That’s how my days went when I was around my parents.
“Of course, sweetheart,” my mother said. “We know.”
***
I went upstairs before she could say anything else.
My parents had always been polite to Terry. Polite the way you are to a waiter you don’t plan to tip well.
I told myself I was imagining things.
***
In my room, I unzipped the garment bag halfway and touched the beaded straps. Somewhere across town, Terry was probably pulling into that tailor’s parking lot, singing along to whatever bad country song he loved that week.
My phone buzzed. It was a picture.
My boyfriend holding up a garment bag that held his suit, thumbs up, grinning like an idiot.
“I was actually hoping to see you in it,” I typed.
“I know, but I thought building the suspense would be better. I’m going to stay at a motel near the tailor’s shop. I’ll drive back tomorrow. See you at 7 p.m., babe.”
