That was their relationship.
By the time Brandon proposed to me, he and Lisa already had their own routines, jokes, and tiny arguments.
He proposed at home after dinner because he knew I hated being the center of attention in public.
Lisa was supposed to be asleep.
Apparently, she had been hiding around the corner.
The second Brandon dropped to one knee, I heard a gasp from the hallway.
Lisa came running into the room.
“Are you two getting married?”
Brandon was still holding the ring.
“That depends on whether your mom says yes.”
I started laughing so hard that I cried.
“Yes,” I told him.
Lisa squealed.
Then suddenly, she became quiet.
She looked at Brandon.
“Does that mean I get a dad too?”
I will never forget his face.
He set the ring box down, opened his arms, and said,
“If you’ll have me.”
Lisa launched herself at him.
I thought that moment settled everything.
For Brandon’s mother, Barbara, it did the opposite.
Barbara never openly attacked Lisa when other people were around.
That almost made it worse.
At family dinners, she smiled at her.
Asked about school.
Bought her birthday gifts.
Put her name on Christmas cards.
But whenever Brandon wasn’t nearby, the comments changed.
“Brandon has such a generous heart,” she once told me. “Not every man would agree to take responsibility for another man’s child.”
I looked directly at her.
“Lisa isn’t a responsibility someone dumped on him.”
Barbara smiled.
“Oh, I know. I’m only saying that raising somebody else’s child is a lot.”
Another time, while Brandon was outside grilling, she asked whether I expected him to pay for Lisa’s college.
I honestly thought she was joking.
“She’s seven.”
“I’m thinking about the future,” Barbara replied. “Brandon will eventually have children of his own.”
That phrase stayed with me.
Children of his own.
As though Lisa could never possibly count.
I told Brandon about some of Barbara’s remarks.
