The wedding is fast approaching. Dish by dish, book by book, towel by towel, they are building their first home together. It is such a joy to watch; to sit back and see how they interact with each other. And it’s fun to see the unflusterable Elie, so very flustered; the calm and patient and quite in control Lauren, be just a bit unnerved. It’s wrong of me to enjoy it, and yet I do – because even in these moments, I can see the caring, the understanding, the gentle and patient way they deal with each other.
“Where are my keys?” Elie asked. “I put them right here.” Well, they aren’t there now, are they?
We looked everywhere we could think of and all my questions just bothered him more. “Did you look in your room?” and “maybe you left them in the car?” and finally, “what jacket were you wearing?”
He picked up his jacket – and found his keys in the pocket. “Someone put them there,” Elie said will full conviction. We talked about his apartment, the lock, some things he had to do.
“Where are the car keys?” he asked in frustration.
“I handed them to you a second ago,” I reminded him.
“Well, I don’t have them,” he answered in the tone of an ever-so-patient child who is searching for understanding from a completely senile parent.
I looked on the shelves, refrained from asking if they were in his room or apartment, and he reached in his pocket and said, “and here they are.”
I have loved Elie from before he was born. I loved him the moment I held him, each time he turned those blue eyes towards me. I have loved him into the army, through it and out of it and I am loving him now – even as the flustered groom.