You know how they ask if anyone has any objections during weddings? That was taken too seriously by my mother. With fake tears in her eyes, she got up and attempted to ruin my marriage before it had even begun. However, she was unaware of my fiancé’s impending mic-drop moment.
The subway was the most surprising venue for me to meet Brian. The train car was almost deserted, save for a few weary commuters, and it was almost midnight.
My feet hurt from working a 12-hour shift as a nurse at the hospital, so I sagged in my chair. At that moment, I saw him seated across from me, his face wrinkled in concentration as he read a dog-eared edition of “The Great Gatsby.”
There was something alluring about the way he sat there, completely unconcerned with the outside world, wearing old sneakers and a navy hoodie. I was always stealing looks.
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I hastily turned away from him when he finally looked up and saw me watching.
He smiled gently and remarked, “Fitzgerald has that effect on people.” “It causes you to lose your sense of location.”
I acknowledged that I wouldn’t know. “I haven’t read it.”
His gaze expanded. “Never? One of the best American books ever written is something you’re missing out on.
I gave a shrug. “I suppose I don’t read as much as I used to.”
That evening, we didn’t exchange phone numbers. I assumed he was just another stranger on the train—a quick, amicable exchange that would eventually be forgotten.
He said, “Perhaps our paths will cross again,” as he got off at his stop. “I’ll lend you my copy if they do.”
I said, “I’d like that,” without really thinking it would happen.
Before the doors closed between me, he winked and added, “The best stories sometimes find us when we least expect them.”
After a week, destiny stepped in.
During the evening rush hour, the subway was crowded with people heading home.
As the train lurched forward, I stood gripping the overhead rail and attempting to keep my equilibrium. Just as I was about to react, I felt a sudden tug on my purse, and a man grabbed it off my shoulder and pushed his way to the doors.
“Hey! Stop him! I yelled, but nobody responded.
Only Brian.
He suddenly materialized and dashed past astonished passengers. At the next stop, the doors opened, and both guys fell onto the platform. As I watched in terror as they struggled on the ground, I pressed my face against the window.
Somehow, I was able to get through the closing doors. The burglar had already left by the time I got to them, but Brian was sitting on the ground with my purse wondrously in his hands and a small gash above his eyebrow gushing.
As I assisted him in standing up, I remarked, “Your book recommendation service is very dramatic.”
He gave me my purse while laughing. “I have yet to give you a copy of Gatsby.”
To clean up his cut, we headed out for coffee. Dinner was born out of one coffee. I ended up walking home after dinner. My knees became weak as the walk home turned into a kiss at my door.
After six months, we fell deeply in love. But Juliette, my mother? He was never liked by her.
Eliza, a librarian? Really? When I first informed her about Brian, she grimaced. “What sort of future is he able to offer?”
“The kind that’s full of books and joy,” I retorted.
She gave an eye roll. “Darling, happiness doesn’t cover the expenses.”
Despite the fact that my family is upper middle class, my mother has always made an effort to make everyone believe that we were rich. She carefully planned our lives to look more opulent than they actually were, lied about our travels, and name-dropped at dinner parties.
I was ecstatic when Brian proposed with a straightforward yet exquisite sapphire ring.
He remarked, “It made me think of your eyes.”
“That’s it?” When I showed my mother, she growled. “Not even one complete carat?”
I persisted, “I love it, Mom.” “It’s flawless.”
Her lips were pursed. “Well, I guess an upgrade can be made later.”
My family and Brian had a disastrous first supper together.
In addition to wearing her most costly jewelry, my mother kept talking about her “dear friend” who had a yacht in Monaco—someone I’m very certain didn’t exist.
To his credit, Brian was always courteous. In addition to complimenting our house and asking insightful questions about Mom’s charitable endeavors, he even brought a pricey bottle of wine, which my father, Clark, greatly valued.
“Where was this found?” With real interest, Dad looked at the label and inquired.
Brian said, “A little vineyard in Napa.” “A longtime family friend is the owner.”
My mom gave a snort. “Friends of family who own vineyards? How practical.
“Please, Mom.” I cautioned.
Dad gave her a glance. “Enough, Julia.”
Her displeasure hung heavy in the air as she just sipped her wine.
Dad drew me aside later that evening. “Eliza, I like him. He has substance.
“Thank you, Dad.”
He told me, “Your mother will change her mind,” but his face gave the impression that he didn’t quite believe it. “Give her some time,”
As I watched Brian assist with dishwashing in spite of Mom’s objections, I said, “I don’t care if she does.” “I will marry him in any case.”
The months before our wedding were stressful. At every planning meeting, Mom made sarcastic comments and questioned why Brian’s family wasn’t there.
I said, “They’re very private people.”
She made fun of his career choice. “You know, books are dying!”
She also didn’t spare his clothes. “Is there anything that he owns that isn’t from a department store?”
She cornered me in my childhood bedroom the night before our wedding.
She sat on the edge of my bed and said, “It’s not too late to call this off.” “People would comprehend.”
I looked at her in disbelief. “Mom, I adore him.”
“Eliza, love is short-lived. Security does. Money does.
“Money is irrelevant to me; he gives me a sense of security.”
“With what? Books from the library? She gave a headshake. “I brought you up for better.”
“Mom, you brought me up to be content. Dad did, at least.
Her expression stiffened. “I promise to act appropriately tomorrow. Don’t claim I didn’t warn you, though.
I said, “Just swear to me you won’t cause a scene.”
She touched her heart with her hand. “I swear to act solely in your best interest.”
I ought to have realized her plans at that time.
Unaware of the gap I had created, I said, “Mom, I’m holding you to that.”
Bright and lovely, our wedding day arrived. Brian’s ideal location was a historic library with stained glass windows and lofty ceilings.
When the music began, I walked down a rose-petal-lined aisle with my father by my side, while the guests were seated behind rows of old books.
In his fitted suit, Brian looked more dapper than I had ever seen him, and as I got closer, I could see tears welling up in his eyes.
As Dad put my hand in his, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”
Everything went smoothly until the dreaded question was posed by the officiant: “If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
A pause was followed by the sound of fabric rustling. I turned to see my mother there with a solemn expression, and my blood froze. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
She cleared her throat theatrically and dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “All I have to do is tell the truth before it’s too late.”
A startled stillness descended upon the room.
I growled, “What are you doing, Mom?”
Ignoring me, she turned to speak to our guests. “I want the best for my daughter because I love her.” She pointed to Brian as though he were something stuck to her shoe, but this man—” is just not good enough. She could have had a successful man, a doctor, and a lawyer. Rather, she is squandering her future on…THIS.
I was immobile. Dad’s face turned white with fear. My pals muttered to one another. The officiant appeared very disoriented and obviously unprepared for this circumstance.
But then Brian grinned. He gave my hands a light squeeze before turning to look at my mom.
“You’re correct,” he nodded. “The best is what she deserves.”
With a proud glitter in her eye, my mother straightened. Then, however, Brian produced a folded document from his suit pocket and gave it to her.
“What is this?” She scowled as she reluctantly unfolded it and inquired.
Her face lost its color as she looked at the paper.
“You know this?” Brian’s voice was calm as he asked. “You failed on the credit report.”
My mom’s fingers flew to her throat as she gasped.
He proceeded with a kind smile, “I ran a check.” “I wanted to find out if the woman who boasts about her wealth and status all the time was really as wealthy as she claimed to be. It turns out that you have a second mortgage that you never disclosed, are drowning in credit card debt, and—my favorite part—you were turned down for a loan only last month.
The guests didn’t say a word. The sound of blood flowing in my ears was audible.
Startled by this realization, I muttered, “Brian.”
My mom’s mouth opened, but she didn’t make a sound.
“That’s confidential information,” she stammered at last.
Brian laughed. Because I didn’t fit your definition of rich, I’ve always known you didn’t like me. Here’s the problem, though. He stopped and looked at me, his eyes full of affection. Then he faced my mom once more.
“I have a billion dollars.”
I gasped. Beside me, Dad gasped for breath. Everyone in the crowd gasped.
My mother almost tripped over her pricey heels as she staggered backward.
“What?” I muttered, looking incredulously at Brian.
Brian spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, “My family is old money.” However, I don’t promote that since I wanted to find a partner that loved me for who I am, not for how much money I make. I therefore lead a modest life. I have a career that I enjoy. And you know what? My money never once mattered to your daughter. Not like you.
The quiet was overwhelming. My mother shuddered, searching frantically for assistance but finding none.
“Is this accurate?” Quietly, I asked Brian.
His eyes were warm and unblinking as he turned to face me. Indeed. After the honeymoon, I planned to inform you. The library where I work is owned by me. Among other things, there are a number of others throughout the nation.
As I tried to take in this information, I shook my head.
“Are you upset?” he inquired, suddenly unsure.
“You’re wealthy? No. That you didn’t tell me? “A little,” I said. “However, I see why you did it.”
Brian grasped both of my hands. “Are you still interested in marrying me?”
I didn’t think twice.
I kissed him at the altar, grabbing his face and saying, “More than ever.”
The audience cheered and applauded.
Embarrassed, my mother turned and fled the theater.
After the ceremony, Dad stayed and gave us both hugs while crying.
“I didn’t know,” he repeated. “Not at all.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Brian questioned him.
Dad gave him a shoulder clap and grinned. “Not at all, son. Not at all.
We had the most exquisite reception after being married. I was greeted with wide arms by Brian’s parents, who flew in covertly for the ceremony.
They provided an explanation for their absence from the engagement. They frequently used their wealth to travel overseas for charitable causes.
My phone rang with a text from Dad later that evening when we were dancing beneath the stars:
“You won’t hear from your mother for a while. But between us? Never in my life have I been so proud of you. I always hoped you would find a man who values you more than anything else, and Brian is just that kind of man. Having money or not
Brian grinned as I showed him the message.
“Your father is a wise man,”
I sighed, “unlike my mother.”
Brian drew me in. “You know, the villains in all the best stories aren’t bad because they’re rich or poor. They value the wrong things, which makes them evil.
“Is that Gatsby’s?” I made fun of it.
“No,” he chuckled. “I own that one entirely.”
We were surrounded by books and affection as we swayed under the sparkling lights when I came to the startling realization that having the guts to live truly and love fully is what truly defines wealth, not having bank accounts or status symbols.
I had met a partner that embodied that wonderfully, but my mother might never get it. I became the wealthiest lady in the world as a result.
Although this work has been fictionalized for artistic reasons, it is based on actual individuals and events. To preserve privacy and improve the story, names, characters, and specifics have been altered. Any likeness to real people, alive or deceased, or genuine events is entirely accidental and not the author’s intention.