The phrase Duane Delgado said best was, "Just hang in there a little longer."
He said we'd buy a wedding home once the project payments came in, so I lived with him in a rented apartment for four years.
He said we'd register the marriage once his sister graduated, so I waited another year.
In the sixth year, at the Delgados' housewarming party, Leona Delgado produced a set of keys to the new place, tied with a red string.
That apartment was one Duane and I had picked only after touring more than a dozen developments, and the down payment included three hundred thousand dollars I'd scraped together by selling my late mother's keepsakes.
I thought all the swallowed grievances had finally reached their end.
Instead, Leona pressed the keys into Willow Simmons's palm, beaming.
"Willow just got back from overseas. She has nowhere to stay, so let her move in first and liven the place up."
The table went silent in an instant, and my heart sank, inch by inch.
Someone tried awkwardly to smooth it over. "Then where will Cornelia Sullivan and Duane live?"
Duane set a piece of fish in my bowl with his chopsticks, the way you'd coax a child who doesn't know any better.
"It isn't safe for a girl like Willow to be on her own, so she'll just borrow it for a few days. Whose name is on the deed doesn't matter. What matters is that we love each other."
Willow swung the keys and winked at me.
"You won't mind, will you, sis? I promise I won't sleep in your master bedroom."
I put down my chopsticks.
"Mind what? It's just an apartment."
Duane visibly relaxed. Just then the phone in my bag buzzed.
【Miss Sullivan, the evidence of your joint pre-marriage funding has been compiled. Evidence preservation can be processed at nine tomorrow morning.】
I looked at that set of keys clenched in Willow's hand and replied with a single word.
【Do it.】
——
On the drive back, Duane was behind the wheel, and his mood seemed good.
He even hummed a couple of bars of a song.
I sat in the passenger seat, head down, looking at that message from the notary office.
Until Duane reached over and gave the back of my hand a squeeze.
"Still upset?"
I pulled my hand back and tucked it into my coat pocket.
"No."
He let out a laugh.
"Cornelia, you're just too stubborn to admit it."
"My mom was a little abrupt today, but you know Willow's situation. Her parents are overseas year-round, and she's a girl who just got back. She can't live in a hotel forever, can she?"
I watched the streetlights streaking backward outside the window.
"So she lives in our wedding home?"
Duane frowned.
"What 'our wedding home'? Those are just temporary viewing keys from the developer. It hasn't even been officially handed over."
"Besides, she's only going to take a look. It's not like she's moving in to stay."
I turned my head to look at him.
"Those keys—your mother gave them to her in front of everyone."
The car went quiet for a beat.
Duane seemed irritated by what I'd said and reached up to tug at his collar.
"Cornelia, can you stop nitpicking every word?"
"With all those relatives there today, you really wanted to make my mom lose face?"
"Willow grew up with us, and her family helped my dad back in the day. You can't even tolerate this small favor?"
He was always like this.
The moment I voiced a single grievance, he immediately slapped the label of "doesn't know any better" on me.
I lowered my head and smiled a little.
"I can tolerate it."
"Good, then."
Duane visibly relaxed.
"Don't worry. Once Willow finds a place, I'll have her move out."
"And our wedding won't be held up either."
The wedding.
Those two words came out of his mouth as light as a scrap of wastepaper.
Five years ago, he'd held my hand in that cramped rental in the rundown neighborhood, the paint molding off the walls, the windows leaking drafts.
He'd held me and said, "Cornelia, just two more hard years. Once I buy a place, your name goes on it first."
Later, his company took off.
