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The door squeaked open, and Betty unceremoniously clamped aclothespin on Lucy's shirt collar, then grabbed her wrist and yankedher over the threshold. "Finally! What took you so long? Your TíaDulcinea can only wear her teeth for a couple hours at a time, youknow."
"Sorry, Mama. I got caught up at work." Got caught up, draggedher feet about leaving -- whatever. Truth was, Lucy had been dreadingthe shower for weeks. It might have been different if her family believedin her marriage, but they didn't. Sort of made the prospect of a showerludicrous, if you asked her.
"Work. Always work." Betty bustled ahead, shaking her head butsuddenly seemed to think better of her scolding and beamed over hershoulder. "Never mind. You can be fashionably late. It's your day."
From inside the house, a staccato burst of raucous laughter joltedLucy's heart. She took a steadying breath, then fingered the woodenclothespin dangling from her collar. "What's this for, anyway?"
"Oh." Betty spun to face her and snapped her fingers. "I forgot youdon't attend many Olivera wedding showers."
A barb. Lucy wanted to ignore it but rose to the bait. "Yeah, well,it's the hypocrisy that gets me."
Her mother brushed the comment away, lifting her chin towardLucy's clothespin. "Each guest has one, and any time you hear someoneusing the words 'divorce' or 'breakup' or 'split,' you can take her pin."Betty grinned as though to imply that the game couldn't possibly bemore fun. "Whoever has the most pins at the end of the shower wins aprize." She leaned in. "It's a five-pound box of Godiva."
"Yum." Lucy vaguely remembered the game from showers gone by,but something seemed off. She pulled the clip from her shoulder, pinchingand unpinching it thoughtfully. "I thought the object of this gamewas to avoid saying 'bride' or 'wedding' or 'marriage'?"
"Well ... that's how other families play. But we Oliveras -- " Bettycovered her conspiratorial hee-hee-hee with the side of one fist. "Marriage,divorce. What's the difference?"
"Mama!" Lucy's clothespin slipped, biting into the back of her ringfinger. She yanked it off, then sucked the rapidly growing blood blister,scowling at her mother over the back of her hand. When the sting eased,she wiped her hand on the side of her jeans. "Isn't that attitude a littlefatalistic?"
"It's just a silly family tradition, Lucy." Betty shrugged. "You takeeverything so serious."
"Yeah, like marriage? Vows?" Lucy muttered under her breath."God forbid someone take those seriously." Just like her mother to glossover the not-so-niceties of life.
"Well, no matter. Everyone's here, and now you, so we can getstarted."
Everyone was here -- no overstatement there -- and an outsiderwould've thought each guest had brought along a megaphone. Lucy hadgiven a heads up to the District Two cops who patrolled West Highlandsabout possible noise complaints that might crop up that Fridayevening. As history had proven, the volume level from thirty Oliverawomen all talking and laughing at once could reach law-breaking decibelswithout a helluva lot of effort. The last thing she needed was her brothers in blue dispatched to a noise disturbance at her first-evershower-for-a-marriage-that-won't-last-(mark-my-words)-thing.
Talk about embarrassing.
It had turned out to be good foresight. The festivities hadn't evenreally begun, and already Lucy's eardrums vibrated from the clatter.And, if the noise pollution weren't enough to lay someone out, Lucy realized,the visual overstimulation could give even the strongest personvertigo.
Indeed, the Pastel Gods of Festive Decorating had danced orgiasticallyupon Lucy's mother's brick Tudor.
Holy Mother of God.
Lucy stopped in the archway to the front room, her jaw slack withsomething akin to horror. It was like a car accident; she couldn't lookaway. Tiny foil cutouts shaped like champagne glasses and entwinedrings glittered from every tabletop. Copious amounts of twisted crepepaper streamers and paper bells festooned the doors and archways, inshades of pink, baby blue, seafoam green, and pale yellow -- all to matchthe little opaque mints which had been set about the room in hermother's collection of antique candy dishes. A canopy of multicolored,helium-filled balloons completely obscured the arched ceiling, theircurly strings dangling and dancing in the air above the throng ofwomen.
The room even smelled pastel.
"Mama" -- Jesus -- "you've outdone yourself."
"Isn't it lovely?" Betty clasped her hands together at her chest andstudied the room with pride.
"It's -- " Lucy gulped. "Something else. That's for sure."
"Thank you, sweetie." Missing the subtext altogether, Betty laid apalm against Lucy's back and raised her voice above the din. "Mira,everyone. Look. Our girl has arrived."
The room's volume level dipped momentarily, then spiked as guestsshouted out greetings to Lucy and even applauded. Lucy fought veryhard not to cover her ears and smiled stiffly as she was sucked into thesmothering vortex that was her familia. Knowing she had to go through all of this before she could even begin to put it behind her, Lucy drew adeep breath and entered the room.
Here goes nothing.
Half an hour later, bloated with Chex mix, mints, spiked punch,and taquitos, Lucy felt dazed and desperate to escape. They'd playedone evil game, in which selected guests were made to act out the parts ofLucy's former boyfriends, men she could have married but didn't, andthe others had to guess who the men were. Lucy was horrified. Afterward,the horde thankfully decided to break for snacks. Lucy watchedas festively dressed women swarmed the dining room table to eagerlyload up their Chinet with yet another round of jalapeño-tinged pigs-ina-blanket ...
Unsettling
Excerpted from Unsettling: A Novel by Lynda Sandoval
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