Those were my father’s first words after he saw my mother’s new nose.
My parents were supposed to celebrate 60 years of marriage that Saturday. Forty guests, their favorite Italian restaurant, even the same song they’d danced to at their wedding. Then, three weeks before the party, Mom announced she was getting a nose job. At 87.
Dad thought she was joking. “Margaret, you’ve had that nose for 87 years.”
“And I’ve disliked it for 70.”
She had broken it badly as a teenager, and she’d spent her entire adult life avoiding photographs from one side. Dad begged her not to go through with it. She refused to change her mind. The procedure went well, and because of the swelling, Mom stayed with me for several days afterward. Dad wouldn’t look at any pictures. “I’ll see my wife when she comes home.”
On Friday morning I drove her back. Most of the swelling had faded, and Mom was thrilled. But the second Dad opened the front door, his smile disappeared. He wasn’t staring at the bruising. He was staring at her nose.
“Turn sideways.”
Mom laughed nervously. “Robert, don’t be ridiculous.”
