The first night home was painful and awkward. Iva's canceled wedding with all of its expense and embarrassment was like the proverbial elephant---or dead body---in the living room.
Mr. and Mrs. Remington had brought home the lilies and roses---now wilting on every table and chair throughout the main
floor of the small house, including rows of them along the porch railings.
Uneaten wedding food was stuffed into the overflowing refrigerator and deep freeze.
"After a long day at the Fry Shack," Iva said, picking at her plate with a fork. "We are now eating three-day old wedding hors'doevres, meat and cheese plates, and crackers and dip."
The wedding cake with its whipped butter cream frosting and blood red roses, a layer of Iva's favorite dark chocolate hidden inside the middle tier, was sitting in all its sad glory on the washing machine---a spot where Iva wouldn't have to look at it ten times a day.
"At least I didn't have to cook," her mother said, bringing out a veggie tray and peeling back the plastic wrap. "Anybody want Ranch dressing to go with the carrots and celery sticks?"
Iva pushed her plate away. At the same time she wanted to secretly gorge on the wedding cake. She needed a sugar rush, with lots of strong hot coffee.
"I can't eat anymore," she finally said.
Her mother touched her hand. "You'll feel better tomorrow. The sun always comes up."
"Mother, your Pollyanna sentiments are not helping my mood."
"Mooning about the house and being negative only begets more negativity."
Iva crashed her chair back against the wall. "If I see one more plate of old wedding food, I'll throw myself off the leaky roof. I know you're only trying to be understanding, Mom, but it's just pissing me off."
"Now Iva," Dad said, eyes rising to hers. Even her father, that bastion of strength and goodwill, was beginning to drive her crazy.
"Not you, too, Dad." Iva slammed her plate into the sink, but refrained from cracking the china.
She gulped down a glass of water and stared out the window to the backyard with its overgrown shrubbery and tall silver birch. "Let me be angry, okay? I have to be angry as hell so don't try to comfort me, or placate me, or speak to me like I'm going to fall apart---even if I am about to fall apart."
Her mother's face was desperate, as if Iva had rejected her.
"Don't look at me like that, Mom! I should never have come home. This whole idea was stupid. What was I thinking?"
"Come back to the table," Dad said. "Let's talk about it. Help you make plans after this---this little vacation away from your job and Toronto life."
"See, that's the problem." Iva's tone sharpened. "I used to have a life in Toronto and my Vancouver life is too far in the past so now I have neither. Nothing is the same. I'm not a kid and I'm not an adult either if I'm living here. Maybe I shouldn't have taken a leave of absence from work. In Toronto I could have buried myself in work, but I was afraid of running into Noah."
She could see her father silently agreeing.
"If I ran into him I'd probably punch him in the nose."