Carl’s coming to dinner Friday.
Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. My father walked in as if he’d been listening from the hall the whole time.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” he said, though I was already sitting. “We’ve been patient with this Graham nonsense long enough.”
“It isn’t nonsense. We’ve been together almost ten years.”
My mother set her spoon down carefully, like it might break something.
“Then you’ve wasted ten years. Carl’s coming to dinner Friday. You’ll be here.”
“I won’t be here. I’m not doing this again.”
“You will,” my father said. “Or you can find out what life looks like without us behind you.”
“You weren’t invited.”
I went to that dinner anyway. I thought maybe if I showed up one last time, I could end it cleanly.
Carl was already seated, smiling as though he belonged there.
