My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“Your daughter brought me here,” Christopher said, his rumble deeper than usual.
“My daughter made a mistake,” my mother said, her hand dropping from her pearls to rest on the mantelpiece. “She is young, and she is easily managed by people who want things from us.”
She looked at my bag then, her eyes lingering on the strap over my shoulder, but she did not ask what was inside it.
“I want him gone, Mia,” she said.
“He has nowhere to go tonight, Mother,” I said. “The buses to the city stopped running at nine.”
“That is not my concern,” she said, her fingers tightening on the painted wood of the mantel.
My father looked down at his slippers, his thumbs hooked in his pockets now, his face gray and heavy under the yellow light.
“He can stay in the garage room,” my father said softly. “Just until five.”
“He will not stay on this property for another ten minutes,” my mother said, her voice rising just enough to make the glass drops on the wall sconces hum.
