Chapter 2 - WHAT WAS WAITING DOWNSTAIRS
I stayed behind the locked bathroom door until I heard Mary and Susan leave the bedroom.
Michael remained outside.
“Rebecca, open the door.”
I didn't answer.
“You assaulted my mother.”
I stared at myself in the mirror.
Wet hair plastered to my face. Red cheek from the cold. Wedding ring still on my finger.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Michael had cried during our vows.
Now he was standing on the other side of a bathroom door describing me as the attacker.
“You were recording before she walked in,” I said.
Silence.
Then, “I was recording the morning.”
“For nine minutes?”
Another pause.
“My family does stupid stuff like this. I thought you'd laugh.”
That wasn't an answer.
Neither was his explanation for why Mary and Susan had slept at our townhouse after the reception.
Our original plan had been simple: spend our wedding night at home in Mt. Lebanon, then drive to the airport that afternoon for four days in Charleston.
But Michael had said his mother was too tired to drive back to Cranberry Township.
Then Susan decided she was staying too.
I'd been irritated, but I didn't want my first night as Michael's wife to become a fight about his family.
That was one of my flaws.
I postponed uncomfortable conversations until they became expensive.
“Your mother said this is a Davis tradition,” I said.
“It is.”
“Show me one other bride it happened to.”
Michael didn't respond.
I dried myself, dressed, and opened the door.
He had gone downstairs.
When I followed, Mary and Susan were standing in my kitchen.
On the island beside the wedding flowers sat a manila folder.
Mary slid it toward me.
“Maybe now we can have the conversation you've been avoiding.”
I opened it.
Inside were preliminary refinance documents for my townhouse.
Michael's name was typed beside mine.
“What is this?”
Mary folded her arms.
“You two are married now. He shouldn't be living in a house where his wife can throw him out whenever she's mad.”
I looked at Michael.
Three weeks earlier, he'd suggested refinancing because rates might improve later and because “married people shouldn't keep score.”
I'd said we could discuss finances after the wedding.
I had never agreed to add him to the property.
“You planned to put these in front of me this morning?”
Michael sighed.
“It's not like that.”
Mary shook her head.
“Michael said you'd probably make a scene.”
There it was again.
Not that I might refuse.
That I might make a scene.
I looked at his phone.
May you like
He immediately turned the screen toward his chest.
And I finally understood that the bucket of water and the paperwork downstairs were not two separate family disasters.
