Bellamy's Redemption

“No, I’m the youngest of six.”

“Six children,” said Kate. She and Larry exchanged a look.

“Yep, that’s right,” I said. Bellamy gave me a little pat of encouragement. I realized everyone was looking at me, waiting for some kind of additional response. What could I say? Dumb things came to mind like, “They liked babies! Making ‘em, anyway!” but I kept my mouth shut.

There seemed to be some kind of unspoken message traveling around the table that I wasn’t quite picking up on. A loud thunderclap sounded ominously and I took another sip of water.

“Have you two gotten a chance to talk about things like children, and religion, and other big topics that really matter?” asked Kate.

“Hmm, not really,” said Bellamy.

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. I was thinking I’d like to escape to the restroom to read my note, or better yet, I’d like to be sitting on Pete’s couch eating some string cheese. Then I got irritated with myself for thinking of him at a time like this, in the middle of my Meet-the-Fam date. I shouldn’t be thinking of him at all, considering he’d participated in that slutty pillow fight, and probably many other slutty events since I’d been away. I squeezed Bellamy’s hand beneath the table to remind myself what a lucky girl I was.

“Larry, did you hear it thundering just a moment ago? Please help that girl with the car before it pours on her.”

“Please excuse me,” said Bellamy’s father. He stood up, tossed his napkin on the chair, and bolted out the door. Bellamy sipped his wine with guiltless oblivion.

“Emma’s an interior decorator,” said Bellamy. He winked at me, which confused me, and poured himself more wine.

“So is Kate,” said Sherifaye. “Aren’t you, Kate?”

“It’s just a hobby,” she said.

“Oh Mom! You’re so modest,” said Dericka.

“Yeah,” said Bellamy. “Don’t be so modest. Tell Emma about Interiors Monthly.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” said Bellamy’s mother. “Our living room was just featured on the cover.”

“And there was a twelve page spread about the rest of the house,” said Dericka.

“How lovely for you,” I said. I had thought their house had that rather obvious heavy-beamed lodge with toile wallpaper effect that is so 1997. I considered asking what year they’d been featured, but fortunately our food arrived just then.

“For the lady of the hour,” said our waiter, placing a crusty little loaf of legumes and berries before me. He smiled down at me with faux innocence, as if his comment was simply ironic and not to be taken literally.

“This looks so healthy,” I said brightly, “and don’t you look cute in your little suit.”

As the rest of our meals were deposited, Bellamy’s father, who had returned a few moments earlier from rescuing Irene, decided to stand up and make a toast. He cleared his throat importantly, kicking his chair back away from himself into the path of another table’s waitress. “To Dirk and Emma,” he said with his glass raised, pausing briefly with mild irritation at the sound of her and a tray of food clattering to the floor as she fell over his chair.

“Dad, he’s Bellamy now,” said Dericka.

“Er, to Bellamy and Emma,” Larry said, giving it another try.

“To Bellamy and Emma,” everyone agreed, clinking glasses and taking sips. Bellamy gave me a sweet little kiss on the lips and everyone, even the people at the tables near us, smiled and clapped a little.

“Congratulations,” whispered the woman at the table nearest us.

“Thank you,” said Bellamy.

I wasn’t sure what to make of all this, so I decided to focus on my meal instead of the possibility that I’d gotten engaged without realizing it. I took a few dainty bites of my dinner, smiling and nodding as if it were tasty. In reality, it tasted like greasy, pan-fried breakfast cereal. I also thought I detected a twinge of turkey-ness to it, but I tried to reassure myself that restaurateurs who owned fancy establishments like this place had to be ethical or they wouldn’t have come this far.

The note was really burning a hole in my pocket. When I’d made my way through nearly half the lentil loaf I excused myself from the table. Cameraman Luca followed along after me, just in case I decided to do something exciting. I found the restrooms in a long, dark hallway near the coat room. Instead of a large ladies’ room with stalls and a large men’s room with stalls, there were individual powder rooms. This seemed luxurious to me, since it meant they wouldn’t be sending some female assistant in to check on how I was doing if it was taking me too long.

I went into the dim, wallpapered space and firmly locked the door behind me. The floor was made of marble basket-weave tiles. Exactly the kind I’d like in my home one day. Everything was clean and perfect and smelled of bergamot. It made me miss my apartment and other clean, quiet spaces. After I took the opportunity to pee and check my teeth and makeup without a camera crowding me, I sank down on the chair in the corner of the room, grateful it was there. I hated how time spent with Bellamy sometimes made me feel lonelier than being alone. I wasn’t sure how that could be, or how much of it had to do with all the people who were always around us. Maybe it was the in-law effect. Time spent with significant others’ families was usually, to some degree, exhausting.

I turned on the faucet to drown out the sound of the note sliding from my pocket and being carefully unfolded. I couldn’t properly enjoy the moment, or my privacy, already concerned that I was taking too long and they were all back at the table discussing whether there was something wrong with me and if maybe Bellamy ought to come find me.

Just as I got the note unfolded there was a knock on the door. I froze. Had they heard me opening the note? How was that possible? I thought I had been so incredibly sneaky.