“Busy and wonderful,” Oliver said, bursting into the room. He bent down to kiss Marmee’s cheek before taking the chair opposite me. “I’ve gone over everything with Mr. Stewart. Balconies are sound. New windows are installed. He’s promised the crow fountain will be restored by the end of next week.”
“Wonderful,” Marmee said. “I can’t thank you enough for taking the lead on this, Oliver.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He smiled at me from across the table. “We’ll both feel better knowing everything is squared away.”
“Before we eat, there is something I want to discuss with both of you.” Marmee leaned forward, slipping a manila envelope out of her satchel. “My lawyer typed these up, if you don’t mind taking a look.”
This wasn’t just any paperwork. It was a prenuptial agreement. Marmee’s estate and riches went back generations on my grandfather’s side of the family. Signing an ironclad agreement was necessary. When I first told Oliver about it, he barely blinked an eye. He understood the importance of protecting assets. And as he told me time and time again, he was in this for me, not my money.
Of course, he’d failed to mention that his first wife was also worth asmall fortune. He’d never admitted to signing a prenup before, said he left the marriage with his car and little else. In the wake of my conversation with Danielle, I’d started to question everything. Whose version of the truth was to be believed? His or hers?
Oliver sat in silence for several minutes reading the documents. I held my breath, wondering if he’d stumble across some convenient error or have a sudden change of heart.
When Marmee handed him the pen, his hand didn’t shake. His signature was smooth and quick. The document essentially promised that, in the event of a divorce, he’d walk away with nothing, and he didn’t hesitate to sign. This gave me some reassurance.
“One step closer,” he said, sliding the document back to Marmee.
“One step closer,” I repeated.
She stacked the papers against the table and placed them back inside her satchel. “My lawyer will be returning to the house this week. That should get everything squared away in time for the ceremony.”
“Can’t wait,” Oliver said.
Mrs. Wilson entered the dining room carrying a fanny pack filled with Marmee’s medication. “Time for your shot.”
Marmee growled. “I’m sick of these damned things.”
“Want me to do it for you?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“No. Better start bringing the food out. I’m about starved to death.”
Mrs. Wilson smiled and rolled her eyes as she wandered back into the kitchen. Marmee was stubborn. She popped the cap off the needle and stabbed at the rubber top of her insulin vial. Her hands shook as she pulled back the plunger. She squinted to see whether the liquid had entered the barrel. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was getting harder for her to do these things without assistance.
“Let me help you,” Oliver said. She put up less of a fight with him than she did with Mrs. Wilson or me.
“Believe it or not, I used to do just fine on my own,” Marmee said.
“Of course, I believe you,” he said. “I’m happy to help. I need to earn my keep.”
Marmee pulled down her knit cardigan just below her shoulder. Sheripped the corner off an alcohol swab and rubbed the liquid on her exposed flesh.
“May I?” Oliver said, holding the syringe still in his hands.
Marmee nodded. I watched as he plunged the needle into Marmee’s arm. She clenched her eyes only for a second before sighing in relief.
As I watched, I tried not to think about Danielle or her mother or the funeral. I erased those horrible thoughts from my mind and chose to focus on what was right in front of me.
The man of my dreams nurturing the most important person in my life.
“Not too bad?” he asked, standing.
“Didn’t feel a thing,” Marmee said, readjusting her cardigan. She looked at me and winked. “You’ve got a good one, Tippi!”
“I do, don’t I?”
Oliver walked over to my side of the table and ducked down for a kiss. Mrs. Wilson reentered the dining room carrying a steaming dish of quiche lorraine, the scent of savory filling and salty bacon peppering the air.
When we returned to the apartment, Oliver hopped in the shower. I wandered around the bedroom replaying a highlight reel from brunch—the fabulous food, the endless laughter—and felt at peace.
