May 1977 – Fairfield, CT
Angela sat next to Michael in front of the bank teller as the woman verified endless forms on their behalf. Angela reached over, and put her hand on Michael's leg. He smiled those dreamy dimples at her briefly, then tipped his head back, clearly bored. She understood. Getting a joint account was pretty mundane. She found her own mind wandering, too.
Angela Bower. She felt it around in her head for a while. She liked that her name was different now. Officially chosen, she smiled to herself. But even that felt subdued.
It had since they'd told her mother the evening Angela had proposed. Well, the few hours before that, any disturbing inkling was easily explained. I mean, I love him. And he was just afraid. He'll do great. He loves me, too. I know it…He said, 'Yes."... They'd walked in to her mother's house, hand in hand.
"Mother…we're getting married," she'd said with a big grin.
I should've gone alone. But no matter how much her mother didn't understand her, her mother had always supported her. It seemed safe enough…I guess I just wanted it to be…
But Mona's expression never changed. She looked from Angela, to Michael, and back to Angela. 'Will you excuse us, please?' she said to him. Mona rose with a dry, dismissive blink and looked down the hall, where she was headed.
'Just one moment,' Angela attempted to pacify with a squinted smile, and followed her mother. As soon as she'd shut the door to her mother's room, Mona hit the ceiling.
'What the hell are you thinking?'
Feeling her precious bubble popping, Angela, again, grasped at nonchalance. 'What do you mean?'
'You know very well what I mean! And you said you'd quit that unaffected crap. Knock it off!'
Angela rolled her eyes. 'Mother, I want to get married. So, I'm getting married.'
Mona didn't flinch. 'Why do you want to get married? Are you pregnant?'
Angela did flinch. Unable to recover smoothly, she just looked away. 'Look, Mother, I can see you're concerned-" - sensing her mother's impending pounce, Angela looked at her mother and adjusted course - 'but I'm really okay.' She looked down for a couple of seconds. Breathing, she looked back at her mother, 'Getting the news was rough on both of us, but we can do this.'
Mona didn't say anything; she just searched her daughter's face. She looked to Angela like she was almost in pain. Finally, Mona asked, 'Just tell me one thing, Angela. You sped like a bat outta hell here on Friday because of the pregnancy? Or because of his reaction to the pregnancy?'
Angela held her mother's gaze for as long as she could, then looked down. 'We're fine, Mother.' She looked back up. 'I want to marry him. He was just afraid. It's a big deal - you know that.'
Mona still looked decidedly unimpressed. But there was a softening to her as she continued to watch her daughter try to hold the line. Mona walked over to her vanity and plucked a sterling silver comb from a display cushion. She looked down at it in her hands, and sighed.
'Angela, Michael isn't my first choice for you as a husband,' Mona looked back up to Angela, 'but you'll always be my first choice as a daughter.'
Angela felt a tingly pressure on the sides of the top of her nose, and pressed her lips tight so she wouldn't cry. I don't know why I was afraid to tell her.
Mona squinted her eyes at Angela with open suspicion, 'As long as your happy,' and then softened genuinely, shaking her head, 'that's all I care about.'
Angela stared at her mother, and made her own internal case. I am happy with Michael. It's when we're apart that I'm not. Angela smiled, resolutely. 'Thank you, Mother.'
Mona nodded in silent acceptance, and walked over to Angela. She slid the comb in Angela's elegant, professional updo. 'This was your great grandmother's; she'd want you to have it for your big day.'
Angela turned her head to the side, admiring the comb in the mirror. 'Thank you, Mother,' Angela said, fingering it in grateful wonder.
Mona looked at her in the mirror, and smiled, 'Break it, and you're dead.'
Michael had flown back to Texas the next day, and Mona had actually started to get excited about the wedding planning. Things had been smooth as icing, with Michael, happy, back in the desert, and Angela grinding away in Manhattan. Yeah, smooth… There was still this niggling concern Angela refused to audience.
The morning of the wedding, Angela sat in a white leather, button tufted chair, while the hairdresser worked. She was getting it done in a romantic style of long, full waves, with a center part. It looked well in-genre with her dress. While only someone acutely familiar with her abdomen could notice, Angela was still grateful for the flowy, peasant trend in wedding dresses, that kept her own business private.
'You're the calmest bride I've ever seen,' Angela's hairdresser had marveled as she'd finished wrapping the last curl around the iron. Angela suddenly felt like she could divulge more to this woman than to herself. She'd tipped a sad smile. '…It's not really like that,' she'd tried to explain. Why did I say that?...I mean, I guess it's true, but why?
Angela's mind immediately went to practical reasons. Her mother had rushed around for her, paying through the nose in convenience fees, to create a massive wedding at the Club in less than two months, filled with people she hadn't seen in decades, if ever. I really am happy to be getting married, this just seems like a bit much for an occasion like this. -Wait, what? But she didn't answer herself. She, instead, questioned her mother about the wedding particulars, who countered quickly.
"Angela, I was in the same situation. I didn't have the option to have my dream wedding, under the circumstances. We did it rushed and quiet. You are nothing to be ashamed of. And I always wished I could've had the fancy dinner and dancing, the beautiful dress and the photos to remember it. Your father and I went to a judge on a Friday afternoon in our normal clothes. I did get a picture, but the whole experience was…lackluster. I'd never, ever want that for you. Despite your choice, if you're marrying him, then marry him. Don't settle for a wildflower bouquet in a back office.' Angela had looked at her mother for several seconds. Her mother seemed conflicted, but undeniably sad.
Angela didn't actually think they were in the same situation, at least, she hoped they weren't. She wanted to believe her father had always wanted her. He'd always treated her like she was the only destiny he'd ever imagined… But the situations were similar enough. And if her mother said she'd regret a tiny ceremony, Angela knew well enough to believe her. Well, I can't always afford to believe her, but on this, I can.
Now seeing their names next to each other on a joint account, Angela looked over at Michael. He signed the final document, and slid it to her. She smiled at him hopefully, and signed the paper. He's so much better than how terrifying and hurtful he was on that first phone call, and he did marry me, but…I feel like I made him do this.
He smiles, and kisses my belly, but he so happy to leave tomorrow. He's only been in town for a week, and he's dying to get back to the field.
'We're moving on to bull snakes,' he'd said pointedly, with raised brows - like it was supposed to be his whole argument.
It was all very practical.
A/N: The chunk of conversation Mona had with Angela when she gave her the comb was taken directly from the episode, "Marry Me, Mona". That's, obviously, not mine. And I changed the order around a bit, because that helped me. Hopefully, it wasn't too distracting.
