Saylor opened the door, and I made shushing sounds as I guided my wailing mom into my house. As we sat on the beige sofa with my mom burrowed into my chest, I watched Saylor curiously peer around the room.
I wondered what she thought. I hadn’t decorated the place—it came with all this furniture. Beige on beige on beige. I mean the walls were white and the kitchen countertops were marble, but it was all just so boring and soulless.
Odd how that had never bothered me before.
And how detached I currently was.
Was that one of the stages of grief? Detachment? Maybe this was denial. Fuck if I knew.
After all the appointments today—between the coroner, the funeral home, and the attorneys—I just felt numb.
I sighed and patted my mom’s back. “Uh, Mom, I know now’s not the best time, but there’s someone here I want you to meet.”
“What?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Who?”
“My wife, Saylor.”
“WHAT?” she screeched before hitting me on the chest. “You got married, and this is how you tell me?”
I hunched and rubbed at my chest where she hit me in feigned pain. “It’s not like I exactly had the chance. Shit hit the fan and you didn’t exactly call me before showing up here.”
“I called. If you’d checked your phone, you’d know I called.” She sat upright and carefully rubbed at her eyes in that way women did. “Now where is she? Where is this pillar of femininity who finally made my son fall head over heels in love with her? You are in love, right?”
“Yes, Mom. We’re in love. Saylor, come here, baby.” I held out my hand to my perpetually hovering wife.
She smiled tremulously at me and took my hand. I pulled her to me until she sat on my knee.
“Mal! You can’t—this isn’t how I should meet your mother,” Saylor protested.
“Oh, I like her already.” Mom wiggled forward on the sofa. “She’s not afraid to give you shit. Saylor is it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry for your loss. Mal has told me a little bit about Gio. He sounds like an amazing man.” Saylor winced.
Mom smiled sadly. “Yes, he was. And you are just the picture of a gorgeous California girl. Where did you two meet?”
“She’s actually from Las Vegas, Ma,” I cut in.
“Makes sense you’d find a gorgeous local and elope without a word while in Vegas. Again,” Mom retorted.
“I don’t get married every time I go to Vegas,” I protested before turning to Saylor. “Really, I don’t. Just that one time.”
“Wait, what time?” Saylor gave me an incredulous look. “I thought you were only married once before.”
I tipped my head. “Technically, the wedding in Vegas didn’t count because you need legal paperwork from the county before you do the whole little white chapel thing.”
“You mean a marriage license?” Saylor gave a little laugh. “You didn’t have a marriage license?”
“Right. That.” I nodded. “We skipped that step, so it didn’t count. Or at least that’s what my lawyer said.”
Saylor’s eyes grew even wider.
“What? It was Vegas. I was drunk.” I lifted a shoulder. “And high. In my defense that was way before I got sober.”
“So like back when I was—what? In middle school?” She blinked innocently.
I groaned. “Fuck, you know the rule. It’s not fair making me feel like a creepy old guy.”
“Then don’t hold back history like ‘once I got married, but it doesn’t count.’ Like seriously.” Saylor huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
