Diana Mars - Mixed-Up Matrimony

“Sabrina, calm down. You’re driving, remember?” Tamara reminded her as they approached an intersection. As the light turned yellow, Sabrina slammed on the brakes and swore.

Tamara paled and watched, speechless, as both Bronson and Christopher, who had made the light, pulled over to the side of the road to wait for them.

Another admirable trait of her daughter’s was her self-control. When her opponents were cursing up a blue streak on court, she had always maintained a calm, reserved demeanor. A tournament director in Kentucky who had seen Chris Evert play as a junior had compared Sabrina’s sportsmanlike behavior during matches to the legendary champion’s.

But this out-of-control teenager was nothing like the daughter she had raised.

As the light turned green, Sabrina leaned on the accelerator and took the turn with a squeal of tires.

“Sabrina, take it easy!” a horrified Tamara yelled as they almost hit a car in the next lane.

Sabrina slowed down and swore again.

“Stupid jerk!”

“I’m sorry to say, Sabrina, but the jerk in this case is you. What’s happened to you, anyway?”

As her daughter turned a wounded, confused look on her, Tamara regretted her outburst.

“That’s what I mean, Mother. The only time you’re ever with me, or have anything nice to say to me, is when I get A’s or win a match—or preferably the damned tournament.”

Expertly passing, Sabrina caught up to Christopher’s Celica, which was the lead car, and motioned for him to open his window. When he did, Sabrina said, “Chris, let’s skip the restaurant altogether. Let’s just go over to the room and get this over with.”

Christopher looked from Sabrina to Tamara, accusation plain in his gaze, and nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll tell Dad, and I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

Bronson swore fluently, as he saw Sabrina head toward the highway. He was glad he was alone in the car, because he really felt like throttling the two kids.

Obviously, things had not gone too well with mother and daughter, since Sabrina had changed their plans and had indicated to Christopher that she did not even want to keep them company while they had some lunch.

Fear joined anger as Bronson followed his son to the motel. Had they lost before they had even begun?

Tamara’s throat constricted as Sabrina parked in front of Room 401. The door had a non-smoking symbol, and Tamara tried to swallow. At least Sabrina’s rebellion had not extended to smoking.

Christopher and Bronson parked in adjacent spaces, and Christopher left the Celica as if shot by a cannon. Reaching the driver’s side of Sabrina’s car, he opened the door for her.

“Are you okay?” he asked Sabrina, his dark blue eyes drilling holes into Tamara.

Bronson left his car and opened the door for Tamara.

“Are you all right?” Bronson asked, his stern gaze drilling holes into Christopher.

If she hadn’t been so exhausted from so many shocks in one day, Tamara would have laughed.

It was almost funny. Almost.

Mother and daughter answered simultaneously.

“I’m all right.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

An awkward moment ensued as both Sabrina and Christopher searched for the hotel key.

Bronson and Tamara looked at each other, and Tamara saw the fear and disappointment she knew must be visible in her own eyes reflected in Bronson’s gaze.

“I got it,” Sabrina said, waving the brown plastic key chain.

Sabrina walked to the door, Christopher glued to her side. She opened the room and walked in, Christopher at her heels.

Tamara swallowed again and looked up at Bronson. Though his eyes were shadowed with worry, he gave her a crooked smile and put a supportive hand at her back as they walked into the Knight’s Inn.

* * *

“Christopher has the best chance for a scholarship, Mom,” Sabrina insisted. “And I want to be with him.”

Tamara took a deep breath, and wrapped her hands around the knee of her crossed leg.

They’d been at this for the past twenty minutes. Both she and Bronson had been shocked beyond what they believed possible: both kids were putting their relationship above their futures and were refusing to listen to reason.

Tamara and Bronson were sitting on one double bed, facing Sabrina and Christopher, who occupied the other one.

While Tamara had been glad they’d not been confronted with a single, queen-size bed, she was not sure whether that was by design, or because they only had a room with double beds left when the children checked in.

At least, to her they were children. And to Bronson, too, she suspected. And they would be even when they got to be fifty, and had their own kids, and maybe grandchildren.

What was really eating at Tamara was that Bronson seemed distanced from her, now that he’d realized Christopher was still seriously considering attending college.

“Sabrina, you have one semester in which you can play a lot of tournaments and get your rankings up. And, if necessary, you can go to one university freshman year, and then transfer to one of the powerhouses in your sophomore year.”

“Or turn pro then, right?”

“If you wish,” Tamara conceded, frowning at Sabrina’s disdainful tone.

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said, Mother? I told you, I don’t care about tennis right now. I want to be with Christopher.”

“So apply to the same school,” Tamara said. “If you don’t get in, you can always try again next year.”

“Next year is too late!” Sabrina yelled, leaping off the bed.

Tamara paled. “Are you—are you pregnant?” she got out, feeling as if all the oxygen had suddenly been vacuumed from the motel room.

“That’s just like you, isn’t it, Mother, jumping to conclusions.”

“I think your mother has every right to ask that question,” Bronson said quietly. “Otherwise, why would you be eloping?”

“We had planned on eloping because Sabrina and I want to be together. Haven’t you two listened to anything we’ve had to say?”

“We’ve been listening, but nothing that either of you has been saying has made any sense,” Tamara said.

Sabrina looked at Tamara with an expression bordering on hate. Tamara shivered and clasped her hands tightly together.

“Who told you where we were, Mother? Was it Meghan? I’ll never speak to her again. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have found out.”

“I thought you just told us that you had changed your minds about eloping,” Bronson interjected.

“Yes, we did,” Christopher said. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not planning on getting married soon. We’ll wait until Sabrina graduates this January. She’ll work during spring semester, while I finish high school, and I’ll work too, during the summer. Then we’ll both live on campus—Notre Dame has accommodations for married students.”

Tamara jumped off the bed as Christopher was talking. She let him finish, and then went to stand in front of her daughter.

“Sabrina! What do you mean, you’ll be working? What about all your plans for turning pro? And especially for an education?”

“Things change, Mother,” Sabrina said, retreating from Tamara’s wrath and snuggling closer to Christopher, as if for protection.

More than anything, that little gesture destroyed Tamara. She stumbled backward and felt for the bed, encountering instead Bronson’s hand, which helped her sit down.

Normally Tamara would have been furious at seeing pity and sympathy in Bronson’s eyes, but right now she felt totally numb. Sabrina had acted as if her own mother were a monster, someone she needed to be defended against.

Sabrina had until very recently looked up to her, and imitated her in many things. They’d been mother and daughter. They’d been close friends. For her whole life Tamara had put her daughter first, and now Sabrina had withdrawn from her. Totally.