Chapter 71 - The Envelope Marco Carried
Marco stood in our kitchen holding a cream envelope as though it contained something capable of injuring him.
“Is Lena home?”
“She’s upstairs.”
“Could you ask her to come down?”
I looked at the envelope.
“Should I be worried?”
“No.”
“You’ve said that before.”
He did not smile.
That worried me.
Lena appeared a moment later, carrying a cardigan she had been searching for since breakfast.
“What’s happened?”
Marco placed the envelope on the table.
“Ruth and I are getting married.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Lena put down the cardigan.
“Oh, Marco.”
She hugged him.
His shoulders lowered so visibly that I understood he had prepared for something much worse than surprise.
I picked up the invitation.
Two names.
A date.
A small garden venue outside town.
“You’re getting married.”
“Yes.”
“To Ruth.”
“That is what the card says.”
I looked up.
“You could have mentioned something.”
“We did mention that we were seeing each other.”
“Six months ago.”
“Eleven,” Lena said.
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
“I knew they were together. I didn’t know about this.”
Marco remained beside the table, waiting.
It took me another moment to notice.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re awaiting instructions.”
His face changed slightly.
Old habits could survive inside rooms where nobody wanted them anymore.
Lena pulled out a chair.
“Sit down. Tell us how you asked.”
He sat.
The proposal had happened while they were putting away dishes.
He had planned something more elaborate.
Ruth had discovered the ring in his coat while searching for her glasses.
“She asked whether I intended to keep it in there until winter.”
Lena laughed.
Then I did.
Marco finally smiled.
The children arrived halfway through the story.
Isabel wanted to know whether there would be cake.
Nico asked whether they needed help building anything.
Noah studied the invitation.
“Will Ruth be Aunt Ruth?”
“If she likes that,” Lena said.
“She said she would,” Marco answered.
For a while, the kitchen filled with questions he seemed happy to answer.
Then Lena took the children upstairs to find a photograph Ruth had sent.
I remained with Marco.
“You were nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He ran a thumb along the edge of his invitation.
“I’ve spent a long time arranging my life around being available.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t need my permission.”
“I know.”
But he said it slowly.
As though knowing and believing had not quite reached the same place.
May you like
I put the invitation beside the calendar.
“Tell me what time you need us there.”
