When Alan and I returned from our honeymoon, we took up jobs in another city and rented a flat as a stop gap as we both wanted a house.
Every week or so, unless we had other plans, we visited my folks, his folks, or were visited. We saw Miri nearly every week end.
It became a kind of easy excursion on Saturday to travel or to host.
Alan and I were happy, focused on each other and our lives. In a short time I became pregnant, and it was part of the package, in a way.
It was a typical pregnancy, birth, nothing strange.
Our lives went on as before but we had moved into our own house, and hosted my family or his. Although we didn’t live in the same town as our folks we kept close contact.
Two years later, when I was pregnant with my second child, Miri married.
It was a quiet wedding. Her husband, Harvey was a dull, distracted man one couldn’t have a conversation with. You could talk and he’d look somewhere else and not respond. So we didn’t bother.
We hadn’t met or heard of him before the wedding.
We tried to feel joy or happiness, but on the way home I had to admit to Alan; “I’ve had more laughs at funerals.”