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To prove her wrong, I explain further. “Understanding anger as a natural but volatile stage in the grieving process can lead to better methods of coping, healing, and support after loss or death.”
“I don’t even have words…”
The doorbell rings. Her eyes meet mine.
“That’s probably your car.”
“My car?”
“The Maserati. The one you’ve been looking at online.”
Her head tilts slightly. “You bought me a car?”
Leasing something isn’t exactly the same thing as buying it, so I say, “You needed something to drive, so we don’t have to downsize and move downtown.”
Melanie’s eyes grow wide. It takes a split second before she makes a beeline for the door. I am pleased to see she is healing well.
“Mom?” Her voice is shrill. “What are you doing here?”
This is unexpected. I have yet to meet my in-laws. Melanie has assured me we won’t like each other and judging by the look on her mother’s face when I go to the door, it seems she was right.
We exchange pleasantries. “I had to see for myself,” her mother says. “My daughter. Married.” Her eyes light up. I see a bit of my wife in them. “I can hardly believe it.”
“And to an accountant,” Melanie adds, which is ridiculous. I don’t know a more respectable profession.
I invite her in. Melanie looks at me funny. Her mother gives me a similar look as she takes a seat on the new couch. I can tell it isn’t her taste, either.
The doorbell rings again. I look to my wife. “Your father? Third cousin? Best friend from high school?”
Melanie rolls her eyes.
I open the door. It’s the car delivery people.
A clipboard is passed my way. I sign to show I am taking possession. I haven’t even finished half my last name before Melanie is grabbing me. She plants a kiss on my mouth. And they say it’s just men who have a thing for cars.
“What a lovely gift,” her mother says.
“Tom is the best.” Melanie is beaming. How easily she has forgotten she was trying to walk out on me.
“I hate to cut this short,” I say, glancing at my watch. “But our ride will be here in half an hour.”
Melanie’s brow furrows. “Our ride?”
“Yes, to take us to the airport.”
“Airport?” she and her mother say in unison.
“A honeymoon. I wanted to surprise you,” I tell her, feigning disappointment.
Melanie’s mother crosses her arms. “You had me really worried.”
“About that—” she says. It’s clear she’s hiding something.
Her mother turns to me and places her hand on my forearm. “Melanie wrote me this crazy letter. She gave this address and said she was being held against her will. Scared the daylights out of me. So here I am.”
I glare at my wife.
“I should have known better. My daughter has always had a very vivid imagination.”
