“A daughter’s wedding is a father’s duty,” he said.
The hum of our cheap kitchen refrigerator was the loudest sound in our apartment when we got home. I stood at the counter, brewing cheap filter coffee while Caleb sat at the small formica table.
The apartment was small, but it was ours. The windows looked out over the gravel parking lot, and the air smelled of old wood and grease.
“He was very insistent,” Caleb said, looking at his coffee mug.
“He has always been like that,” I said, twisting my silver ring around my finger. “My father likes to be the one who provides.”
“It feels like a lot of pressure, Emily.”
“They have the money, Caleb,” I said, pouring the dark liquid into two mismatched mugs. “They paid for Vanessa’s entire wedding, and that was twice as large as ours will be.”
Caleb did not answer right away. He looked out the window at the twilight settling over the gravel.
“Your father’s watches,” Caleb said. “They looked brand new.”
