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She has a talent for metaphors. “I can relate to that. I’m having a hard time coming to terms with this schedule myself. But you knew it was going to be happening very soon. Is it just hitting you now?”
She’s quiet for so long that if I didn’t know better, I’d think she fell asleep. When an eternity passes, and she still doesn’t answer, I get up and turn the light on.
“No, I don’t want you to see me.” She buries her face in the pillow as if that makes a difference.
“Out with it. I’m not going to have you lying around crying until the wedding.” When she still doesn’t answer, I add, “In case you couldn’t tell, this is me trying to be nice. It’s not something that happens often.”
She sighs heavily but finally lifts her face from the pillow. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, her cheeks soaked with tears. “I keep telling myself to get over it, but… he really scared me.”
“Who did?”
She looks guilty and regretful. “Promise you won’t get mad.”
“Out with it,” I said.
In a tiny voice, she whispers, “Your grandfather.”
Son of a bitch. I should have known. He wanted to speak to her alone, without me being around. I knew he would more than likely try to scare her a little, try to make sure she’s frightened into behaving herself and being the respectful little wife he wants for me.
“I know better than to ask for forgiveness on another person’s behalf,” I murmur. “But that’s just how he is. As soon as he thought I was old enough to find a wife, he made it his life’s mission to marry me off. Honestly, if it were anyone else, it would be funny. Like something out of a movie or a TV show. The meddling grandfather determined to find a wife for his grandson before he dies.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
She runs the heel of her hand under both eyes and shakes her head. “You know what? Ask him yourself. I want you to hear what he said. If he even tells you the truth.”
“I’ll call him,” I offer, then try to change the subject. “Are you hungry? I could order dinner.”
“I don’t have an appetite. I just want to sleep.” She sits up, her chin still quivering in spite of the sudden about-face she’s taken. “I’m going to go up to my room.”
It’s not a question. She isn’t asking for permission. I sit, helpless and concerned, while she climbs the stairs one slow tread at a time.
It’s foreign, the indignation that flares to life as I reach for my phone. The indignation itself isn’t the problem—the man has given me more than enough reason over the years to be indignant, even to resent him.
But now he’s fucking with her, the woman who’s supposed to be my wife in a matter of days. She’s going to be mine, which means she’s not his to screw around with. I highly doubt he’ll enjoy hearing that, but that’s not going to stop me. He’s the one so concerned with making sure this wedding goes off without a hitch. Why would he throw a wrench into the plans?
The moment he answers, I jump on him before he has the chance to do the same to me. “What did you say to her?”
Grandfather sputters, “What are you referring to?”
“No. Do me the favor of not pulling the doddering old man bullshit act on me. You forget I’ve watched you do it before. I know exactly how it goes.”
“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?”
“At least you sound more like yourself now.” I look up the stairs. “What did you say to Elena? And please, don’t lie.”
“We had a lovely discussion. She’s a fine girl, respectful toward her elders and eager to please. I couldn’t be more approving.”
My patience, which is already paper-thin, is starting to dwindle. “So why don’t you try telling me why I found her drowning in tears just now?”
He scoffs, and it’s easy to imagine him sitting back with a cigar and a glass of whiskey, both against the doctor’s orders. “You know how women are. I’m sure the excitement from planning the wedding and knowing she’ll be your wife within a few days’ time has taken its toll.”
Another response that isn’t the one I want. “Grandfather. This is me you’re talking to. She spoke specifically of you, of something you said to her. Now I want you to tell me what it was. Please, at least give me the courtesy of being upfront.”
“I wished her happiness, and that I hope the two of you make a lot of babies. They’ll be beautiful—that much, I know I said. Between the two of you, there’s no chance of your children being anything but cherubs.”
“I’m sure she felt pressured by that.” I also don’t believe him. I doubt she’s in any hurry to bear my children, but why would she be a sobbing wreck as a result of something as innocent as what he just described?
