Page 64 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

My stomach drops.

My parents’ car sits in my usual spot on the driveway.

If I wasn’t exhausted as I am right now—and wasn’t so consumed with wanting the right words to approach Catherine again—I wouldn’t feel so defeated.

The interaction I had with Lynn plays more strongly in my mind.

I’m not used to people saying ‘okay’ and not pushing when I say I do or don’t want something.

Seeing my parents shouldn’t cause this knot in my stomach.

They love me. I love them. That’s not up for debate.

I just can’t tell if I’m the one being ungrateful or if they really are too pushy.

There’s a roast cooking. I smell it before I even get into the house. Which makes my stomach knot even more.

Strike one to me—I’m ungrateful.

As I enter my house, I see the coat tree has been removed entirely. In its place is a large metal line of hooks screwed into the wall. Which, according to my rental agreement, I’m not allowed to do.

Strike one to them—I told Mom I’m not allowed to damage the walls several times.

“Oh, look who finally decided to come by. We’ve been waiting for you for an hour,” Mom says crossly when I enter the kitchen.

Strike two.

“I worked late at Lynn’s place. I didn’t hear my phone.” I pull it out and check. No missed calls.

“You’re always home at seven, how was I to know you wouldn’t be back this time?”

The sound of the TV reaches me.

“Wash up,” Mom orders. “We need to eat this before it gets cold.”

“Mom—”

“Wash up,” she insists. “We’re starving.”

Strike three.

I shake my head. “I’m not going to join you for supper. I wish you had called me.”

Dad pads into the room, an empty plate in hand. “Oh, hi George.”

“Dad, can you please explain to Mom why you should have called me?”

“Oh no. Can’t do that. You’ll learn soon enough. In a marriage, you just have to do what your wife says.” Dad chuckles.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Then I let it out slowly, struggling to keep my emotions in check.

I don’t need this tonight.

“You need to leave.”

Mom gapes at me. “But we haven’t even eaten! I cooked this big meal for you—”

“No, if it was for me, you would have told me you were doing it. I saw the hooks on the wall. I told you not to do that. I keep telling you not to mess with my stuff, but you do all the time. I am done. Give me the key. Now.” I hold my hand out.

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