Later that evening, we walked to my parents' door hand in hand. Two weeks in the Maldives had left us tanned and relaxed, and we were still floating in our vacation lull, laughing and kissing and touching like one of us might disappear. Caleb was finally mine. As my hand sought out the doorknob, my thoughts fleetingly went to my arch nemesis. My lips found a smile so rooted in triumph that Caleb cocked his head at me quizzically.
“What?” He asked.
I shrugged. “I’m just happy, that’s all. Everything is perfect.”
I wished I could say: Dum, dum, the witch is dead…
But, the witch wasn’t dead. She was in Texas — which was good enough.
My parents and sister were in the family room. They looked at Caleb expectantly when we walked in, almost like they were waiting for him to announce he was leaving me. There was an awkward thirty seconds of silence before my sister jumped up to hug us.
“How was it? Tell me everything.” She grabbed my hand and led me toward the couch. I glanced at Caleb, who was shaking hands with my father. Daddy liked Caleb. He liked him so much that I wondered what he’d think about the fact that Caleb hated him. I felt a sick satisfaction knowing that I’d turned Caleb against him. My father thought he could have anyone, and he truly wanted everyone’s adoration … except mine.
“It was beautiful,” I assured her. "Very romantic.”
A quick glance at Caleb.
She leaned close to me. “They’ve been bitching all morning about how much the wedding cost them,” she said. “Don’t bring it up.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. This was typical behavior for my parents. Of course they’d pay for their eldest daughter’s wedding. Of course it would be extravagant and over the top to impress their friends. Of course they would bitch afterward about how much money they’d had to shell out for someone who wasn’t really blood. But, what else could they do? No one knew I wasn’t really theirs. To do anything less would cast a shadow over their perfect image as loving parents.
Please, God, please don’t let them say anything in front of Caleb.
My sister was holding a glass of red wine. I took it from her and swallowed a mouthful.
My mother was walking toward us, each of her birdlike steps tugging a fresh strand of dread to the forefront of my mind.
“You should really stay out of the sun, Leah,” she said, sitting down across from me. I looked down at my bronze colored arm. Despite the fact that I was fair skinned and had red hair, I tanned like an Italian.
“You look silly with color — it looks like you went for one of those spray tans.”
“She looks fine, Mother,” my sister snapped. “Just because you’re afraid of the sun, doesn’t mean we have to be.”
I shot my sister a grateful look and tensed for the next biting comment.
“Caleb looks well,” she said, glancing over to where he was still speaking with my father. “So handsome. I always thought he’d be a good match for you, Courtney.”
My head swam, my vision blurred. Courtney made an angry sound in the back of her throat.
“That is so wildly inappropriate,” she hissed. “Not only is perfect not my type, but Leah and Caleb go together better than any couple I know. Everyone says so.”
My mother raised her eyebrows. I found my tongue.
“Why would you even say something like that?” I said to her. “After everything you did to help me…”
She sniffed and took a sip from her own wine glass. “A woman shouldn’t have to fight that hard to be with a man. He should just want her…”
My sister was looking from one of us to the other. “What are you talking about?”
My mother’s eyes locked with mine in a silent warning. “Dinner should be ready,” she said. “Why don’t we head over to the dining room?”
Mattia still made most of my parents' meals. She’d been with my family since I was a little girl. I always looked forward to her cooking. Tonight, it was salmon with rice pilaf and a honey mustard glaze. She squeezed my shoulder as she set my plate down in front of me.
“Congratulations,” she whispered in my ear. I smiled at her. I’d wanted her to come to the wedding, but my parents thought it was inappropriate.
“I have something for you,” she said, “just a small something. I’ll leave it in the kitchen for you.”
I nodded at her, hoping my mother hadn’t heard. My mother had a gift for making heartfelt gestures seem silly and comical.