Page 80 of Two Friends in Marriage
“I’d offer to cut it, but you seem to enjoy it.”
“I do.”
“And truth be told, I like watching you.I found myself staring at your ass while you were cutting the grass several weeks ago, and I felt guilty about it.”
“You don’t have to feel guilty anymore,” I say, but then I frown.
“What is it?”
“I just remembered.When your parents were here, I told them the truth about why we got married.Your mom said, ‘I can’t understand why my son married you—’”
“What?” Evan is pissed on my behalf, and I admit, it’s rather gratifying.
“She assured me that she likes me; she just knew we weren’t in love, and she thought maybe a honeymoon would help us grow closer.I suggested that things might be changing, but that’s it.I’m sorry.I didn’t know what else to say.”
“I can’t believe she brought it up when I wasn’t there.”
“She was asking about my father’s visit and…yeah.”
He touches my shoulder.“Don’t worry, I totally understand why you said something.I also confessed the truth to Max.I needed to talk to someone because I wasn’t sure what to do, whether to reveal my feelings to you.He said I should.”
It is a little weird that more people know than we’d initially intended, but it’s hard to care too much when I’m so happy to be with Evan.
“Your mom also told me,” I say, “that she was supposed to marry someone she hated—the son of her parents’ friends—but she ran away with your father instead.”
Based on Evan’s expression, this is news to him.I wonder if any of his brothers know.
“I…well, that does explain a few things,” he says at last.“About my grandparents, as well as a few other conversations I’ve heard over the years.If I saw it in a drama, I’d find the whole thing rather romantic.”His lips curve upward, and another wave of fondness rushes over me.I’m lucky to just be sitting here, drinking coffee with my husband.“But thinking of how they must have pressured her…it’s appalling.”
“Were you close with your mother’s parents?”
He shakes his head.“They didn’t live here, and even when we went to Hong Kong, we wouldn’t spend a lot of time with them.”
I reach out and take his hand.I feel like I’m smiling for no reason, which isn’t like me.But it’s not for no reason: I’m in love with my husband and he’s in love with me.I never thought this would happen, yet it did.
It still feels new and special and miraculous.I know everything won’t always feel as easy as it does now, but I hope I won’t forget how lucky I am.While I’m sure we’ll have challenges, I feel good about our ability to face them together.
“Let’s go on a honeymoon,” I say.“I want to take a trip to see Claudia this fall, and we could combine it with that, or we could go somewhere else.If you can get the time off.”
“If it’s not more than a week, it shouldn’t be a problem.Maybe somewhere to enjoy the fall colors?New England, or up north?”
Long after the coffee is finished, we sit in our backyard, making plans for our future.
That afternoon, Evan and I do something we’ve never done together before: we go for a walk around our neighborhood.He goes for walks every day, and I’ve been for the occasional walk, too, but we’ve never done it together, our hands clasped.The leaves on a few trees are turning red and gold, and it’s a perfect afternoon outside.
As we walk through a small park, a little pup on a long leash runs up to us, and Evan crouches down to pet it.I open my mouth to protest—why is he petting a strange dog?Then I realize he knows this dog and has pet it many times before.He introduces me to the dog, Peaches, and then the owner.
“You didn’t tell me about Peaches,” I say to my husband, once the pup is out of earshot.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Yes!You’re supposed to tell me about all the dogs you see each day.I thought that was one of the perks of marriage.”
“I’ll be sure to do that from now on.”
“See that you do.”I might be speaking in a comically huffy tone, but I lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips.
We soon encounter two more dogs; Evan knows one of them, but not the other.We also encounter two humans unaccompanied by dogs, and Evan introduces me to them.
