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“Kiss me. I’m not sure this is real.”
Brittany laughs, kisses my cheek for fun, and faces our families and friends. My father steps up to her after her parents have hugged her.
“I never apologized for my behavior the last time we met. I’m sorry. I hope we’ll have better times ahead of us.”
“Of course,” she says. “We’ll have plenty of time to create better memories over Thanksgiving.”
He hugs her, whispers something in her ear, and she starts crying again.
“Okay,” Melissa speaks up. “Can we all stop making the poor girl cry?”
“Yes, please,” Brittany agrees. “And I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Everyone, all at once it seems, talks about how the pregnant lady definitely needs to eat. We don’t have to wait for photos to be taken because since the minister was late, we took photos then.
“How do fried pickles sound?” I ask her.
She grins and then frowns. “As long as I can keep the nausea at bay, we’ll be fine. Can we change first?” Brittany turns to her mother. “I love your dress, Mom, but I need something more functional.”
“Whatever you want,” I say. “We’ll stop by the house to change and then go.”
“It’s your dress now,” Jane tells her, which makes Brittany start crying all over again.
Everyone heads to my house to change into casual clothes before we head to the restaurant.
“When did you find out what he was up to?” Brittany asks Melissa while we wait for our food to be brought out.
“Once you told me what Rebecca said, I asked Ben who told me he was interviewing the photographer.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. What did Rebecca say?
“She saw you at lunch with her and told me about it,” Brittany intercepts before Melissa can talk. “That’s all.”
“You never told me that.”
She shrugs. “She could’ve been lying, and I didn’t like what she said. I wanted to forget about it. Besides, I trust you.”
Then it clicks. Rebecca saw me with another woman at lunch and she told Brittany I could be cheating on her. For her to ignore that, not say anything, and continue things as normal with me? She must’ve had little to no doubts about it. That explains her falling out with her friend. As far as I know, they haven’t spoken since.
“When did you know, Mom?”
“I believe Trace called us the day he realized what he wanted to do. He asked for our permission and if we thought you’d go for it. I told him I thought you would, especially since he was going to make sure it was the way you wanted based on what you told him.”
“My biggest worry,” I tell her, “is that I’d overwhelm you into a panic attack with everything that was happening. That, and trying to keep it a secret without stressing you out or pissing you off over being secretive. I was doing okay until right here lately.”
Brittany shakes her head. “No, you weren’t. The moment you started saying you were working late or couldn’t make dinner with me, I started worrying. It snowballed from there until I couldn’t keep my frustrations to myself anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I kiss her temple.
“It’s okay.”
The waitress drops off our food and conversation moves to the pregnancy. Our parents share stories from our childhoods and we joke to Ben and Melissa that it’s their turn, which gets the girls started on wishing for their kids to be close in age and friends like they are.
Later, we’re quiet as we drive home. Ben and Melissa went home. Our parents are off to a hotel. We get to spend the night in our house as newlyweds.
“I think we should look for another house.”
“Why? I like yours.”
