So, shall I catch you up? I (we) got married. But that’s not the point of the story.
A few days later, I told my family. And each one I told was amazingly supportive and happy for me. Except for one.
I told her in the new school way: by text.
“Hey J. Hope all is well with you guys. Am texting to let you know we got married.”
“I thought you guys broke up.”
“I heard you split up.”
“Oh, ok. Congrats. Don’t forget to do a prenup. Ya never know.”
“Well, there’s the house, insurance, car and dogs and ya just never know, lol.”
My mind was reeling. Where on earth was this coming from? And who uses lol anymore except people who are waaaay behind on social media language?
Ever since my recent adventures in chemotherapy, my brain requires more time and space to process things that are emotionally confusing or are mathematical. Looking to find solid ground, my mind started formulating some probable hypotheses:
- she was drunk
- she didn’t support same-sex marriage and was letting me know it
- she had suffered a brain injury and I didn’t know about it
- she was shocked and said whatever came into her head.
I took a breath and decided to NOT respond for a while. This was a sister who wasn’t always accepting or tolerant. I wasn’t going to get anywhere fussing about it. I went to bed.
The alarm went off and I woke up with a nagging feeling in the base of my brain. Over coffee, I checked my sister’s contact information.
Two numbers — one old, one new. I texted the wrong number. My upset, while emotionally and physiologically real, was constructed by my imagination.
The pit of my stomach held an acidic stew of embarrassment, shame, and “oh-no!-ness” while my head and heart were heavy with disappointment for making assumptions and jumping to conclusions about my sister.
I did the only thing I could do: call my sister at the right number. She laughed at my mistake, offering many congrats on getting married, saying stuff that sisters say when they’re happy that you’re happy.
Next, I texted the person who advised me to get a prenup:
“Sorry, wrong number.”
“I’ll delete your number from my contact list. Please delete my number.”
I put the phone down and sat with the dogs, explaining to them the dangers of jumping to conclusions and acting from assumptions. Little Gia reminded me that it is a lifelong lesson and that she, with terrier blood, could give classes on the subject. Piper poodle thought that she could give classes too and because they are the kind of love-hate sisters they argued about it, and I said we could give classes together and things settled as we imagined what the curriculum would look like. The world was back to normal.
Then my brother called.
“Hey there. Guess what?”
“I bought you a wedding gift.”
My brother is generous with his gift-giving, and let me say this about that: sometimes his gift choice is curious, if you catch my meaning.
I blinked. “That’s very kind of you, P. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I wanted to. It’s really cool.”
That concerned me. My definition of cool and my brother’s definition of cool are not exactly aligned.
“That’s sweet of you. We weren’t really expecting any gifts.”
“Well, you know I’m a gadget guy, right?
“Right.” Actually, I didn’t know that.
“So i got you a bidet that hooks into the existing waterline.”
Wait a second, Brain, let’s process what Ears just heard: P — my brother — is giving us a bidet. As a wedding gift.
A bidet, as a wedding gift.
I did not know what to say. Okay, Mind, do NOT go into over-thinking this. Do NOT go into interpretation mode. And do not go into comedy routine mode either.
“Oh.” I said.
“I’ll bring it tonight after work.”
I’d like to say that me and my wife can’t wait, but that wouldn’t be the truth.