At first, the trip was only a phrase Lauren mentioned in passing. She came home one evening, set her bag on the kitchen island, and said Chris was talking about getting away for a few days before fall got busy. I asked whether it was a group trip with their college friends, and she said they hadn't worked out the details. I nodded and returned to chopping vegetables because there was nothing to discuss yet. We talked about something else before dinner, and I didn't give the trip another thought that night.
A week later, Chris's name appeared on her phone while we were watching a documentary. Lauren read the message and smiled. I asked what was funny, and she said he had found an inexpensive flight for a getaway they had been discussing. The phrase "they had been discussing" bothered me because I hadn't heard much about the plan since the first mention, but I waited until the documentary ended before asking. She said it was probably just a few days and that she didn't know why I was acting like she needed permission to travel.
"You don't need permission," I said. "I'm asking because we're engaged, and I thought plans like that were things we'd talk through together." She sighed, said I was making a simple idea complicated, and promised to fill me in when they had settled on dates. I wanted to point out that settling on dates before speaking with me was part of what made the plan uncomfortable. Instead I said all right, because she had already turned back to the television and I didn't want another evening to end with us speaking through clenched teeth.
That was where I made a mistake of my own. I interpreted her promise to talk later as a real agreement to discuss whether the trip was appropriate for our relationship. I think she interpreted the conversation as another temporary expression of discomfort that would eventually disappear if she waited long enough. Those are very different interpretations of the same words, and neither of us clarified them. The silence between those interpretations widened over the following days while the wedding invitations, contracts, and ordinary routines continued as if nothing important were changing.
I remember a Sunday morning when we were building our guest list at the dining table. Lauren mentioned that Chris needed to be seated near two college friends because he didn't know many people in her extended family. I made the adjustment and asked, lightly, whether he would be bringing someone to the wedding. She shrugged and said he was between relationships, then added that he had always been unlucky in love. There was a tenderness in her voice that would not have troubled me on its own, but by then I was listening for the things neither of us said.