Page 40 of Axe-identally Married
“Things are great,” Willa said, straightening in her chair. “Really. I’m learning and growing. The job is hard, but I’m up for the challenge.”
“Of course you are. You’re a Savard. It’s in our blood.”
“Roger,” Willa’s mom chided.
“I’m not putting pressure on her, Sue,” he said, holding up his left hand. “I’m only saying. Our girl was born for this.”
He turned toward me, his face the most animated it had been since we arrived. “Willa was diagnosing her dolls at four years old. Did her first appendectomy on a Cabbage Patch Kid at six.”
“Dad.”
He waved her off, sitting straighter than he had all night and beaming with pride. “Won the state science fair in eighth grade. She cultured and grew a flu virus and tested several household disinfectants to determine which actually killed the germs. We knew then she was destined for med school.”
“She went to the national math Olympics in tenth grade,” Susan chimed in, clearly catching the parental pride her husband had been infected with.
Willa’s face had turned an adorable shade of pink.
Their admiration was clearly very contagious, because I had fallen victim to it as well. She was exceptional. And it was deeply comforting to know that they saw it too.
“So,” Susan began as we cleared the last of the plates. “Your father and I want to ask you something.”
Willa went stiff as she turned and faced her mom.
I froze, my feet glued to the floor beneath me and my heart in my throat. Did they know?
Had we faked this whole thing for nothing?
My heart took off, and my mind spiraled. God, this family was so close-knit. I couldn’t live with the guilt of causing her parents to be angry or disappointed with her.
But Susan didn’t look angry.
“Have a seat and don’t look so nervous,” she chided with a grin.
With a thick swallow, I did as I was told, my legs nearly buckling.
“Your father and I respect your choice of an Elvis wedding, and it’s clear tonight that the two of you are in love.”
She paused, her silence pure torture.
Panic had begun to course through me when she finally spoke again. “We don’t want to pressure you, but—”
“We want to throw you a wedding,” Roger cut in. “Something local.”
“But only if you want it,” Susan added, splaying her hands on the table. “We don’t want to overstep.”
I turned to Willa and surveyed her. We should have anticipated this and come up with a plan. Lovewell lived for weddings, and given the love they had for their only child, of course her parents would want to celebrate her in a big way.
But what did Willa want? A big wedding wasn’t logical. This wasn’t real. Someday, she’d find a man she wanted to marry the right way, with church bells and a tent in the town square and blueberry pie instead of wedding cake. Given how beloved she and her family were, Lovewell would be talking about the wedding for years.
She deserved that. To find a great love, have a big wedding, and support of the town.
So why did the idea of it make me feel so terrible?
“Thank you,” Willa said, finally breaking the silence. “We’re not sure what we want.”
“Yes,” I agreed when I realized I was expected to participate in this conversation rather than imagining Willa’s future with some awesome, faceless man. He was probably a doctor. Probably liked to golf too. Roger and Susan would love him. “Thank you. That is so generous of you to offer.”
“We’re happy with how we’re settling in right now,” Willa explained. “But we’ll discuss it and maybe think about something in the summer.”
