“Maybe by the time Elena and I get married, he might be able to tolerate me.” Bethany perks up at the thought of her daughter getting married. “How old are you?” Quite a change in topic. “Thirty-six,” I answer with a raised eyebrow. She laughs. “I expect at least two grandchildren by the time you’re forty. If she doesn’t have a ring on her finger by next Christmas, I think I will die.” I chuckle, pulling out the engagement ring that’s been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks. I present it to Bethany for inspection. She twists it and bounces on her toes in delight at the way it sparkles.
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