Chapter 3

On the third day, Queenie went to my parents' house.

When I got there, she was sitting in the living room with a printed proposal laid out in front of her.

My mom, Linda Macy, had red-rimmed eyes.

My dad, Arthur Macy, sat there with his face dark with anger.

"Queenie."

She looked up at me. "Good timing. I was just explaining to your parents why the wedding is being postponed."

I walked over and picked up the papers on the table.

The first page read: [Groom's Overall Marriage Assessment: Fail.]

The second page was a risk analysis of both families.

The third page contained the follow-up records from my dad's checkup after the heart stent he'd had put in last year.

[The groom's father carries a risk of rehospitalization within the next five years. Family medical expenses are unpredictable.]

My dad slammed his hand on the table. "So my illness is your excuse to look down on my son?"

Queenie frowned slightly, as if she didn't understand why he was so worked up.

"Arthur, I've known about your family's situation for a long time. Your illness, the fact that Linda has no income, Darren's current job and his ability to handle pressure. I've factored all of it in.

"I was willing to take on every one of those burdens."

She looked at me, and a note of reproach finally crept into her voice. "So I don't understand why you're still making a scene.

"I was willing to accept a husband from an ordinary family whose father is a medical risk. That's the greatest sincerity I could have shown this marriage.

"And you want to call off the wedding because I put Bill on the shortlist?"

My dad was so furious his face went pale. "What do you take my son for?"

"I don't take him for anything," Queenie said flatly. "I just want Darren to understand that his tantrum has nothing to stand on."

My mom hurried to grab my arm. "Darren, sweetheart, stop arguing. Queenie just wants to make things clear."

I looked at my mom. She was a woman who cared so much about saving face, and yet even her voice had gone small.

A sudden, sharp ache went through me.

Queenie and I had been together for three years. She'd eaten dinner at my parents' house more times than I could count.

Every time, my dad would serve her the best piece of the fish. My mom knew she didn't like scallions, so she never put any in the food.

Even knowing she didn't want children and that I'd gotten a vasectomy because of it, my parents never once showed her any resentment.

They truly saw her as their future daughter-in-law.

My dad clutched his chest, his breathing suddenly ragged.

The next second, he slid off his chair.

"Dad!"

By the time the ambulance arrived, he had lost consciousness.

The doctor stopped me outside the emergency room. "The patient is in critical condition and needs an emergency cardiac catheterization right away. We need an eleven-thousand-dollar deposit first."

I turned my wallet inside out and found only a few dozen dollars.

For years, Queenie had managed my salary, my bonuses, and my savings. She even held on to my bank cards.

I opened my banking app to check my balance.

The first thing that popped up was a transfer record.

Yesterday, Queenie had transferred ninety-five thousand dollars to Bill.

The memo read: [New car and moving expenses.]

I called her.

When the call connected, Bill's voice came through first. "Queenie, the doctor said you shouldn't stay up late. Have your soup first."

Queenie seemed to cover the phone. A few seconds passed before she asked me, "What is it?"

"Transfer the money. My dad needs surgery."

She was silent for a moment. "Which money?"

"My money."

"That's for our wedding. It can't just be touched."

"When you transferred ninety-five thousand dollars to Bill yesterday, why didn't you say it couldn't be touched?"

The line went quiet.

"That was his project relocation allowance."

"A new car and moving count as a project?"

"Darren, don't lump two separate issues together."

"My dad's life is at risk! If it weren't for you, he wouldn't be in the hospital!"

"Your father's health was already high-risk to begin with. Darren, you can't push the blame onto me."

I couldn't stand to hear another word and hung up on her.

I called my uncle, my coworkers, and old friends one after another, begging everyone I could think of for a loan. Right before the payment deadline, I finally scraped together the eleven-thousand-dollar deposit.

When the nurse wheeled the hospital bed out, she frowned and warned me, "The patient just had surgery. Emotional distress is the worst thing for him. Don't let him go through a shock like this again."

I looked at my father lying pale on the bed, and my fingers slowly curled into fists.