Children of his own.
As though Lisa could never possibly count.
I told Brandon about some of Barbara’s remarks.
He always seemed uncomfortable.
“She’s old-fashioned.”
Or:
“She’s protective of me.”
Or:
“She’ll adjust.”
I wanted to believe him.
For most of the wedding planning, Barbara kept herself under control.
She complained about the flowers.
Questioned the guest list.
Thought we were spending too much.
Normal mother-in-law stuff.
She even volunteered to help with decorations.
So on the morning of the wedding, I wasn’t suspicious.
I was nervous.
Excited.
Overwhelmed.
We were getting married at a small bed-and-breakfast about forty minutes outside town.
Afterward, Brandon, Lisa, and I planned to stay there for a few days.
Lisa called it our “family honeymoon.”
The night before, she packed her own little purple suitcase.
“You’re not allowed to check it, Mommy,” she told me.
I raised my hands.
