I got back from my mini-vacation just over a week ago, but already it is far away in the past. The sunny afternoons, crashing waves, and cool nights were too brief. Much like my marriage.
We arrived at a small beachfront property on Friday. My friend’s family rents the property, and we would be sharing the space with his grandmother and some other family members.
My friend, his wife, and her friend arrived and immediately set about getting settled. It was predetermined that I would take the couch in the living room, and my friend, his wife, and her friend would take one of the bedrooms, which they also happened to be sharing with his grandmother. We all failed to notice the first sign that something was amiss, when his grandmother kept insisting that she would sleep on the couch, so that I could be in the bedroom, and “we could all be together.”
It wasn’t until later that evening out to dinner with the three of them that my friend broke the news from a telephone conversation he had just had with his aunt. “My grandmother thinks you and ______ are married.”
I nearly spewed wine from mouth. My friend’s wife’s friend (Ok, this is getting too complicated, let me just steal a page from the No Sex and the City girls, and call her “Notmywife”) lowered her head uncomfortably. The table was briefly silent save for the sound of snow-crab legs being snapped.
“She thinks you two are married. You know how she’s become as she’s gotten older. She gets things confused. I’ve told my aunt to assure her that you two are just friends.”
Well that certainly explained her actions from earlier, and also the odd looks she was giving Notmywife and I. The two of us laughed uncomfortably, endured the jokes from my friend and his real wife, made some jokes of our own, and ultimately chalked it up as just one more crazy part of our expected Dewey beach experience.I cracked a crab leg, sipped my glass of wine, and smiled.