Can’t wait for that.
“No, this was something you said . . . about me.”
His brow furrows, and he tilts his head to the side. “What did she say?”
I drop my hands from his and say, “Well, she said that you don’t like my glasses and that they’re childish, that I would be better without them.”
I wait for his backtracking.
For his denial.
For any sort of indication he didn’t say that.
But he doesn’t.
“Did you . . . did you say that to her?” I ask.
He glances away and then nods. “I did. She was talking about the wedding pictures and how your glasses might mess them up, and I said that maybe you’d consider contacts since the purple glasses were kind of childish.”
“Oh,” I reply, feeling really stupid. It’s not every day your fiancé tells you you’re childish. It’s not something you want to hear either.
“Lia, I don’t want you to take offense to that.”
My head snaps up. “How could I not take offense to that, Brian? I’ve had these glasses forever. They’re the ones my mom helped me pick out. They’re special to me. They mean something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that,” he says. “I just thought it was one of your . . . quirks. You know, like how you ironically wear shirts with characters from Harry Potter.”
“I don’t wear those ironically. I wear them because I like them.”
“Well, either way, I didn’t realize there was any meaning behind the glasses. I’m sorry, Lia.”
I don’t know what to say.
Thank you for apologizing seems so sterile and robotic.
It’s okay is not appropriate because it’s not okay.
So instead of saying something, I just stay silent.
“Lia.” He tugs on my hand. “I said I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I say, staring at our connected hands. “Just embarrassed, I guess.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I should never have said anything. That was really shitty.”
“Do you think they make me look ugly?”
“No, Lia,” he says quickly. “Not at all.”
“Do you think I would be more attractive to you without them? Because that’s how it feels, how the comment feels, like . . . like I’m not pretty enough when I wear them.”
“Lia, that’s not what I meant. I think glasses look great on you. They’re just, they’re purple is all, and I would have thought that maybe someone your age would want something more sophisticated.”
My shoulders droop as I mutter, “So I’m not sophisticated enough?”
“No,” he groans while pulling on his neck. “Fuck, I’m not saying this right. Just . . . just forget I said anything at all.”
Forget what he said? He insulted me, and that’s not easy to forget.
I look up at him, insecurity racing through me, and ask, “Do you think I’m good enough for you?”
“What?” His eyes widen. “Of course, Lia. Why would you think that?”
Because I’ve thought that for a while.
Because I think that maybe we aren’t on the same trajectory.
Because the things that are important to you like money and status, are not important to me.
“Because there are moments where you try to change me. Like when we go to meals with your mother, you buy me clothes to wear.”
“That’s because she can be very particular, and I don’t want her giving you a hard time.”
“Or the glasses, or when we’re in public, it’s like you have this standard I have to meet for me to be attached to your arm.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just this past weekend, I said let’s go get ice cream, and I was going to go out in my pajamas, but you told me to change.”
“Lia, I could see your nipples through your white tank top. Do you really think I want people seeing that?” He grips my hips. “That’s just for me.”
I look off toward his office windows. “I don’t know, it just feels like I’m not good enough for you.”
“Lia, stop.” He tips my chin toward him. “Of course you’re good enough. Why else would I propose to you? Now I’m sorry about the glasses. I never should have said that, but please don’t let that unravel you.”
“I’m not unraveling, Brian. I’m just trying to make sure my boyfriend—”