“No, I said pretty high.” I try to push past him to get to the dishwasher. “Can we please get these dishes clean for tomorrow?”
Enzo reaches into the cabinet that contains the dishwasher detergent. He fills up the cup, then slams it closed and presses the button to start the cleaning cycle. When he’s done, he turns to look at me, his muscular arms folded across his chest. “Okay, now we do not have dishwasher excuse. We can talk about your blood pressure.”
“Oh God.” I roll my eyes. “Look, I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought you were going to make such a big thing about it.”
“Why wouldn’t I make a big thing about it?” he retorts. “You are my wife, and I want you to be healthy and live forever.”
“That’s… sweet, I guess,” I admit. “But you’re making too big of a deal out of this. I was just stressed out, and that’s why my blood pressure was high.”
“Fine. Then you go to a doctor and get it checked out.”
“But—”
“You never go to the doctor, Millie,” he points out.
“Neither do you. And you’re even older than I am.”
He looks like he’s going to protest, but then his shoulders sag. “Fine. We both go see doctors. Okay?”
Fine. Fine. Enzo is obviously going to nag me about this until I agree, so I’ll go to the doctor and let them check my blood pressure, but I’m sure it will all be fine.
“Also,” he says, “we should get life insurance policies for each other.”
I don’t like the turn this conversation is taking. It’s bad enough I have to find a new doctor to see and make an appointment. “Life insurance policies? I don’t know about that. Why would we get those?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” He glances out the window, where we have a spectacular view of the Lowells’ much larger house. “What if something happened to me? You would be alone with the children. You should have money.”
I close my eyes, not wanting to imagine the death of my husband. It’s almost unthinkable. “Okay, so take out a life insurance policy on yourself then.”
“And you should have one too.”
“So you get a payoff if I die?”
He presses his lips together. “Millie, you know this is not for me. This is for our children. So they have a roof over their heads. You know we are barely able to pay the mortgage as it is.”
He’s not wrong. A lot of people with children have life insurance policies. Several years ago, we were talking about it, but we both got so upset at the idea of one of us dying that we never ended up getting them.
I’m not sure if my blood pressure is high or not right now, but it feels high.
“I know this is a sad thing.” Enzo picks up my hand in his. “I would not want to ever lose you. But this is responsible.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Also,” he adds, “Suzette recommended a very good insurance agent. I could give him a call tomorrow.”
Oh. Suzette was behind this. Now it all makes sense.
“So for eleven years, you don’t think we need life insurance,” I say. “And Suzette says one word about it, and now we have to call this guy tomorrow?”
“Millie.” His face flushes slightly, although it’s hard to tell because of his olive skin tone. “I am trying to take care of my family, no matter what happens to me.”
“Fine. Okay!”
God, why is he making me feel like I’m the one being difficult? Life insurance is a big deal, isn’t it? I know it’s important, but I don’t want to rush into buying something, especially when we don’t have a lot of disposable income.
It’s not like I’m dying tomorrow, after all.
SEVENTEEN
“Are you dying, Mom?”
Ada asks me the question as I’m saying good night to her. She’s lying in her twin bed, the blanket covered in pictures of dogs pulled up to her chin, her little face scrunched up with worry. Ada has always worried too much. That girl keeps the weight of the world on her shoulders. Even as a toddler, she used to fret over everything, especially Nico. When Nico had so much as a sniffle, she used to cry over it.
“I’m not dying!” I swipe a few strands of black hair from her face. “Why would you say that?”
“I heard you and Dad talking about it.”
Oh great. In our old apartment, we were acutely aware that the kids could hear through the paper-thin walls. Somehow, we have been under the misapprehension that it’s different in this big house. But apparently, they can still hear everything.
“I’m not dying,” I assure her.
“Then why are you getting life insurance?”
I sense that “in case we die” is not the right answer. Although technically, it is the right answer. “It’s just in case some weird, unexpected accident happens. But that won’t happen.”
“It might.”
Ada has the same crease between her eyebrows that Enzo gets when he’s worried. She looks a lot like him—same eyes, nose, skin tone, thick black hair—but she doesn’t have his personality. And honestly, for better or worse, she’s not much like me either. She’s one of those kids where you’re not entirely sure where she came from. Maybe she’s like one of her grandparents. My mother and I are estranged, but she always seemed very anxious.
