Page 12 of The Housemaid's Wedding
“That’s extremely late for my parents, believe me.”
I crane my neck, looking down the street to see if they’re coming. I don’t see my parents, but my attention is distracted by another person who is standing by the steps to city hall. I squint and blink my eyes, not sure if I’m seeing right.
It’s the bald-headed man from the cafe. The one who I thought was staring at me. He’s got his phone to his ear, and once again, he’s looking in my direction.
It could be a coincidence, but somehow, I don’t think so. Especially when he looks up at me then quickly looks away again when our eyes meet. I consider walking over there to get a closer look or even confront him, but before I can, my phone starts ringing.
Is that him? He’s got his phone in his hand, so it certainly could be. Although if he called me now, it would be very clear he’s the one making the calls.
But maybe he wants me to know.
I fumble with my purse, practically dropping it in the snow. I hold my breath when I pull my phone out of the purse, expecting to see that 718 number again, so it’s a relief when I find the name “Mom” flashing on the screen—she must have gotten caught in traffic and is calling to apologize. I take the call.
“Mom?” I say.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I listen for sounds of traffic in the background but hear nothing. “Hello, Millie.”
“Are you almost here?”
Another long pause. “No.”
“But our appointment is in less than twenty minutes!”
“Millie…” There’s yet another pause, and this one seems to last an eternity. “Your father and I aren’t coming.”
“What?”
Enzo’s dark eyebrows shoot up at the sputtered word. “What’s wrong?” he mouths, but I shake my head. Instead, he dips his head close to mine so that he can hear what my mother is saying.
“I’m sorry,” she says as if that helps even the tiniest bit.
“But… why aren’t you coming?”
I wait for news of a terrible accident on the highway that prevented them from making it to the wedding of their only child. Maybe my father fell and broke his hip. Maybe an earthquake created a deep crater between their house and city hall.
“We never should have agreed to come in the first place,” she says in that maddeningly logical voice that I used to hate. I forgot how much she used to get on my nerves. “We had hoped that everything you went through had changed you. But after your father and I discussed it, we realized you’re just as much of a mess as you always were. I mean, the only reason you’re gettingmarried in the first place is because you got yourself knocked up.”
She’s not wrong, but still… “It happens, Mother.”
“And now you’re marrying… who?” She gives a snort of derision. “Some blue-collar immigrant in search of a green card?”
Enzo jerks his head away from the phone, looking affronted. “Ihavea green card!”
I wave my hand at him, knowing this objection won’t help. “You told me you were coming. You said that you wanted to be a part of my life and a part of your granddaughter’s life.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again, and I want to reach through the phone and throttle her. “I just can’t bear to watch you raise a girl that turns out the same way you did.”
I am speechless.
Enzo takes the opportunity to wrench the phone from my hands. Before I can stop him, he is speaking sharply to my mother. I want to tell him not to bother, that once my mother has made up her mind, there’s no changing it back. But Enzo has that look in his eyes, and I can tell he needs to say his piece.
“Mrs. Calloway,” he says. He’s respectful—I’ll give him that. “I want you to know that I love your daughter very much, and I will take very good care of her and our child. I already have a green card, and I do not want to marry her for that reason. I want to marry her because Iloveher, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. She loves you also, and it meant so much to her that you were coming. If there isany way you could be here, if not for the ceremony, then…”
There is a long pause while he listens to whatever my mother is saying to him. His olive skin rarely shows signs of his emotions, but now his face turns red. “No,” he says in a low voice that is simmering with rage, “she did notneedto change because there was never anything wrong with her in the first place.” Another tense pause and his voice drops. “No, I do not believe I am making a mistake.”
He listens for another several seconds, and then finally, he shakes his head. “You do not know your daughter at all,” he says in a voice that is simultaneously angry and sad. “I hope someday you will realize the terrible mistake you have made. But for now, we do not want you here or in our lives.”
I stare at him as he ends the call and wordlessly hands my phone back to me. I give him a second as he struggles to maintain his composure.
