Mommy’s Girl by Tiffany Kim

My parents’ eyes lock on me the minute I enter the reception hall. A few other head turns and lingering looks shoot my way, undoubtedly due to the show-stopping quality of my dress. Mom picked it out for me at the department store a few weeks ago. I remember struggling to conceal my disgust when a pink, frilly monstrosity you’d think she’d stolen from the closet of a pompous toddler came out of the shopping bag.

“Where have you been?” Dad asks as I slip into the last empty seat at our table.

“Sorry, the traffic was horrible.”

“You missed Erin’s home video!” Mom wails. “It was so beautiful. I’ll ask Erin to send me a copy, and we can watch it again together.”

“Sounds great,” I say, focusing on not opening my mouth too wide. Somehow, I doubt the breath mints I swallowed in the car will fully cover up the smell of last night’s booze.

A basket of warm bread rolls sits beside the opulent centerpiece, a tower of white orchids and dangling crystals. I pick the fattest one from the pile and sink my teeth into its pillowy shell.

Aunt Leah hangs up from a phone call and gasps, registering my presence. “Janie, you haven’t changed one bit!” she practically shouts. “How old are you now, twenty-four, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven, actually.”

“Honey, everyone’s been waiting to see you.” Mom wrestles the bread roll out of my hand.

I dust the bread crumbs off my dress, though all that does is bury them deeper inside the frills. I hug Aunt Leah first, suffocating in a cloud of her tangy perfume. The ends of her yellow dress pool around her feet like spilled sunshine, and Uncle Ben has to help steady me when I accidentally catch the hem with my Mary Janes. Next to them are Granny Josephine and a chiselled, muscular tower that slightly resembles the Emmett I remember. I have to crane my neck now to avoid crashing my teeth into his clavicle.

The skin between my thighs throbs as I sit back down, a sore reminder of last night. My old college roommate, Dana, had flown in from Chicago and begged me to join her for drinks at The Electro Lounge. I’d been home when I received her drunken message, sprawled next to Mom on the couch, debating again whether I could get away with changing my locks without hurting her feelings. But who was I kidding? She was the type of woman to feign damage from contact with a feather. And if I were truly capable of doing that to her, I’d have found an apartment much farther than a fifteen-minute drive away.

All I could do for now was make the most out of my situation. Which is how I ended up on the dance floor with Dana after Mom had gone back to her own house, determined to salvage whatever was left of the evening.

Despite my best efforts to stay steadfast under Dana’s influence, I had failed. The day began with a pile of vomit next to my bed, right beside the alarm clock that had never gone off. Upon consciousness, fragmented images pummelled my head: hands pressed against a frosted window, breath clouding the glass as someone moved behind me, panting heavily. I couldn’t remember anything else, just the sharp relief of not having to think at all about my miserable life.

“What are you up to these days, Jane?” Uncle Ben asks. “Are you still at that food company?”

By now, I’d sent my family over a hundred free meal kits. Never mind that the company name is printed in gigantic letters across the cardboard boxes—and again on the individual packaging—my family has a remarkable tendency to miss what’s right in front of them.

“Quickstir, you mean?” I say. “Yes, I was recently promoted to Senior Project Manager.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Granny Josephine beams. “Those things are delicious. I love the one with the sesame noodles.”

“I’ll make sure to send you some more, Gran.” I look around the room. “So, where’s Erin?”

“She’s in the garden taking pictures,” Aunt Leah says. “They’ll be back soon. It must be ages since you’ve seen her, huh?”

***

Erin announced her engagement last May. I didn’t even know she’d been in a relationship. Mom was quick to fill me in; he was two years older, and they’d been dating around seven months. When I first heard the news, I thought she was crazy. Seven months wasn’t a short amount of time, but it still felt too brief for a commitment as immense as marriage. The shock eventually tapered, thickening into something worse: the dread of having to see everyone. We had never been the type of family to skimp on celebrations. Birthday pool parties, competitions to see who could make the best roast turkey for Thanksgiving, Christmas ski trips, backyard barbecues— we’d done it all. Growing up, I had enjoyed them as much as anyone else, but that changed after Britt died.

For the first few months, I didn’t leave my mom’s side. Dad was often away on business for prolonged periods, and I was afraid of what might happen if I left her alone in the house. Within weeks, more than ten pounds vanished from her frame. Her hands shrivelled, bones protruded from her skin, and she cried like an insatiable infant. At one point, I was making multiple trips a day to the grocery store just to pick up Kleenex. With time, I assumed she would eventually get better. People moved on from tragedies because they had to, not because they woke up one morning and suddenly felt like they could. My mom, however, seemed to stray from all precedents. Even once she returned to work, she still flooded my phone with messages and voicemails, draining my battery faster than a drip coffee pot on overdrive.

I’d lived on campus for the first three years of college and planned to return once things at home settled. But the week before deposits were due, Dad sat me down and trundled through a bizarre explanation about our supposed dire financial situation. I would have accepted it, put my desires aside, if it was what I thought was best for my family, not just what they were trying to sell me on. But the agitated lines striking his forehead gave the truth away: they just didn’t want me to go.

She didn’t want me to go.

***

The buffet table is mostly deserted; one of the positives of being late is that most of the initial flurry and chaos has dissolved by the time you arrive. The downside, especially if the event you’re attending provides complementary food, is that most of the good stuff is devoured early. I load my plate with two stale chicken wings, scrape the last of the mashed potatoes, and grab a yellow juice glass from the beverage station, wondering if it’s pineapple or mango.

As I turn to head back to my table, someone slams into me, tipping the precarious balance of goods in my arms. The yellow liquid in my glass sloshes all over the front of my pink dress.

“Shiiiiit,” says a girl in a slinky blue cocktail dress, stopping short. “Did I do that? I’m sorry, I’ve had like way too much wine.”

She hands me a napkin. I take it, more embarrassed by how I look next to her than annoyed about the spilled juice. Half of her hair is pinned in a sleek twist, the rest falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her dress clings in just the right way, with a slit running high up one side. I have a similar dress hanging in my closet; yet here I am, a walking flamingo.

“I can’t believe they’re getting married tomorrow,” she says.

“Are you and Erin close?”

“Barely know her,” she slurs. “I’m a close friend of Peter’s. We go way back.”

“What’s he like?” I ask, halfheartedly wiping at the dress.

“He’s cool. Used to be kind of wild.” One leg juts out as she shifts her weight. Everything about her is so effortless, almost regal. “Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Jane, Erin’s cousin.”

“And you’ve never met him?”

My cheeks flush with shame. It’s not like there hadn’t been opportunities. Erin’s bachelorette party and bridal shower were some of the more recent, along with numerous family dinners over the past year. Still, I’d managed to worm my way out of every invitation.

Family gatherings had morphed into a cold, lonely prison, one where I couldn’t move more than two feet without Aunt Leah or Gran or some distant relative smothering me with the reminder that I was the only one holding my mom together.

Mom gasps when I return to our table. “What happened to your dress!”

“It’s not a big deal.”

She scans the lingering stain. “I can get that out with baking soda later.”

I don’t plan to wear this dress again, but I nod. “Thanks, Mom.”

At that moment, Erin floats into the reception hall in an elegant, white mermaid dress. The chandelier hanging from the centre of the room obstructs my view of the man standing beside her, but I can see just enough to make out his sand-coloured hair and poorly ironed dress shirt.

Erin gestures to a nearby hotel employee to turn down the background music, then raises her champagne glass with practiced ease.

“Hi everyone, we hope you enjoyed dinner,” she says, “I’ll save the big sappy speech for our vows tomorrow, but before you all head out, I just want to say thank you for showing up tonight—and for putting up with the endless wedding events we’ve hijacked your calendar with all year long! Thank you for all your beautiful gifts and wonderful wedding advice. We couldn’t have done any of this without your help.”

A pang of guilt jabs at my chest.

“Every day I feel more sure that Peter is the person I’m meant to be with.” She gazes at her soon-to-be husband, reaching for his hand. He smiles, kissing her softly on the lips.

“There’s still plenty of dessert left, so enjoy!” Erin says.

“To Erin and Peter!” Her bridesmaids’ table exclaims in unison. The bride and groom share another kiss; this one is more tender, passionate. It stirs something pernicious within the bottomless, rumbling pit of longing inside me, threatening to pour out completely.

***

We met during the last year of college in Professor Wilbur’s nutrition class. He was pre-med, aspiring to be a doctor, whereas I was just there, existing. I knew he was too good for me the day he lent me his lavish, engraved ballpoint pen. For the first two years of our relationship, I lived in complete anxiousness, waiting for the day a flaw or some unforgivable mistake surfaced, unravelling the bliss that surrounded us. Though he snored like a dying walrus being run over by a tank and occasionally annoyed me by forgetting to put down the toilet seat, the love he brought into my life was so vast, so all-encompassing, that any imperfections were easily engulfed and somehow only deepened my affection for him. It meant something to me that he was the first person I met after Britt died. Four years later, when he proposed by the lake, late at night—exactly the simple, intimate moment I had dreamed of and once described to my sister during our late-night talks about life—it felt like she was with me in that moment. The notes from “Fallingforyou” by The 1975 rose around us as he pulled out a small velvet box from his coat and lowered himself onto one knee.

Dad’s immediate reaction was a mix between shock and joy, but in an endearing fatherly way. Mom was the one I had been nervous about. When I told her the news, she just stared at me. Blinked once, twice. Then, she burst into tears and retreated to her room. She didn’t speak to me for three days. When she finally did, it was to ask me, couldn’t I wait a few more years? Her need was evident, undeniable. So I did as she asked, and I prayed she would come around. But she never did.

***

“What about you, Jane?” Granny Josephine asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” I say. “Too busy with work.”

She glances at Mom, then back at me. “You should date as much as you can while you’re still young! Finding your person is just as important as work.”

“Mom, please, she has years before she has to settle down.” Mom frowns. She fusses with the bobby pins lodged inside my matted hair, and I have to fight the urge to swat her hands away.

One of the servers pops her head in between us and asks, “Would you like any wine, miss?”

Mom answers instead, “My daughter doesn’t drink.”

The server raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to confirm. Avoiding eye contact, I reluctantly nod my head.

“But you work in the food industry,” Emmett says. “Aren’t there a ton of socials?”

“Yeah, but there are a lot of people who don’t drink.”

“What do you even do for fun? No kayaking, I suppose.” Aunt Leah shoots him a panicked look, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Definitely not kayaking,” Mom whispers, white as a sheet.

“Sorry, Aunt Thea,” he mumbles, clearing his throat before turning back to me. “The thing is, I have a ticket to Oktoberfest, and I can’t go anymore. There are still plenty of fun activities to do there, even if you don’t drink. I was wondering if you might want to take my place?”

“That’s across the ocean,” Mom shrieks, “and she’ll miss my birthday.”

“We can celebrate after I come back,” I offer, hating the way my voice shakes.

“Fine,” she snaps. “Do whatever you want.” She swings her legs to the other side of the chair, flashing me her bare shoulder.

Silence falls across the table.

“Mom, don’t be—”

“Jane, why don’t you go say hi to Erin?” Dad says.

I sigh, pushing my chair back. There’s no point in trying to talk to her when she’s upset; she needs time to sit with it. Dad pulls me aside, rubbing circles around my back. I want to melt into him, curl up in the nook of his strong arms, but he lets go too soon.

“Janie, you know you’re your mother’s everything.”

He never fails to remind me. That whatever invisible thread once tied us together, where words were never needed to communicate, snapped and vanished into the void the day Britt died.

“But Dad,” I plead. “I don’t want to be her everything.”

He shrugs. “You’re all she has left.” Then he pats my shoulder and leaves.

A hotel employee brushes past, balancing a stack of plates, and bumps her elbow with mine. Around me, people are gathering their coats and saying their goodbyes. My pain has always been the silent, invisible kind—toxic only to myself.

As I move toward the exit, Erin sees me and waves me over, pulling me into a hug. The warmth from her body brings tears to my eyes.

Tugging her husband to her side, she says, “This is Peter.”

He extends his hand, but there’s a strange, unreadable expression on his face. While Erin looks like she’s stepped out of a wedding catalogue, dark circles cling to his eyes and grey stubble dots his chin. I shake his hand in a trance, barely registering what he says, moving quickly to join the herd of people leaving the hall.

Someone follows me into the corridor. Praying it’s not my parents, I turn around.

“Hey.” It’s Peter, fidgeting like a little boy in desperate need of a bathroom. He bites his lip, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” I try to hide my confusion as he pulls me into a secluded corner. A sour smell attacks my nostrils.

“Listen, I didn’t know who you were—obviously. It was a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

He raises his eyebrows. “The Electro Lounge?”

I get another whiff of what smells like rotten cherries, and the realization sinks in—it’s him. A strong cloud of cologne masks the faint, acrid smell of last night still clinging to his skin now. My heart drums against my ribs, remembering his hands on my waist as they held me in place, the grunt that escaped from deep inside his throat when he finished.

What comes out of my mouth at first is an indecipherable gurgle. Then, a flurry of nonsense: “Oh my god, what did we do—”

“Lower your voice,” Peter hisses. “No one has to know.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I love Erin, I really do,” he says. “I was only there last night because my friends insisted on buying me a round. I was wasted and I fucked up.”

“No shit!”

“You can’t tell her,” he says. “She might not marry me, but your family will hate you. They’ll never forgive you.”

My initial shock and panic jumble together, splintering into uncontrollable laughter, so loud it reverberates off the walls. Peter stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

He backs away from me, muttering, “You’re fucking nuts” under his breath.

They’ll hate you. They’ll never forgive you. The words sink into me like a needle, waking every nerve in my body, ravaging any sense of clarity. Aunt Leah and Uncle Ben will never speak to me again. I can picture the look of horror on Gran’s face when she finds out, her lips pressing together the way they do when she’s deeply disappointed.

And Mom.

My mom’ll go into anaphylactic shock. To her, I am still the eight-year-old girl who loves to play tag with her sister. She used to watch Britt and me from the front porch. The summer wind propelling us across the lawn, pigtails flapping across our cheeks, feet stumbling over the ends of our overalls.

The woman on that porch has no idea what’s coming. She doesn’t know that Britt will die in a kayaking accident, or that her youngest will grow up to be the kind of person who fucks someone else’s fiancé in a filthy bathroom stall. If she finds out what I did last night, she will be forced to see me for what I truly am.

But, maybe, just maybe, it’s my key to freedom.

A few guests linger out front, smoking cigarettes in the glow of the hotel entrance.

I spot my parents climbing into their car, and I run after them, tapping on the driver's side window. She rolls it down reluctantly.

“I thought you left,” Mom says, her voice quiet, eyes fixed straight ahead. Dad is in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone.

“I’m sorry.” I reach into the car, grabbing her hand. “I’m really sorry, Mom.”

She says nothing, fiddling with the radio.

“We’ll do something amazing for your birthday.”

“What about Oktoberfest?”

“I’ll tell Emmett he can give the ticket to someone else. You’re more important.”

The corners of her mouth turn up—the first crack in the armour.

“What do you say we grab an early breakfast tomorrow before the wedding? I’ll come over around seven and we can go to The Pancake House.”

“Really?” Mom’s eyes brighten, and her shoulders perk up.

It’s so easy. I know exactly what to say to make her happy. If it didn’t cost me so much, I would do it forever. For her.

“We can get blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream on top. My treat.”

“A side of waffles, too?”

“Anything you want.”

“That sounds amazing, Janie,” Mom squeals. “Just another reason to be excited for tomorrow.”

“Okay then.”

I drink in her twinkling eyes, trying to commit every inch of her face to memory. I want to stay here just a little longer and savour it all, but the engine hums to life. She kisses me goodnight and closes the car window. Dad leans forward in his seat and gives me a thumbs up. Their car threads through the crowded parking lot, fading into the night.

I’ve waited and prayed for this for years. But it doesn’t feel like the rescue I imagined. Not at all like hope. Only a new kind of weight.