My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“I am only trying to get to know our guest, David,” she said, her voice clipping the end of each word. She looked back at Christopher, her fingers hovering near her necklace. “Mia is very quiet about her life. We rarely hear about her friends, let alone a fiancé. Surely your parents have some connection to the civic league there?”
“My parents passed away when I was quite young,” Christopher said. He did not touch the roast beef yet. “There were no leagues.”
My mother paused with the serving tongs in midair. “No leagues at all?”
“We were working people,” Christopher said.
I twisted the silver band on my left thumb, the metal cool against my skin. The lie we had crafted in my kitchen felt thin, like wet paper. I had told them he was a successful historical consultant, but Christopher was not using the words we practiced.
“I spent twenty years working with timber frame construction,” Christopher said, looking directly at my father. “Mostly white oak and mortise-and-tenon joints. If you do not cut the pegs precisely, the whole beam twists when the season changes.”
