“It was a joke.”
“She said you found someone you could mold.”
“She talks like that.”
“You laughed.”
He looked toward the window.
I waited.
Grant had always been good with silence when he believed silence would make the other person uncomfortable enough to retreat.
That night, I let it belong to him.
Finally he said, “Mom has strong opinions about marriage.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Talia, come on.
We had a long day.
Everybody was drinking.
Why are we doing this now?”
“Because you told her that after the wedding I would settle down.”
He exhaled hard.
“I meant things would settle down.”
“That is not what you said.”
“You’re twisting it.”
“What was supposed to change?”
“Nothing.”
“My job?”
“No.”
“My apartment?”
“No.”
“My name?”
His jaw moved.
“The children you and your mother keep planning?”
“We’ve talked about kids.”
“We have talked about whether we might want children someday.
Your mother speaks as though I am late delivering hers.”
“Don’t make her sound insane.”
“I’m asking about me.”
He looked frustrated now, and somehow that frustration clarified more than anger would have.
“You’ve been all over the place lately,” he said.
“The job.
The travel.
Fighting about the wedding.
The name thing.
The apartment.
Every conversation becomes this huge statement about independence.”
I almost laughed.
“The name thing?”
“You know what I mean.”
“The clerk asked me a question and you answered it.”
“We had discussed it.”
“You told me what you expected.”
“That’s what couples do.
They have expectations.”
“No.
Couples have conversations.”
He got out of bed and began pacing beside it.
For the first time, I saw how strange it was that I had spent so much energy proving my choices were reasonable while he never had to prove his authority was.
Grant stopped near the dresser.
“I’m trying to build a life with you.”
“There it is again.”
