Then, after a dinner at Ethan’s parents’ house, something shifted.
Lauren stopped bringing Ethan around my neighborhood.
She no longer suggested Sunday lunches.
When I asked whether I would meet Margaret before the wedding, Lauren told me there wasn’t enough time.
She began talking about the difference between a small family gathering and a formal occasion, always with the uneasy expression of someone rehearsing a speech she didn’t want to deliver.
I told myself she was overwhelmed.
Ruth wasn’t convinced.
“Marilyn,” she said that morning, “you keep answering the question Lauren gives you instead of the question you’re actually asking.”
I looked at her.
“And what question is that?”
“Why has your daughter suddenly become uncomfortable with letting her fiancé know you?”
I reached for another receipt.
“I don’t know that she has.”
“Have you met him?”