It’s only when she asks how much longer I’ll be visiting that I trip over my words.
“Oh, um . . .” I look to Ike.
He puts his hand on my thigh. “We’re working on that.”
I freeze. He shouldn’t have said that! The plan is to tell his parents after dinner—he needs to stick to the plan! Sensing Mr. Hanson’s eyes on me, I make myself unfreeze.
“This lasagna is delicious,” I say to Mrs. Hanson. “Please, how is it made?”
Camille’s mouth drops open. “You don’t know how to make lasagna? Even
I
know how to make lasagna!”
“Camille’s favorite TV show is
Top Chef
,” Mrs. Hanson says, and goes on with a funny story about how Camille made breakfast in bed for the whole family recently and left the kitchen a disaster area. I almost feel safe again until from the other end of the table, Kat calls down to Ike, “Hey, did you win any money in Las Vegas?”
He shakes his head. “You know I don’t gamble.”
“Hello,” she says. “You go to poker night every month.”
Ike grins. “Besides that.”
“What
did
you do?” Izzy says. “You were only there for, like, a day, and none of us knew you were going.”
“It was a last-minute trip.” Ike gives me a quick glance and then reaches for the bottle of wine and pours himself some more. “This is good wine, Dad. Is it the Sonoita wine you were telling me about?”
“So why’d you go?” Izzy persists. “All anyone does there is quickie weddings and gambling. You didn’t get married, did you?”
She says this in a joking tone, but while the younger people laugh, I freeze again and Ike gives her a look. Half the look tells her it’s a ridiculous idea and the other half tells her to be quiet.
It is the second part of his look that makes his mother suspicious. “Ike?”
“There are lots of shows there. Did you see any shows?” Paige nods at me encouragingly. Sensitive girl that she is, she must have noticed the panic I’ve been trying to suppress.
I smile at her gratefully. “There was a show we
almost
saw with men who paint their whole bodies blue! So very strange! I can’t imagine why—”
“Ike?” his mother says again.
A long moment passes as Ike looks from one to the other of his parents. Then he takes a big breath and again takes my hand. I squeeze hard to tell him this is
not
a good time. But he smiles at me to tell me he knows what he’s doing, and then he clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, “I have some news that I think you’ll find very exciting. Tami and I
did
get married while we were in Vegas.”
Camille smiles and claps. Paige’s eyes widen. She looks immediately at her mother.
Mrs. Hanson gasps.
Ike’s other sisters stare at him openmouthed, trying to figure out if he’s making a joke.
And his mild-mannered father swears.
“Jesus
Christ
, Ike,” he says. “Just exactly how drunk were you?”
Chapter 3
T
hey’ll love you. They’ll welcome you into the family with open arms.
My hopeful heart withers as Ike’s earlier words come back to haunt me, or taunt me, and I feel myself literally shrink. They don’t love me, not one little bit.
Jesus Christ, Ike. Just exactly how drunk were you?
Is that who I am? Someone who could only get someone to marry her if he’s too drunk to know any better?
But, of course they’d think that. They don’t know me enough to know his reasons.
Tell them, Ike. Please, please tell them fast and make them understand.
“I was stone-cold sober.” Ike looks at his father evenly, man to man, slipping his hand from mine as he does. “It was somewhat spur-of-the-moment, yes, but I assure you it was a clearheaded decision.”
Mr. Hanson takes a moment, and then says in a tone that matches Ike’s, “Deciding whether to spend the rest of your life with someone is not a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“It can be,” Ike says. “When it’s right, it’s right.”
“It’s okay,” Mrs. Hanson says softly, and for a second I’m hopeful. But then she continues. “People make mistakes, and what’s done can be undone. You’ll just get it annulled.”
I don’t know this word—
annulled
—but I don’t think it means anything good.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Ike says. “I love Tami, and I intend to spend the rest of my life with her.”
Mr. Hanson sets down his fork. “Girls.” He looks at each of his daughters in turn. “You’re all excused.” Without another word, they and their friends stand, gather their plates, and file indoors. Paige gives me a sympathetic glance as she leaves. Camille remains in her chair and looks at her father with her beautiful big brown eyes until he says, “You, too, Camille.”
Grumbling, Camille follows the others inside. I look after her wistfully, wishing I could join her, wishing I could be just about anywhere but here. Then I realize that’s not true—there are many worse places I could be. Like in Iran. This difficult moment is just something to be gotten through, and then Ike and I can get to the good parts.
Of course they’re concerned. They have every reason to be. They don’t know me. They don’t know me at all.
I sit up straighter in my chair. “I love your son. I love him very much.”
“Just who exactly
are
you?” Mr. Hanson says. “I’ve never even heard of you before tonight.”
“Yes, you have, Dad.” Ike gives him a stern look and then gives me one of apology. “He has.”
“Well, hardly,” Mr. Hanson grumbles.
“Is she pregnant?” Mrs. Hanson says to Ike and then asks me, gently, “Are you pregnant, honey?” Her eyes flick to my glass of wine and then back to Ike. Because she seems ready to accept this possibility, part of me wishes I were, in fact, pregnant. But Ike and I only had sex for the first time last night, and he used a condom. So, no, I’m not. Which is good, because the thought seems to horrify Ike.
“She’s
not
pregnant.” He shudders. “Just let me explain, okay? It’ll all make sense once I do.” He proceeds to tell them about my immigration situation and how if I’m married to an American citizen, I can apply for permanent residency and how otherwise I’d have to go back to Iran and how neither of us wants that.
“You’re right. It makes perfect sense now.” Mrs. Hanson’s face is pomegranate red. “You’re being taken advantage of by this girl.”
“I’m not being taken advantage of.” Ike’s face is tight. “I’ve known her for three months, and I’ve been crazy about her the whole time.”
“Three months.” Mrs. Hanson says it as scornfully as if Ike had said three days. “Do you even know her middle name?”
Floundering, Ike looks to me.
“I don’t have a middle name,” I say.
“That’s not my point,” Mrs. Hanson snaps. “Ike, what
do
you know about her?”
“I know that I love her.” He takes my hand again. “I know that if I let her leave, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
My heart swells.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” his mother says. “Get a grip, would you?”
Mr. Hanson leans toward Ike. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person. But, son, how much of this is just a result of . . . well . . . of you not wanting to be left again?”
Ike startles. “What’re you talking about?”
“If you remember, you said these same sorts of things after Jenna left.”
My heart gasps. This
Jenna
keeps coming up—twice in the past hour! I’d had the impression the relationship ended long ago, and yet there were those postcards, and now there’s this comment.
Ike’s face is flushed, angry. “This is utterly, completely, a hundred percent different.”
“Is it?” Mr. Hanson says. “Don’t you think you maybe rushed into this with her because you took too long to make up your mind about—”
“I
let
Jenna go,” Ike says. “I
want
Tami to stay. It’s not the same at all.” He keeps a firm grip on my hand.
“It would have made inherently more sense for you to have married Jenna,” Mrs. Hanson says.
“I didn’t
want
to marry Jenna.”
“We’re not saying you should have married her, either,” Mr. Hanson says. “Only that it would have made more sense than this does. You knew her a lot longer. You—” He stops himself, but it’s quite simple to fill in the blank.
You loved her a lot longer, and maybe more.
“Your words at the time, if you remember, son, were that you weren’t ready to be married and you resented how she’d basically—your words—
put a gun against my head to get me to commit.
How is this not the same thing?”
“This is different.”
I’ve never heard such harshness from Ike before. I hate to hear it and hate even more that I’m the one who caused it. “Jenna’s ultimatum was contrived. Tami’s isn’t. She didn’t even
give
me an ultimatum.
I asked her.
Happily. Voluntarily. With total delight! I wish—” His strident voice softens. “Show a little faith in me, would you? I’m a relatively smart guy with a pretty decent head on my shoulders. I’m not an idiot. I realize this isn’t exactly normal. But it’s what the circumstances require. And within the context of things, I’ll tell you the marriage itself is more of a formality, or a technicality, than anything. You’re going to see us taking things slow.”
“How is marriage just a technicality?” Mrs. Hanson says.
“And how is marrying a girl you hardly know taking it slow?” says Ike’s father.
“Well, for one thing,” Ike says, “we’re not going to live together right away.”
His mother gasps and covers her mouth.
Ike continues, “We’re going to—”
“What kind of marriage
is
this?” She’s practically wailing.
“It’s the kind of marriage Tami and I want.”
“It’s a sham!” she says. “It’s a fraud!
She’s taking advantage of you—
how do you not see it? Anyone can see it! Ike, come on!
Get it annulled.
” She looks at him earnestly. “We’ll help you. We’ll get you a lawyer. We’ll find you the best lawyer in town, but please.
Get it annulled.
”
“I’m not getting it annulled.” Ike glares at his parents. “Our marriage is a contract, and I’m not about to break it.”
“It happens every day in business,” Mr. Hanson says.
“This isn’t business,” Ike says. “It’s love.”
“Oh, Ike.” His mother looks at him with pity. “I’ve never seen you so pussy-whipped.”
Pussy-whipped
. This is not a word I know.
“MOTHER!” Ike pushes back from the table. “This is
bullshit
.”
“Calm down,” his father says. “Sit back down.”
“No, I won’t,” Ike says. “You’ve insulted my wife. I expect better from you.”
“We expect better from you,” Mrs. Hanson says. “We expect better
for
you.”
Ike raises his palms like he’s a traffic officer halting a quickly oncoming car. “Enough,” he says. “I expect your support, no matter what. I expect that my parents, at all times,
no matter what
, will support me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mr. Hanson says. “We do support you.”
“But we
don’t
support this marriage,” Mrs. Hanson says. “And we certainly don’t support . . .
her
.”
I’ve been the recipient of much disgust in my life, but I’ve never in all my life felt so . . . small. I feel like I might blow away, and there isn’t even a breeze.
“You plan
everything
, Ike,” Mr. Hanson says. “You’re the opposite of impulsive, and so when you do something like this, it causes us to—”
“I want your blessing,” Ike says flatly. “That’s what I want from you. I know what we’ve done is unconventional, but I love Tami, and I want you to trust that I know what I’m doing, and I want you to accept her into this family.”
Mr. Hanson stares hard at Ike and prepares to say something, but before he can, Ike’s mother does. “This marriage
isn’t
blessed,” she says. “It’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. And, no, we will not be welcoming this . . .
person
. . . into our family.”
An intensely serious Mr. Hanson watches his son, waiting for his response. I see the instant in which Ike decides that by his silence his father agrees with what his mother has said—that I’m not welcome. It comes directly before he holds out his hand to me and helps, almost pulls, me up, so that I’m standing by his side.
“Her name’s Tami,” he says. “Remember it, because she’s not going anywhere.”
Chapter 4
“W
ell, that was fun,” Ike says grimly as we leave his parents’ house. We’re driving in a big, beat-up white pickup truck with the letters
GMC
on the front, which is Ike’s other mode of transportation besides the scooter.
“That was
awful
, Ike.” He grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. I put my hand on his thigh. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Don’t.”
I take my hand back.
“Not that.” He reaches for my hand and puts it back where it was. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should apologize to you. I guess I shouldn’t have told them with you there—but really, I had no idea they’d react this way. They’ve honest-to-God supported every single thing I’ve done before, even things that later proved to be stupid beyond reason.”
This doesn’t make me feel any better. “What does
pussy-whipped
mean?”
A smile breaks through. “Never you mind.”
“What does
annulled
mean?”
His smile fades, and he takes his right hand off the steering wheel and covers mine. “Never mind about that one, either.”
“It means to cancel our marriage, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not going to happen. But
how did I not see this coming
?”
Even if Ike doesn’t know the answer to that question, I do. We’d been in a little bubble of happiness all by ourselves for twenty-four hours—it had been all good, and when things are all good, you think they’ll stay that way. But that kind of happiness never lasts—and when the bubble pops, you feel like it was all just a lovely dream. Like it was stolen time, and for stealing that time of course there’s a price you must pay. If I’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that happiness has a price. You just don’t always know what it will be.