For the first time, my husband wasn’t defending himself.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I knew how you felt about your weight, and I used it to get a laugh. You didn’t deserve that.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
“I knew you were upset.”
Then he gave a small smile.
“Although I think my mother’s enjoying this too much.”
I laughed.
“She ordered six shirts.”
“Seven.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He looked embarrassed.
He gave a small smile.
“She ordered another one yesterday.”
“For whom?”
My husband sighed before muttering, “Me.”
I stared at him.
Then I burst out laughing.
I stared at him.
“She’s making me wear it to her birthday dinner.”
This time, he laughed too.
Not at my appearance.
At himself, and it felt different.
***
A week later, Lauren called with an update.
She’d sold enough shirts to make a nice profit.
Not at my appearance.
My sister transferred my share.