Or simply, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
Marissa looked at me.
“I think I spent so long watching everybody else for you that I forgot you might not need me doing it anymore,” I admitted.
She took my hand.
“You were trying to help, Mom.”
I squeezed her fingers.
“I’m trying to learn when you’re not asking me to.”
Henry tapped the vanity.
“Which brings us here. I didn’t restore it because I thought you needed to look at yourself differently. I restored it because I hoped someday it could just be furniture again.”
Marissa looked toward the mirror.
“If you want this back in the garage, that’s where it goes,” Henry added.
Nobody moved.
Finally, Marissa sat down.
She studied her reflection.
Graham waited.
I nearly said, “You look beautiful.”
I caught myself.
Then Marissa leaned closer to the glass.
“Oh my God.”
My old reflex instantly returned.
“What?”
She pointed at her hair.
“Is that gray?”
Graham laughed.
Bad decision.
Marissa spun toward him.
“You knew?”
“Mari, there may be more than…”
“Finish that sentence and there will be no wedding.”
Henry burst out laughing.
I finally felt my guard loosen.
Her birthmark was right there.
And for once, it wasn’t the first thing anyone needed to notice.
“Where do you want the vanity?” Henry asked.
Marissa considered it.
“Our apartment.”
So that evening, we loaded the vanity into Henry’s SUV and drove it to Marissa and Graham’s apartment.
Then all four of us wrestled it upstairs.
Halfway through the doorway, Marissa snapped, “Dad, rotate it before you destroy the wall.”
Henry froze.
