he’s just pretending he doesn’t.
I turn my attention back to the morning-noon-and-night-I-love-you anniversary couple next to us.
The husband is leaning over to taste the wife’s food.
Aw, how sweet. See?
Wait, the wife’s swatting the husband’s fork away, hoarding her crab cake.
Oh.
Well, at least they’re still together, and so are my parents, which is more than you can say for Jack’s.
I wonder if his being the product of a broken home has any bearing on our chances for making it to our own thirty-fifth anniversary and beyond.
Well, it’s not as if Jack actually grew up in a broken home. I mean, the home wasn’t broken until long after he moved out.
Not officially, anyway.
But Jack has mentioned that his parents always fought a lot. They were, reportedly, just waiting until their nest was empty before they made the official split.
As soon as Emily graduated from college, his father was gone.
I try to imagine how I would feel if my parents got divorced at this late date.
Devastated. Sorrowful. Shocked.
But of course, there’s no chance of that happening. Not only is divorce out of the question when you’re a Vatican-obeying novena queen, but my parents really do love each other. I’d say equally so, although my mother confided to me, back in the days when I was trying to get over Will, that my father was the one who fell first, and much harder. She said he didn’t make her heart crazy, and that she had to learn to love him.
What, exactly, were Connie Spadolini’s words of wisdom? “Marry someone who loves you more than you love him, because he’ll always treat you like gold.”
Something like that.
Hmm.
Does Jack love me more than I love him?
Somehow, I would find that hard to believe. Then again, he does treat me…
Well, not like gold. I mean, it’s not like he bows to my every whim…and seriously, would I want him to? That would be pretty scary.
Jack treats me with love and respect, though. And he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
What more do I want or need from him?
Well, sometimes, words.
“I’ll call Reverend Devern about performing your ceremony as soon as I get home.” Wilma has ominously popped back into the conversation like crazy Glenn Close rising from Michael Douglas’s bathtub.
I look at Jack, screaming a silent Help!!
He pokes obliviously through his salad, on a determined hunt for another tomato.
You know, it’s a really good thing my life isn’t in danger, the way he’s been ignoring my telepathic messages.
Or maybe he just plain doesn’t get it. Which is hard to believe, since he’s read my mind plenty of times in the past. Usually when I’m thinking something I don’t want him to know.
“He’s going to be so happy to hear you’re getting married, Jack,” Wilma goes on.
Reverend Devern—who is affectionately referred to as Rev Dev on the rare occasions Jack has reason to mention him—is the clergyman at the Candells’ Presbytarian church in Bedford. It’s a beautiful two-hundred year-old white-clap-board building with a steeple and stained-glass windows…
And somebody really should mention to Wilma that Jack and I are not getting married there before she books the place and sends out invitations.
“You know, Mom, Tracey’s Catholic, so she probably wants to have a priest do their wedding.”
No, that’s not my noble groom coming to my rescue. It’s his sister Rachel, God love her.
“Oh! I didn’t even think…” Wilma turns to me. “Tracey, I didn’t mean to jump the gun. Did you want a priest instead?”
“I…” Might as well set things straight right from the start, I decide. “Yes,” I say firmly. “I want a priest. No offense to Reverend Devern. I’m sure he’s great.”
“Oh, he is great. He baptized Kathleen’s twins.”
“That’s nice,” I murmur, thinking that a priest probably would have better served their needs, since Rev Dev probably isn’t trained to perform exorcisms.
Oh my God,
I turn my attention back to the morning-noon-and-night-I-love-you anniversary couple next to us.
The husband is leaning over to taste the wife’s food.
Aw, how sweet. See?
Wait, the wife’s swatting the husband’s fork away, hoarding her crab cake.
Oh.
Well, at least they’re still together, and so are my parents, which is more than you can say for Jack’s.
I wonder if his being the product of a broken home has any bearing on our chances for making it to our own thirty-fifth anniversary and beyond.
Well, it’s not as if Jack actually grew up in a broken home. I mean, the home wasn’t broken until long after he moved out.
Not officially, anyway.
But Jack has mentioned that his parents always fought a lot. They were, reportedly, just waiting until their nest was empty before they made the official split.
As soon as Emily graduated from college, his father was gone.
I try to imagine how I would feel if my parents got divorced at this late date.
Devastated. Sorrowful. Shocked.
But of course, there’s no chance of that happening. Not only is divorce out of the question when you’re a Vatican-obeying novena queen, but my parents really do love each other. I’d say equally so, although my mother confided to me, back in the days when I was trying to get over Will, that my father was the one who fell first, and much harder. She said he didn’t make her heart crazy, and that she had to learn to love him.
What, exactly, were Connie Spadolini’s words of wisdom? “Marry someone who loves you more than you love him, because he’ll always treat you like gold.”
Something like that.
Hmm.
Does Jack love me more than I love him?
Somehow, I would find that hard to believe. Then again, he does treat me…
Well, not like gold. I mean, it’s not like he bows to my every whim…and seriously, would I want him to? That would be pretty scary.
Jack treats me with love and respect, though. And he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
What more do I want or need from him?
Well, sometimes, words.
“I’ll call Reverend Devern about performing your ceremony as soon as I get home.” Wilma has ominously popped back into the conversation like crazy Glenn Close rising from Michael Douglas’s bathtub.
I look at Jack, screaming a silent Help!!
He pokes obliviously through his salad, on a determined hunt for another tomato.
You know, it’s a really good thing my life isn’t in danger, the way he’s been ignoring my telepathic messages.
Or maybe he just plain doesn’t get it. Which is hard to believe, since he’s read my mind plenty of times in the past. Usually when I’m thinking something I don’t want him to know.
“He’s going to be so happy to hear you’re getting married, Jack,” Wilma goes on.
Reverend Devern—who is affectionately referred to as Rev Dev on the rare occasions Jack has reason to mention him—is the clergyman at the Candells’ Presbytarian church in Bedford. It’s a beautiful two-hundred year-old white-clap-board building with a steeple and stained-glass windows…
And somebody really should mention to Wilma that Jack and I are not getting married there before she books the place and sends out invitations.
“You know, Mom, Tracey’s Catholic, so she probably wants to have a priest do their wedding.”
No, that’s not my noble groom coming to my rescue. It’s his sister Rachel, God love her.
“Oh! I didn’t even think…” Wilma turns to me. “Tracey, I didn’t mean to jump the gun. Did you want a priest instead?”
“I…” Might as well set things straight right from the start, I decide. “Yes,” I say firmly. “I want a priest. No offense to Reverend Devern. I’m sure he’s great.”
“Oh, he is great. He baptized Kathleen’s twins.”
“That’s nice,” I murmur, thinking that a priest probably would have better served their needs, since Rev Dev probably isn’t trained to perform exorcisms.
Oh my God,
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