Page 10 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

Of course, they did.

“Lynn said that she was coming, sure,” I say with a shrug. “But that’s not the point. You need to call me before just showing up and rearranging my house.”.”

“But it’s not even yours,” Dad grumbles.

Mom nods, switching her attention to the vase of flowers that has suddenly appeared on my table. “That’s right. Old Ernie owns the place. And he doesn’t mind if I put up new curtains.”

“He doesn’t live here.”

I don’t even know why I’m arguing. This behavior isn’t uncommon for my parents. No matter how many fights we have over it, they always end up wandering back into my home like they own the place.

Maybe I will get married sometime.

Maybe I should buy the place out near Lynn’s house, and then simply not give my parents keys.

I love them dearly, but it’s hard dealing with them sometimes.

“When you and that Hart girl were little, you would go everywhere together,” Mom says, now dragging a chair to the window.

No doubt to change the curtains.

“Mom, Catherine and I haven’t been close for years,” I groan.

“I was so worried that I’d end up with her as a daughter-in-law,” Mom continues.

“Now we’d pay her to take you off our hands,” Dad calls from the living room.

My jaw clenches. I have to bite back on the desire to really snap at them. Losing my temper isn’t going to help anyone.

“Mom, don’t change my curtains,” I tell her. “And leave my stuff alone. You can stay here and use the AC if you want but I have things the way I like. Please don’t mess it up.”

Mom huffs as she drags the chair back to the table. “I was only trying to help.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say. “Please just don’t mess with my stuff.”

I manage to gather my tools, kiss my mom on the cheek, and leave without being drawn into another argument. I just hope that when I get back, I’ll still recognize the place.

I’ll never understand why my parents feel so comfortable ignoring the things I say I want.

Sometimes I wonder if having a wife would actually change things.

Or if would it just create more problems with my parents rearranging her decorations, hanging new curtains, and insulting her cooking.

In any case, I have no plans to get married anytime soon.

I shake the annoyance from me as I head back to Lynn’s place.

When I pass the old neighbor's house, though, I slow down. How much damage does it actually have? How difficult would it be to fix?

When I get back to Lynn’s place, Catherine is outside. She paces back and forth, her cell phone held to her ear.

At first, I think she’s trying to call Tony. But when I get out of the truck, her tone is far too agitated to be over a simple tow job.

I grab my tools and an extra pack of screws from the truck bed.

“No, I’m not saying—no! I don’t want to do that,” Catherine is saying as I start toward the house.

Her back is to me, so I’m not sure she even realizes I’m here.

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