“No.”
“What?”
“Clara proposed to me.”
I stared at him.
“She did?”
“She asked if I wanted to raise the baby with her.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“That is not a proposal.”
“She said, ‘Then we should get married because I do not want you sleeping at your apartment forever.’”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Ethan almost smiled.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because everyone would say she did not understand what she was asking.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“We discussed money, housing, the baby, medical care, and what support she would need. Her support worker and lawyer were involved.”
That mattered.
This was not a secret arrangement made without Clara’s understanding.
She had support.
She had asked questions.
She had chosen.
“Do you love her?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you said it clearly?”
He looked away.
“Vanessa left when she learned I might need another heart operation.”
I remembered his former girlfriend.
“She said she could not build a future around someone who might die young.”
“Oh, Ethan.”
“I told Clara about my heart. She said, ‘Everyone can die. You are not special.’”
I smiled.
“That also sounds like Clara.”
“She was right.”
“Then why are you afraid to tell her you love her?”
“Because I kept wondering whether my feelings were mixed with gratitude toward her father.”
“Are they?”
“I’m grateful to him.”
“That was not the question.”
He finally looked at me.
“No. I don’t love Clara because of Adrian.”
“Then tell her.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“That is the result of hiding the truth.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
Clara returned home after four days.
She was told to rest and avoid stress.
She also told Ethan he could not stay in her apartment.
The wedding remained scheduled, but no one knew whether it would happen.
A week before the ceremony, my mother invited Clara to dinner.
Clara arrived wearing a green maternity dress. Her support worker, Diane, brought her and waited nearby in case Clara became tired.
My mother hugged her.
My father shook her hand.
Clara looked at him.
“You are still angry?”
My father hesitated.
“No.”
“You look angry.”
“I’m nervous.”
“That looks the same on you.”
My mother laughed unexpectedly.
Dinner remained polite until Clara placed her fork down.
“I want to talk now,” she said.
Everyone became quiet.
She looked at Ethan.
“I know my dad saved you.”
