Marissa stared at him.
Then Graham quietly said, “This is where the deal comes in.”
I turned on him.
“Start talking.”
—
Months earlier, Graham had asked Henry for his blessing before proposing.
“I didn’t give him permission,” Henry said. “Mari doesn’t need mine. We just talked.”
Henry had asked Graham one question.
“What do you love most about her face?”
Graham’s expression had apparently soured immediately.
“I don’t know how to answer that without cutting her into pieces.”
So Henry told him about Marissa’s old habit.
Every photograph.
Every family gathering.
Every camera.
“Is it okay?”
“Can I see it?”
“Delete that one.”
Henry looked at me and asked, “You remember?”
Of course I did.
I’d answered those questions hundreds of times.
Henry continued.
“I told Graham not to start reassuring her before she even asked. Just love her normally.”
Graham nodded.
“And Henry said if Mari ever stopped checking every picture, I should tell him.”
Marissa stared at Graham.
“You two have been monitoring my selfies?”
“That sounds much worse when you say it,” Graham admitted. “A couple months ago, you stopped asking.”
He pulled out his phone and showed us the lock screen.
Marissa stood in a parking lot, hair blowing everywhere, eyes half closed from laughing.
Her birthmark was fully visible.
