Too Late to Call Me Yours

Joel Hoover's mother, Amy Dempsey, held Cynthia Marsh's hand as she fussed over her. Only after a while did she notice me standing by the door.

"And who's this?"

Before I could answer, Joel took the gift box and Amy's blood pressure medication from my hands. "She's Cynthia's best friend. She was just helping Cynthia carry the gifts."

Just like that, he erased our three years of marriage as if they had never existed.

Amy opened the gift box and immediately lit up. "Cynthia, you remembered how much Joel's dad loves this coffee?"

Cynthia hesitated for a second, then smiled and nodded. "Of course."

I was the one who had gone out of my way to have the coffee shipped in from the region where it was grown.

I had also gotten Amy's blood pressure medication a month ahead, knowing exactly when she'd need more.

Joel and I had been married for three years, but he had never once taken me home to meet his parents.

He always said his family cared a lot about status and might not approve of someone with my background. He just needed more time.

Even so, I knew exactly what kind of coffee Owen Hoover liked and when Amy would need more of her medication.

I always thought that if I did everything right, one day they'd finally accept me as Joel's wife.

"You're so thoughtful."

Amy patted Cynthia's hand fondly.

No one asked who had bought the gifts. No one seemed to care why I was still standing by the door, either.

Cynthia had been given the seat beside Joel, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, while mine was all the way at the far end of the table.

While the dishes were being brought out, Joel got up and pulled me aside.

"So this is your idea of introducing me to your family?" I asked.

"Mom saw a picture of Cynthia and me and thought she was my girlfriend. Mom hasn't been well, so just play along for today. I know it's not fair to you, but it doesn't change the fact that we're already married."

Before I could say anything, Joel turned away and went back to Cynthia, pulling out her chair for her.

Once the food was served, he picked out everything she didn't like and even cut up some of her food for her.

As soon as Cynthia said, "My stomach's bothering me," Joel checked the soup to make sure it wasn't too hot. Then he got up to get her some medicine.

"Didn't I tell you not to drink anything cold when your stomach's acting up?"

He sounded like he was scolding her, but he couldn't have been gentler.

During our second year of marriage, I came down with a 102.2-degree fever. I lay in bed, clutching Joel's shirt and begging him to take me to the hospital.

He just set some fever reducer on the nightstand. "I have an important meeting today. Take some medicine for now."

My fever got so bad that I was barely conscious. My neighbor ended up calling an ambulance for me.

But Joel hadn't always been like this. Back when we were dating, I once sprained my ankle on a rainy day. He carried me more than a mile to the hospital, getting soaked the whole way.

By the time we got there, he was drenched, but he still crouched down and gently rubbed my ankle.

"I'm here now. You don't have to handle everything by yourself anymore," he told me.

Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped being the one he cared about.

After dinner, Amy brought out an antique bracelet. "This is a Hoover family heirloom. It's meant for the woman who marries into the family."

She was grinning from ear to ear as she slipped it onto Cynthia's wrist.

Cynthia blushed and started to take it off, but Joel stopped her. "Just leave it on for now. It'll make Mom happy."

He said it like Cynthia was already part of the family.

I looked down at my bare wrist.

The day Joel and I got married, he had promised that once his parents accepted me, he'd slip the Hoover family bracelet onto my wrist himself.

Three years later, I was still waiting.

Amy pulled out a photo album next, packed with pictures of Cynthia with the Hoovers.

There were photos of her spending Christmas Eve with them, joining in their family traditions, and celebrating Owen's birthday.

There was even a family portrait. Cynthia stood between Owen and Amy with her arm linked through Joel's. It had been taken the previous Christmas.

That year, Joel had told me he had to go overseas for work at the last minute. I spent Christmas Eve alone at home, making dinner for two and waiting for him until well past midnight.

At midnight, I texted him, "Merry Christmas."

Six hours later, all he sent back was, "Yeah."

Amy closed the album and casually asked what Mom and Dad did for a living. I told her they had passed away when I was young and that Grandma had raised me.

Her smile dimmed almost immediately.

"That explains it."