Trousseau

I am sitting on the futon on the front porch, working.  Hannah comes onto the porch, grabs the Perfect Wedding Guide and my cell phone and makes off for the living room. 

“I need that back,” I call.  “You don’t get to keep it.”  My glasses disappeared recently, into her hands, I am convinced.  They haven’t turned up in weeks, and she swears her innocence.  I don’t want my cell phone to fall into the same black hole.

“I have to make a call,” Hannah says.

“To who?” I ask.

Silence.

“Who are you calling?” I repeat.

“I want to buy dresses for you and Mommy.”  Let’s be clear.  She means wedding dresses.  As in gowns.  Specifically, the silky lavender one for me and the lacey white one for Jane.

Oh, my.

“I think that’s a little premature,” I say, since there is no wedding in the plans.

“But it’s your anniversary,” she says, sounding disappointed.  She’s right.  Jane and I will celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary in September, but not with an elaborate wedding, much to Hannah’s disappointment.  And without wedding gowns.

I go and get the phone.

“That’s so sweet of you, Hanner,” I say, and give her a kiss.  “That’s just about the sweetest thing ever.”