“Hey,” he says, running his hand across the back of his neck.
I want to jump in his arms and kiss him, and I'm about to as my muscles tremble, eager to shoot forward. My fingers itch at my sides, desperately begging to tangle in his hair.
“Hi.” The single word fumbles out from me, breathy and fast.
We're staring at each other, eyes frozen. Licking my lips, I take one step forward, ready to show him how happy I am that he's here, but I'm quickly stopped in my tracks.
“Siobhan, who's at the door?” My mother rounds the corner, stopping behind me and folding stiff arms over her chest. “And why does he have a suitcase? What's going on here?”
“Oh, um, well. . . Mom, this is Mark. Mark, this is my mother, Bernadette Andrews.”
“Dr. Bernadette Andrews,” she says, correcting me.
“Nice to meet you, Ma'am.” He tips his head respectively, but she barely bats an eye. It doesn't matter how polite he is, I already know what's running through her head.
Her eyes roll up and down his body, evaluating where he stands in society. Is he rich, poor, somewhere in the middle? Is he a man who's been bred with regal influences? Or is he just a boy pretending to be someone important?
She studies how he's holding himself, her gaze shifting to his hands and feet. His back should be straight, his smile neutral, but pleasant. His hair should be cut and combed appropriately, and he should have the aroma of expensive cologne radiating from his body.
Mark has none of what she's looking for, and I see the realization and disappointment in her face as her lips fold down into a thick scowl, and her eyes narrow with repulsion.
“He's a friend of Jenna's husband, his best friend, actually. Jenna's known him for years, they all grew up together.”
“Jenna. . .” Her voice is cold and harsh. “Jenna, the girl who abandoned her family for the hicks, that Jenna? I told you I didn't want you going to her wedding, but did you listen to me? No. Now there's some man at our door. See what happens when you mingle with those people?”
Those people? How can she say such terrible, degrading things to someone she doesn't even know?
My eyes expand wide, and my brain is rushing to come up with an explanation she'll accept. “No, Mom, you're seeing this all wrong. Mark owns his own business and was coming to the city for a few meetings with his business partners. He's always done his business meetings virtually; he's never had the chance to come to the city until now. So, I thought it would only be gracious for us to open our home to him and show him around a little. I'm sorry, I meant to tell you but you I forgot.”
“You forgot,” she says, leaning her head to one side. “It just slipped your mind to let me know that you invited some man to stay with us?”
“I'm sorry, I really am. But with school and all the obligations we've had lately, it completely slipped my mind.”
My mother grumbles as she rolls her eyes, fanning her hand for him to come inside. “You know, I'd really appreciate it if you don't forget to tell me these things. You know we have a tight schedule as is, and entertaining a house guest isn't something you just spring on us.” She walks through the living room, talking to Mark with her head set forward. “What is it you do, Mark?”
Glancing at Mark, he gives me wide eyes. But he doesn't say anything to contradict the story I gave my mother, instead he helps fuel the lie. “I'm a mechanical engineer, Ma'am.”
Perfect answer.
His answer sounds more professional, more technical, more educated than just a mechanic. He doesn't stutter or fumble his words. They come out firm and confident.
“Engineer, huh?” she glances back quickly, letting her eyes run up and down his clothes. I can see the disbelief in her eyes, but she keeps it to herself. “You can stay in here.” Pushing open the door of the one of our guest rooms, she steps to the side. “And Siobhan, next time you invite a man to stay in our home, I expect you to get your father's permission first. Understand?”
“Absolutely. Of course, I won't let it happen again.”
My mother's brows knit as she looks between us. “I think it goes without saying that I shouldn't ever find you two alone in any of the rooms with the door closed. Not in this house, not ever.” Her eyes burn through my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Siobhan knows our expectations.”
I feel like a kid again, and not the woman I am. I'm not surprised, though. My parents are extremely traditional. And if I live under their roof, I follow their rules. Along with every other expectation and obligation they throw at me. How I dress. How I talk. Who I associate with. What I study in school. Where I go to school. There isn't much in my life that I control.