Seven

And then they were all gone, the house empty of everyone except me, Michael, his parents and mine. One big, happy family.

“I’m thrilled about your news,” my mother said. “Welcome to the family, Michael.” She kissed him and he smiled broadly.

“What kind of wedding are you going to have?” Michael’s mother asked.

“A small one,” he said at the same time I said, “We haven’t gotten that far.”

Jeez, did he already have the damn thing planned out?

“I’m very happy for you, honey.” This from my father. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. “Now I can stop worrying about you.”

“Why would you worry about me?”

“You’re my daughter. It’s in my job description.”

“I’m your middle-aged daughter.”

“You’re still my little girl.” His blue eyes shone with tenderness and I hugged him tightly.

“And my new daughter,” Michael’s father said.

Michael beamed.

“Okay, well, time to go.” Let’s end on a high note, I thought.

We walked outside and Michael helped his parents into his car. I wanted to tell him to go home after he dropped them off, to his own house, but I knew he’d be coming to mine. His fiancée’s house.

*   *   *

I was pouring a couple glasses of wine when Michael walked in. He put his arms around me from behind. “My parents are so happy.” I gave him a glass. “We should have champagne,” he said.

He was thinking celebration.

I was thinking fortification.

“Let’s go sit in the living room,” I said. Michael brought the bottle. I sat in the wingback chair near the fireplace and Rufus jumped in my lap and curled up into a fat, woolly ball. Michael sat on the couch and patted the seat beside him.

“Come sit here,” he said.

“We need to talk.”

“I know, but can’t we do it side by side? Come sit with me.” He was completely oblivious to the fact that I was about to stick a pin in his bubble of joy.

“Things are moving a little fast for me, Michael.” He paused, wineglass in midair, eyes searching mine. Rufus looked up at me and then at Michael. I scratched his neck. Michael drained his wine, then poured himself more.

“Fast?” he said. “You think two years is fast?”

“It’s not about how long we’ve been together, it’s about a couple of things. For one, it’s how you sprang this proposal on me in the restaurant in front of all those people in spite of the fact that you knew I didn’t want to get married again.”

“I took a chance that after two years you might have changed your mind. And apparently you had. You said yes, Libby.”

I hadn’t exactly said yes, but I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere with that argument. “I know, I’m sorry, but I felt pressured.” He sucked on the inside of his cheek. “And then you make a big announcement in front of our family and friends before I’m even used to the idea.” I was getting riled up now. On a roll. “And you threw me a surprise party even though you promised me, swore to me, you never would.” Rufus jumped off my lap. I hated the words coming out of my mouth. When said aloud they seemed ridiculous, just plain ungrateful. Most women would love the kind of surprises Michael had planned for me.

“I love you. I wanted to do something special for you. Is that so terrible?”

“It’s not that it’s terrible. It’s that you didn’t think about how all this might affect me.”

“I did, Libby. I thought about it a lot. I thought it would make you happy. I thought when you said yes, you wanted to marry me, that you meant it. So I figured you’d be excited to tell everyone and, okay, maybe I got carried away with my happiness and so I just said it.” He leaned forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t clear it with you first. I’m sorry if that’s not how you wanted to do it. I really am.” I felt deflated. Stupid. Petty. “And I’m sorry you hated the surprise party.”

He looked sad, and sincerely apologetic. “I didn’t hate the surprise party.”

“Everyone always says they don’t want a surprise party, but nobody means it. I really didn’t think you meant it. I thought you’d have a great time with all your friends and family around.”

I was suddenly exhausted. Every time Michael opened his mouth I felt worse and worse. His intentions had been so good and all I could do was complain about it all. My indignation was in a puddle at my feet and in its place was a big pool of guilt.

“I love you, Libby, and I’m so happy we’re engaged.” All right, I wanted to scream. Enough!

“I love you, too. I think I’m overtired. Too much excitement for the last couple of days.” He smiled. “Let’s just go to bed and sort this all out tomorrow, okay?”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

Was I?

Should I be?

It didn’t matter. I had no energy left for anger. We took the wine into the kitchen.

“Let’s have one more toast before we go to bed,” Michael said, pouring a splash into each glass.

Was he serious? “Michael, really, I’m exhausted.”

“Just a little toast to our life together.”

It felt as if bees were buzzing around my head. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Michael flinched. “I’ve had enough wine!” He looked at the bottle on the counter. “I’m overwhelmed, Michael. I’ve had enough toasts to last a lifetime and I am going to bed now.”

I left him there in the kitchen with a wineglass in his hand and an expression of pure confusion on his face. And I thought, What is he, stupid?