Constant Companions

-x-Antonia-x-

Sometimes I think life would be easier if we all just had emotion buttons.

Like push “sad” because your stupid cat just died.

Press “furious”: your four year old daughter just spilled a can of red paint all over your proposal for that client you stayed up all night working on.

Push “happy” (bitter?/confused?/indifferent?) because your ex-husband’s getting married in a few hours.

At least then I’d know what to be feeling right now.

I might as well be a robot at this point.

I finish applying my eyeliner and give myself a quick once-over in the mirror.

Deep purple dress, matching nails, simple silver jewelry, and wavy hair let loose, a few wispy strands framing my face – nothing attention-grabbing.

My expression betrays no emotion in the rounded mirror.

Eyebrows plucked into perfect symmetry, no facial blemishes – frankly, I look pretty good for once.

But still my olive-green eyes stare back at me, revealing nothing.

Apparently my own face can’t even tell me how to feel. Communication with my heart must have gotten confused somewhere along the way, because I’m not feeling anything at the moment.

Just call me the Tin Man, Dorothy.

I don’t spend too much time in front of the mirror and leave the bathroom, wondering where I left my purse.

I hear Mia’s distinctive giggle and cartoon music blaring from the tv as I walk down the hall to the living room in my new heels.

“Mia!” I scold, groaning. She immediately stops jumping on the couch, and I rush over to carefully seize the juicebox from her, safely away from her immaculate white flower girl dress. “Be good for mommy today. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, with that deceivingly innocent smile of hers. I examine her dress to assess the damage and am relieved to find she hasn’t spilled a drop.

She begins stomping around in her loud new shoes to entertain herself while I spot my purse and begin a new search through it for my favorite tube of nude lipstick.

“My daddy’s getting buried, my daddy’s getting buried-”

“Your daddy’s getting married, sweetie,” I correct absently.

“Married…married…” she revises her chant, still clomping around the living room in her shoes that click against the wood in a maddening way. “Daddy’s getting married…” I can only sigh in exasperation.

Her neatly plaited hair is slowly coming undone, and we’ve only returned from the hair dresser’s an hour ago.

But her hair’s as under control as it’s ever going to be. She has my light brown waves, but she looks exactly like her father whenever she wakes up with a case of bedhead in the mornings.

I find my lipstick and am gone from the room for barely twenty seconds before I hear something crash to the floor and I close my eyes, back in front of the mirror, praying for patience.

“Mia Antonia Pierre!”

She appears in the doorway, smiling sweetly. Behind the charming grin she’s secretly a walking disaster.

My pretty little catastrophe.

“Pretty dress, mommy,” she says innocently, hugging me around the knees.

Well, I’ll give her that she already knows exactly the right things to say.

“You’ll go far with that skill, baby,” I tell her, playfully pinching her cheek. She scrunches up her nose, scowling and causing me to laugh.

“Not a baby!” she stomps insistently, crossing her pudgy little arms as I try to hide my amusement.

I glance over at my cellphone, half praying that I’ll get a last minute call from work.

Maybe they’ll require my presence to meet with a potential client, demanding me to come in or else I’m fired.

Mia continues on her way, stomping and singing.

I wait for my phone to ring.

No such luck.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Where are you?”

“On my way,” I reply into my phone distractedly.

“You sound tense.”

“Really, Matt? Do I? Do I sound fu-uh…” I abruptly pause my sarcastic rant, glancing back at Mia in the rearview mirror. She’s happily preoccupied; staring silently out the window and patting the flouncy skirt of her dress. “I don’t know what I am, Matt. Can you give me the address to the church? I forgot the invitation at home. And we don’t want the happy couple to have an aneurysm if I make Mia late.”

“Sure. It’s not too far from you.”

He gives me simple directions and we find the church easily, which should calm me down a little, but doesn’t.

He’s standing outside when we arrive, looking a bit serious in his suit even while he’s smiling lightly.

He opens the door for Mia, helping her out of the car.

I give him a brief hug in greeting.

“How’s the bride?” I ask, with a neutral tone.

I’m not being sarcastic. I swear. I don’t know what I’m being.

“Confident,” he offers. “Happy…you know, bride-ish?” His smile falters for a few seconds. “…but how about you, Toni? You sure you’re alright?” he asks.

“Matt…your sister is marrying my ex-husband,” I point out, shrugging. “Do you have any suggestions on how I should feel? Because I’m kind of at a loss here.”

“I guess not,” he admits, shrugging back unhelpfully. “And how are you, miss flower girl?” he says, crouching down to Mia’s eye level.

“My daddy’s getting buried!” she beams happily. He looks up at me, eyebrows raised and a bemused expression plastered on his face. I shake my head at him helplessly.

“Married, Mia,” I correct again. “Daddy’s getting married.”

“Married,” she repeats thoughtfully, half to herself.

Matt stands up, laughing, and I take my daughter’s hand to follow him inside. He suddenly turns to me, placing a hand on my arm.

“That dress would go much better with a smile,” he advises. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral, Toni. Besides…maybe you’ll find a date,” he teases with a playful smirk.

I roll my eyes at him good-naturedly but manage to smile in response, if only momentarily.

“I’d much rather find a babysitter,” I joke back, following him inside with Mia trailing behind. He laughs again.

I swear, this day would be so much easier if I had buttons to assign me some kind of emotion.

But who am I kidding?

Me being me, I wouldn’t know which button to press.