who would be there was her mother. Except for Marty’s brother, Marty had no other family, and Diana had no one but her mother, as far as she knew.

The dilemma of whether or not to invite her mother was hers alone. Marty didn’t like Patty any more than she liked him. When Diana had asked his opinion the day she’d picked up the invitations, his answer had been to make her own decision.

Marty had continued typing on his laptop as he answered. “Why would you want to invite her?”

Diana had walked into his home office and plopped down on the chair across from him, holding the invitations she’d picked up from the printers that day. “Because she’s my mother.”

“You haven’t spoken to her in almost a year,” Marty had pointed out as he reread the email he’d been composing.

Diana nodded, a frown marring her beautiful face. “Maybe I should reach out to her, call her or go talk to her.” She stared at the floor as she spoke softly, and her tone attracted Marty’s full attention.

“Has she reached out to you at all?” Marty asked.

“No,” Diana admitted, “but she told me if I went through with the wedding, she’d never speak to me again. That I shouldn’t come home. I think if I’m ever going to speak to her again, I will have to do the contacting first.”

“I agree with you on that point.” He knew her well enough to know she needed to talk through her thoughts. His job was to listen. She’d find the answer eventually, and if she didn’t, he’d help her at the end of the conversation. This type of conversation had happened numerous times before he’d figured out what she needed from him.

Diana rose from the chair and dropped the box of invitations on the seat. She began pacing almost frantically as she talked. “I told you how she acted when I told her about our engagement. She actually suggested I try again with Ronaldo. She still has that damn picture of us in her living room.”

Marty seethed internally, though his face remained passive. That woman would choose a man who treated Diana like a dog over him, a man who thought of her as his queen. And just because he was of a different race. He watched his future wife pace, sad for her. Her mother’s behavior infuriated him, but it hurt Diana.

“She’s my mom, but she acts like a child,” Diana mumbled, the frown more of anger than hurt. “How in the world did she raise me, a person who is the opposite of racist? I had no other influence than her, and I’m pretty normal.”

“That’s questionable,” Marty joked.

She eyed him. “Shut up.” Her pacing stopped, and she put her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should call her.”

He nodded. “Diana, you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

“So you think I should?”

“I think you should do what’s best for you,” Marty shrugged. His noncommittal answer irked her, he could tell.

“Marty, what if she won’t talk to me? What if she ignores my calls?”

“Then you’ll have your answer,” Marty assured her.

Diana yanked up the box and threw herself back in the chair. “Maybe I should just send an invitation.”

“That’s a little cowardly, don’t you think?”

Diana’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”

He held up his hands in a defensive position. “Hey, sorry. But not talking to her at all, just sending her an invitation? Come on, you know that’s probably not a good idea.” Marty sighed as he rose and walked to her. He put his hands over hers on the box of invitations. “This is going to sound cruel, but truthful. Calling her is the best thing to do, especially if you actually want her to come. Either way, I think you should invite her to the wedding, but I don’t think you should get your hopes up that she’ll come.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away. “I just don’t understand how she could hate you so much.”

“Me either,” Marty shrugged, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. “I’m pretty fu*king awesome.”

Diana giggled and sniffed. “Dork.”

He kissed her. “Do what you think is right, babe. It will be the right choice. And even if your mother doesn’t respond the way you want, you’ll have settled this in your heart.”

Diana kissed him again. “I can’t live without you, you know that?”

“The feeling is mutual, my love.”

Six weeks out from the wedding, and Diana didn’t know what to do about her mother. She’d never made the phone call to her mom. Every time she picked up the phone, her fear of rejection stopped her fingers from dialing the number. She’d asked Rena’s advice, and hers had been the same as Marty’s: Do what you need to do to feel better.

Diana rolled her eyes. The pair of them were no help. The invitation sat in her hand, staring at her accusingly. Her mind invented a voice for the damn thing that told her to make the decision and put it and the rest of them in the mail today. With an abruptness that ruined the penmanship she was so proud of, she put her mother’s name on the envelope, shoved the invitation inside, and sealed it. She slapped a stamp on it and shuffled it into the pile so she couldn’t see which one it was.

“Marty, I’m running to the post office,” she yelled through the house.

He stepped into the foyer to kiss her goodbye. “Did you decide to invite Patty?”

She nodded. “I can’t not invite her. If she comes, I’ll ask her to be on her best behavior.” She smiled sadly at him.

He returned the smile. “Nothing she does will ruin the day for me. I’m marrying the love of my life and my best friend that day. She could show up naked and it wouldn’t affect me in the least.”

“Naked?” Diana laughed. “Dear Jesus, that would ruin my day.” She left on his laughter.

*****

Over the weekend, Marty’s friend Barry and his brother Marcus came over to help paint the gazebo. In an effort to save money, Marty had promised Diana and Rena that they would paint it after the hired workers fixed the floor, stairs, and beams, which Diana had been all for. Rena had been doubtful, but she really had no say if Diana agreed. So with the promise of lunch and beer, Marcus and Barry arrived around ten on Saturday morning to paint.

As they carted the ladders out to the gazebo, Marcus mumbled to his brother, out of earshot of Diana, “What the hell are we doing, man?”