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“How long did it take you to know you wanted to marry her?”

His smile turned softer. The kind that only appeared when he talked about Mom.

“Not long. Six months.”

I pointed at him.

“See?”

He shook his head.

“But we were not planning a wedding after eight weeks.”

“But you knew.”

Dad smiled despite himself.

“Yes. I knew.”

I sat back.

“That is exactly what this feels like for me.”

The smile disappeared from his face.

“I know you think I’m being reckless.”

“I think you are making a huge, life-changing decision far too quickly.”

“I love him.”

“I know you think you do.”

I stared at him, stunned that he could dismiss my feelings so easily.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have known him for eight weeks.”

Anger flared hot in my chest.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know her own feelings.”

“I am talking to you like a father who doesn’t want to watch his daughter make a mistake she can’t take back.”

I pushed my chair back.

“Right. There it is. Finally.”

“What?”

“What you have been dying to say this whole time.”

Dad leaned forward, his voice low and intense.