Page 80 of Dirty Husband
"Tea doesn't fix everything."
"We'll see about that."
Again, thathmmnoise. He stays silent as he fills the kettle, turns it on, scoops leaves into the pot. The same oolong. The one that was Mom's favorite.
I didn't like it at first. I always preferred the strength of black tea. The scented varieties. Earl Grey. Vanilla. Chai.
But, every day, Mom fixed me a cup of gaba oolong. And every day I liked it a little more.
"I actually… wanted to talk about something else," I say.
"Something besides your sudden wedding?" He heats a pan on the stove.
"Well… more about the planning." I pull my supplies from my purse. Two bridal magazines. Three catalog's. A tablet filled with boutiques, hair stylists, photographers. "I don't even have an idea about the dress."
The pan sizzles as a pork meatball hits the surface. Dad nods yes. But it's without his usual spirit.
He's thinking it too. That Mom should be here. That she should be the one helping me.
Instead of curling into himself, pushing some well of sadness as far down as it will go, he turns and offers a soft smile. "Thien would have insisted on a big, American wedding. A dress out of a Disney movie. Not the one you liked. Aunt Mai's favorite."
"The Little Mermaid?"
He nodsthat's it.
I pull up the image of Ariel in her wedding dress. Giant skirt with actual tiers and a touch of pink.
Dad smiles. "She would have encouraged you to feel like a princess. Or wear something modern, that you'd see on a celebrity. But, really, she would have been picturing you in traditional dress. Something red and gold with long sleeves and a matching hat."
I'm not so sure. Mom always pushed me to assimilate as much as possible. She would have wanted me to wear a very American dress. But it's easier for Dad to speak his peace when it's via what Mom would have wanted. "It would be beautiful."
"She always had high hopes for you and Shepard. She thought—"
"He was rich?"
He chuckles. "It's much easier, going through life with money than without."
That's the problem, isn't it? Shep has money. I need money. Which means I need him.
Money doesn't just buy rent, food, medicine. It buys freedom too.
The kettle steams. Dad washes his hands. Pours water over the leaves. Motions for me to sit.
I do. I start flipping through the first bridal magazine, but everything looks the same. Pretty blond women in ivory dresses on light blue backgrounds.
Key left all these in the car. For me. From her or Shep, I don't know. It is helpful. But it's presumptuous too. Like I can't handle this alone.
Who am I kidding? Ican'thandle this alone. There's way too much that goes into planning a wedding. Especially into planning a wedding that fits a man who owns half of Manhattan.
I should take Shep's advice. Let his team handle the details.
But not the dress. They can't take the dress.
* * *
Dad focuseson cooking until the meatballs are finished. He turns the burner to warm, fixes another round of tea, joins me at the table.
I'm already on my second catalog, but I haven't absorbed any of it.
