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“Mackerel?” Grams makes a face.
“It’s good for you, Grams. You know the doctor advised you to be careful with your diet.”
Grams’ frown deepens. She opens her mouth, no doubt, to protest, but Gio interjects. “Yum, this looks so good.” She turns to India. “I love mackerel.”
“Me too,” I lean back in my chair.
India flashes us both a smile.
All three of us turn to Grams who huffs, “Fine, okay, I’ll eat it.”
India voices a silent thank you to Gio and leaves.
Grams stays silent for a few seconds, then nods in Gio’s direction. “You have a good one here, my boy. I hope you hold on to her,” she says without looking at me.
"Not telling me anything I don’t know,” I murmur.
Grams is on a special diet to manage her heart condition. While the food looks, smells, and is no doubt, tasty to eat, she hates the constraints imposed upon her. But Gio’s timely intervention helped put Grams at ease.
All of us dig into our food—which I can attest is tasty.
After a few mouthfuls, Grams raises an eyebrow in my direction. “You were telling me how you two met?”
I clear my throat. "It was as we told the journalist. I rescued her from her date.”
Grams places down her fork, "Your words, as I recall reading were, 'Take your hands off my wife'?" She makes air quotes with her fingers.
I resist the urge to look at Goldie and nod. "Umm, yes."
"My wife, hmm?" She leans back in her seat, then taps the table. "My. Wife."
"You have a question, Grams?" I ask lightly.
"Indeed, I do." She purses her lips. "Why are the two of you hiding things from me?"
I stiffen. "What do you mean?"
"You didn’t tell the entire story to the journalist. There’s stuff you’re holding back. Things which I think I deserve to know, since I’m not the public. I’m your grandmother, your only surviving blood relative, too."
Grams can be good at guilt-tripping me. It’s how she almost always gets me to do what she wants. Not that I hold it against her. I love her too much. I should have also known better than to try to get her to believe in my fake engagement.
"Let me explain. There’s a reason I decided to do it this way, and—"
"And nothing." Her features form into firm lines. "You never told the journalist that you love each other.”
Goldie frowns.
I stiffen. "Umm, Grams? We’re engaged; it stands to reason we’re in love.”
“Why didn’t you tell the journalist that? If you were trying to convince someone of your feelings for each other, wouldn’t that be the first thing you mention?” She looks between us. “If it weren’t for how the two of you looked at each other before you started smooching, I’d have been sure you were pretending to be engaged so you could convince me to have my surgery.”
My heart slams into my ribcage. My guts churn. It’s bad enough I feel guilty about suggesting this charade, and now I have to lie to her all over again. But if it means she’ll agree to the operation, it'll be worth it. I square my shoulders and school my features into an expression which I hope makes it clear I'm sincere.
“Well, I’m telling my fiancée now, in front of you,” I turn to Goldie. Her eyes widen. A hint of panic creeps into them, but before she can say or do anything which could give away this pretense, I lean over and place my hand on hers. “I love you, Goldie. I loved you before I knew what it was I felt for you. I love you in a way I've never loved anyone before or ever will after. You’re it for me. You’re my sun, my moon, my stars, my everything. You’re the woman I’ve been waiting for. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one. I’d pick you out in a crowd. I’d pick you out among the billion stars in the universe. I’d pick you over and over again. Only you.”
Goldie swallows. Her chest rises and falls. Her pupils are dilated, her color high. She looks like what she’s meant to be, a woman in love.
Grams looks between us and sighs. “That was so romantic. I brought you up right, boy.”
