My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“Christopher, I must apologize,” my mother said, stepping toward the low glass coffee table where a silver tray now sat. “The shock of seeing someone from that terrible night completely overcame my manners. It was a dark, confusing evening five years ago, and I am afraid my memory is not what it used to be.”
She picked up the heavy silver coffee pot, her movements deliberate and graceful.
“Let me pour you a cup,” she said. “We have some of the dark roast you like, David.”
My father gave a low, dry grunt but did not look up from the hearth. “Thank you, Olivia.”
“And for you, Christopher?” she asked, her eyes meeting his with a bright, hard intensity.
“Black is fine, Mrs. Lindell,” Christopher said, his slow, gravelly rumble filling the quiet room.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his knees bent at an awkward angle as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible in my parents’ pristine house.
