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And I get it.
Her father—my mother’s brother—died when she was four and that gave everyone a tender spot for her.
I’m not saying I’m jealous.
It sucks that she lost her father. I’d fall apart if I lost mine. But all the cousins know who the adults’ favorite is. It’s something we’ve learned to accept.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Novah. It just… happened.”
“A wedding? A whole damn wedding just ‘happened’? By magic?” Mama’s nostrils flare. She pushes my dad off. “Where is he? Where’s that Brogan-man?”
“Mama… I’m tired. Can we please not do this?”
Aunt Sharon, Novah’s mother, steps forward. “Unlike Tina, I don’t care that you got married before Novah, Elizabeth. I just wish you included us. We’re your family. That’s something we would have loved to be a part of.”
Uncle Kevin nods. “You’d think we didn’t raise you from you were this high.” He lowers his hand to a couple inches off the ground. “We haven’t even met this guy and he’s already locked you down.”
Aunt Becca gives Mama the side-eye. “We just came to congratulate you. You’re a grown woman who has the freedom to do what you want.”
Mama huffs.
“But,” Aunt Becca gives me a sad look, “I wish we could have seen you too.”
My heart pinches. I know my family—as crazy and overbearing as they are—love me to pieces. We’re a supportive bunch and I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without them in my corner cheering me on.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Aunt Becca asks. “You and your husband?”
“Of course they have somewhere to stay. My Elizabeth wouldn’t marry some bum who doesn’t have his finances together,” Mama snaps.
“I’m just asking,” Aunt Becca defends feistily. “I didn’t see any moving boxes in her apartment.”
“She hasn’t gotten around to it yet. That’s all.” Mama folds her arms over her chest.
Aunt Sharon gives me an inquiring look. “Why aren’t there any boxes yet? Aren’t you going to live with him?”
Every eye trains on me.
I offer a panicked, “Of course. We’re married. Where else would I live?”
“Why don’t we help you move?” Uncle Kevin asks. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, his dreads flailing as he grins. “I’ve got my truck.”
“I’ve got boxes!” Aunt Becca says brightly.
The world shifts. “No, guys. It’s fine—”
Aunt Sharon quiets me with a look. “It’s best to get out quick. That apartment’s barely serviceable for one person.”
“And yet you manage to fit yourselves in there just fine,” I mumble.
But no one hears me.
No one’s listening.
They’re all too busy heading back inside.
To pack.
So I can move in… with my husband.
