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“It is a big deal, to me. I’m your partner, I’m supposed to take care of you, the way you take care of me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, as though he were resting the weight of his head on his curled fingers. When he looked up, he said, “You’re not eating. I’ve noticed that you’re not eating, and I know it’s about the wedding, and it’s terrifying me.”
My mouth dropped open in shock, and my chest jerked with a few futile attempts to speak. Even though what he’d said made sense, I hadn’t been conscious of what I was doing, and somehow, that made me feel attacked. “You’re being…stupid.”
“Am I?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re skipping meals at work, and I know you’re skipping meals at home. You’re carefully weighing your food—you’ve never done that before—and now, you’re getting defensive because I noticed. I raised a teenage daughter, Sophie. I’ve read Reviving Ophelia.”
“Yeah, and I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my father, so please don’t go creepily applying your frantic dad self-help bullshit to me!” I snapped.
My quick leap to anger startled both of us, and we stood staring at each other until Neil said, cautiously, “I know that having your mother here is stressful. I’ve heard her comments about your weight and how all the women in your family tend to…grow in volume, as it were.”
I snorted at that.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but we weren’t out of serious confrontation territory yet. “I know that you know that I would love you no matter how much you weigh. But we’ve both worked in the fashion industry, and we know what that can do to a person’s self-image. And, now, your mother is here, and that’s putting extra pressure on you.”
“I know. I know.” I shook my head and caught sight of the deli meat waiting patiently on the scale. My guilt and embarrassment intensified. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I hadn’t consciously decided to do any of these things as a weight-loss plan. Now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I’m kind of freaked out. I promise I’ll be more mindful.”
“And I promise to keep pointing these things out to you.” It was as much a pledge of solidarity as it was a warning. Neil wasn’t just an overprotective father. He was a just-protective-enough fiancé, too.
“You know, I guess you could come to the fitting,” I decided. “If you stayed outside and didn’t see me in the dress.”
“It’s better that I stay behind,” he said as I put my turkey into a baggie. He took his coffee to the kitchen table. “Doctor Harris will be stopping by this afternoon. I wouldn’t want you to have to rush me back.”
I dropped the turkey and the apple into my purse. “He’s coming out here?”
“He lives in East Hampton. We set up a house call arrangement.” Neil stretched his arms over his head and groaned loudly. “I may never have to leave again.”
“Achievement unlocked,” I teased. “Enjoy it while it lasts. It gets boring fast.”
“Well, I could always go pick up the dry cleaning. But any further than that and I draw the line. Your mother is still going with you, isn’t she?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, she is,” I reassured him. “Besides, she wouldn’t barge in or eavesdrop on your therapy.”
“I know.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’ll just feel more comfortable knowing I’m alone.”
A low rumble outside got my attention. “Is that a truck?”
“Hmm?” He glanced toward the window. “Oh, yes. I decided it was time we overhauled that strange little French building. Make it into a guest house, perhaps.”
The previous owners had been obsessed with France—or an American idea of France, at least—and they’d had a scale replica of the Pavillon Français erected on the grounds. Neil had given me the most amazing birthday celebration for two there, a movie night where he’d finally, finally watched Beauty and The Beast with me. It was a shame to mess with it.
“Aw, I kind of like that little place,” I said, masking my disappointment with teasing. “Don’t change too much about it, okay?”
“No, just adding a few small improvements.” He was being deliberately obtuse, so I assumed he had some kind of surprise planned.
Mom knocked on the kitchen door, and I called, “It’s unlocked!”
Our doors were normally unlocked during the day, though it drove Neil crazy. After growing up in a town where everyone left their houses open, even when they were away, I’d fallen back into the habit I’d abandoned within twelve hours of moving to New York. I blamed the acreage; not being able to see another house from ours, after living in the city for so long, made me feel like we were on our own little island.
Besides, we had security guards.
Mom pushed through the door in a flutter of cheetah print faux-fur poncho, her giant leatherette maroon purse hanging heavily at her side. Her hair was pushed back from her face with a pair of rhinestone-studded sunglasses. “Are we ready? Are you excited?”
“Not as excited as you are, I guess!” I mocked her with cartoonish enthusiasm. “Did somebody do a whole bunch of MDMA this morning?”
“I don’t know what that is.” Mom waved her hand at me and dug through her purse, taking inventory. “I’ve got a camera, I’ve got hand sanitizer, baby wipes, deodorant—”
“Mom, Mom,” I said, stopping her with a laugh. “We don’t need a bunch of equipment. We’re going to try a dress on.”
“Have you ever tried on a wedding dress, Sophie?” Mom demanded.
