The Accidental Affair-Chapter 1 (Part 1)

I’m not a fan of therapists. To be more specific, I’m not a fan of marriage counselor therapists. So, you can imagine my surprise, and dismay, when my sister announced her engagement to a therapist.

“He’s a children’s therapist, Eliza.” My sister said as she flashed her engagement ring. “Besides, Danny and I have been together for three years, is this really coming as a shock to you?” She stared at me questionably.

“You’re right, a children’s therapist is much different.” I sipped the warm apple cider (my favorite fall treat) and nibbled on my mother’s famous sugar cookies. The secret is: she bought them at Trader Joes. “It’s still a sore subject, Clarissa.” She nodded in agreement, and sipped her pumpkin spice latte (her favorite fall treat).

I believe that quirks make us human, and that learning someone’s quirks is exciting and telling. I’m not sure if my dislike of therapists counts as a quirk, but I like to think that recent events have helped me grow and learn new things about myself…as well as piss me off. I caught my husband and my marriage counselor in a very raunchy position on her couch minutes before our weekly session. My husband, well now ex-husband, Norman, had insisted we try marriage counseling. A friend from work told me about this amazing therapist her and her husband went to, so Norman and I thought we would give her a try. We had been attending her sessions for about a month before I walked in on them. Looking back on the last month of our marriage, I’m not sure if the counseling had even helped. Does it ever work? It worked for my friend-unless she also walked in on her husband and is keeping it a secret like myself.

“Let’s focus on the positives,” Clarissa began. I raised my eyebrows over my mug. “You will have more time for yourself-”

“He was always working anyway.” I cut her off. We stared at each other and she hung her head.

“You’re better off without someone that would do that to you.” The weight of her sentence hung in the air between us. I knew she was right, goddammit, I knew it. But it still hurt, the wound is still fresh. I nodded and sipped more apple cider, the warmth spreading to my stomach.

The sun streamed in through the eggshell white curtains illuminating the tile floor, giving off the impression that it was mid-summer when in fact it was a brisk October day. My sister insisted on a winter wedding, for reasons unknown to the rest of the family, so we were having her engagement party this afternoon. She and Danny had only been engaged for two weeks, but they were both eager to walk down the aisle. Norman had wanted to wait nearly two years before we tied the knot, which at the time I didn’t mind, but now I find it more romantic that Clarissa and Danny want to be husband and wife as soon as possible. Bridal magazines littered the table I was rested at, pages dog-eared on different dresses, flower arrangements, and cake designs. “You’re going to have a beautiful wedding.” I mused, as I picked up one of the magazines and sifted through the tagged pages. “Beautiful and expensive.”

Clarissa chuckled. “Most of those are from mom.”

I nodded and rolled my eyes. “Well she is the expert…she’s planned three of them.” I replied. Naturally, my mother strolls in, wearing a lacey, blue dress with a patterned cardigan that hugged her narrow shoulders. She has stellar hearing and impeccable timing.

“I heard that.” She snipped, floating over to me and snatching the magazine from my grasp. “I have planned three wonderful weddings for myself, and hundreds for my clients.”

My mother was a well-known wedding planner, specializing in flash and elegance. Her weddings were spectacular, at least that’s what everyone says, and I mean everyone. She’s planned countless celebrity weddings, has appeared on talk shows and radio, and is in the process of writing a book about her marriages and experience as a renowned wedding planner. So, naturally, she is in charge of Clarissa’s wedding. Any whisper of outside help, and my mother would shut down the whole event.

“I know, mom.” I replied. My mother’s first marriage was to our father and, although they deny it, my sister and I believe the only reason they got married was because they got pregnant with Clarissa. My father came from a stricter household, and a baby outside of marriage (let alone sex outside of marriage), would have caused chaos. So, my mother’s first wedding, although small, was tasteful and classy. Since she had planned it herself, the local paper caught wind of the tiny, fabulous wedding, did a piece, and her career blossomed. Mom used to always say if she wasn’t in the wedding business, she would be in the funeral business. It’s a grim thought, but she loves planning.

“I don’t understand why you bring up my three marriages at every family event.” My mother said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, we’re about to celebrate an engagement so I thought the topic was fitting.” I replied. My mother scowled and stirred in some sugar.

“Careful what you say, dear, the extended family still thinks you’re happily married.” She gave me a look, knowing the sentence would sting. I rolled my eyes, knowing I probably deserved it.

“Enough, enough. We’re trying to celebrate my engagement to Danny, can we please focus on that?” My sister said, standing up to fix the ruffles in her creamy, pink dress. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”

My mother and I both nodded.

We were acting childish.

Growing up with a separated mother and father was hard. Clarissa and I would alternate weeks staying with them, so we had two beds, two dressers, two hairbrushes-two of everything. After the divorce my mother went on a bit of bender, she dropped us off at dad’s, then took off to L.A. She was still gaining popularity as a wedding planner and figured that going to Cali was her best chance of pursuing that dream. She was gone about six months before she returned with a new husband and new outlook on life. She came back ready to be a mom, with Edward as our fabulous step-dad. Edward (a 25-something year old who did some job working with food) was in and out of our lives in about two years. How she met Edward, what he did for work, where he came from- I couldn’t answer one of those questions. But damn could that guy cook. Pretty sure that was the reason mom married him. It was an amicable divorce, and he still caters some of her weddings. Since then, she has been a constant, steady figure in our lives (sometimes too constant).

My mother and sister fell into conservation about the wedding as they passed the magazines back and forth. I turned my attention to the outside, gazing at the quaint neighborhood we grew up in. Maryland this time of year is my favorite. It’s cold enough for sweatshirts and vests, but not too cold that we need to bundle up like Eskimos. Clarissa loves the winter, which explains why she wants a winter wedding. She thinks snow landing and settling on the bare trees is beautiful, that there is something incredibly peaceful and silencing about the winter. Her wedding will at least be indoors.

In about thirty minutes’ guests will start to arrive, and I will spend the entire afternoon entertaining extended family that I haven’t seen in 10 years, and lying about my successful marriage to my college sweetheart.

“Hey mom,”

“Yes, Eliza?”

“Where’s the tequila?”