Chapter 8 - Beatrice Tried to Warn Me Three Weeks Before the Wedding
Three weeks before we married, Beatrice invited me:
to lunch.
Alone.
That was unusual.
She chose a quiet restaurant in Greenwich.
For half an hour she discussed:
flowers,
weather,
Lily? No, different story. Let's keep wedding.
the cake,
Julian’s childhood.
Then she asked:
“Do you keep separate accounts?”
I smiled.
“Some.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Keep them.”
I stared.
“Beatrice?”
She looked toward the window.
“Marriage can make things complicated.”
“Is something happening?”
“No.”
“Are you worried about Julian?”
“No.”
Too fast.
I waited.
She touched the cuff of her cardigan.
Then said:
“Fernando handles everything.”
“Financially?”
“Everything.”
“Do you want him to?”
Her face changed.
Before she answered, her phone rang.
Fernando.
She looked at the screen.
Then stood.
“I have to go.”
That lunch sat in my mind for:
three weeks.
I told Julian.
Not every detail.
I said:
“Your mother seems scared of your father.”
He became angry.
Not at:
Fernando.
At:
me.
“Do not psychoanalyze my parents.”
“I’m not.”
“You met them two years ago.”
“So?”
“They have been married forty years.”
“So?”
“You have no idea what their dynamic is.”
Dynamic.
Another soft word.
Then:
“Dad is intense.”
“Mom is sensitive.”
There it was.
I should have pushed.
Instead we had:
a wedding in twenty-one days.
Hundreds of guests.
Contracts.
Family expectations.
And somewhere inside me, the thought:
I can deal with this after.
After.
May you like
Dangerous word.
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