“Big night tomorrow, honey. Is Terry’s suit ready, and is he picking you up here or meeting you there?”
“He’s actually gone to the town an hour away, the one with that tailor I mentioned. He’ll only come back sometime later. And I’m meeting him at the prom. Why?”
My father, Rick, would usually be sitting at the table, pretending to read the paper. But he hadn’t returned home yet.
My mother said he was working late.
Whenever I mentioned Terry’s name, I caught the look that passed between my parents. Quick. Practiced. Gone before I could name it.
“You two are so serious for 18,” my mother said, wiping a counter that was already clean. “You know your father, and I just want what’s best for your future.”
“Terry is my future, Mom.”
It occurred to me that if my father had been around, he would’ve set the paper down, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it. Then he’d reach for his coffee instead.
