His mother, Diane Callahan, sat beside him like a queen claiming her throne. Pearls at her throat, red lipstick sharp as a blade, eyes constantly weighing my daughter.
I had come to dinner because Emily asked me to.
“Please, Mom,” she had whispered over the phone. “Just be calm tonight. Brent wants both families to try again.”
Try again.
The phrase tasted bitter as I watched Brent interrupt her for the sixth time.
“She forgets things,” he told the table, laughing. “Bills, appointments, basic instructions. I swear, living with Emily is like managing a teenager.” HomeFurnishings
Emily’s face flushed.
“That’s not true,” she said softly.
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