Dean turns back to me and Asher, as if Devon isn't even sitting there. "She came home from school when she was twelve and found him hanging in the garage."
He says it like he just told us she found a grease stain in the driveway. I'm mortified and disgusted that he's so callous. My attention goes to Caroline, because surely as a mother she knows what Dean just did was borderline emotional abuse. Instead of being angry at him, she nods and then shudders dramatically.
"It ruined the resale value of the house. I thought I'd never unload it. The buyer wound up paying six figures below what they should have. Needless to say, I was not happy with my dead husband."
The air leaves my lungs. I can't look at Devon. I can't look at anyone. Asher is still. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. The rage is visible in every line of his body, but he doesn't speak. He just sits there, frozen, staring at his plate.
Dean reaches for Caroline's hand, his expression softening as he looks at her. "Darling, tell them about the wedding. They'll appreciate it."
Caroline sets down her fork. "It was very simple. Just the two of us. A witness and the officiant. I wore a beautiful St. Laurent dress and Dean looked so handsome in his suit.”
"My wife was gorgeous," Dean says again. He's gazing at her with something close to adoration. "There's a photo that's attached to the press release going out Monday morning that's just perfect. She looked amazing. Marrying as we did was perfect. No fuss. No spectacle. Just us and the moment."
I feel the words land like a punch. Just us and the moment. The intimate wedding Asher and I wanted. The one Dean refused to let us have. I look at my husband. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. He's staring at his plate, his fork frozen in his hand.
"That sounds beautiful," I manage to say.
"It was." Dean reaches for Caroline's hand again. "I finally understand what you were trying to tell me, Julie. About wanting something small. Something meaningful. I didn't get it then, but I do now. I owe you an apology for not understanding.”
The hypocrisy is staggering. I want to throw my wine glass at him. Instead, I smile. "The past is in the past. I'm glad you had the day you wanted."
"Yes. I hope you're not too disappointed that we didn't invite you, son. But you should know that we chose not to have Devon there, either. Marriage is for the husband and wife, not anyone else."
Asher makes a non-committal sound and shrugs. I make something that passes for a hmm. And as for Devon, she just shifts in her seat. I feel fucking horrible for her. Her own mother got married and didn't invite her. There’s so much wrong here it’s nearly impossible to choose one thing to focus on. All I know for certain is that the conversation needs to move on because the level of discomfort is horrific.
"Devon, what are you most excited about at the new school?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer.
She looks up, surprised to be addressed. "Um. I don't know. Maybe the pottery class? The counselor mentioned that they have a really good ceramics studio."
"That's great. Do you like working with clay?"
"I don't know. My mom took me to a store to paint pottery once when I was younger. I liked that." She glances at her mother, but Caroline is focused on Dean.
"You should keep it up," I say. "It's good to have something creative."
Devon nods, but she doesn't say anything else. She picks up her fork and pushes a piece of potato around her plate. Asher still hasn't said a word. He's eating in silence, his body angled slightly away from the table. Away from Devon. When she glances at him, he doesn't notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care.
The rest of the dinner passes in a blur of small talk. Caroline mentions a charity event she's planning. Dean talks about a business acquisition. I ask Devon a few more questions, trying to draw her out, but she stays quiet. Asher contributes nothing.
Toward the end of the meal, Dean sets down his fork and turns to me. "So, Julie. Don't think I've forgotten. How's married life treating you? Is my son making you happy?"
He asks this every single time I see him, and it always lands weird. Like he's a parole officer or something. Beside me, I feel Asher go completely still. His entire body locks up. His jaw tightens so hard I can see the muscle jump. He hates this as much as I do. Maybe more.
"He's wonderful," I say, reaching over and squeezing his arm. "I love being married to him."
Dean nods, satisfied. "Good. That's what I like to hear. His priority should always be taking care of you."
Asher doesn't respond. Doesn't move. He just sits there, frozen, so I pick up the slack and start talking to Caroline about shoes. By the time dessert arrives, I'm exhausted from carrying the conversation and feel like I’ve used all of my available words for the next week. We leave at nine. Dean walks us to the door, his hand on Caroline's lower back. Devon trails behind them, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Thank you for coming," Caroline says. "It was lovely to meet you both."
"You too," I say.
Dean shakes Asher's hand. "We'll do this again soon. Family dinners are important. Son, take care of your wife."
Asher nods but doesn't respond. In the car, he's silent. I wait until we're on the highway before I speak.
"That was intense."
