Page 131 of Sparks Fly

She smiled in that polite way she had when she didn’t quite believe me.

Dinner unfolded predictably. My father talked about work between bites of chicken. Benji wasn’t there, a last-minute job at the shop, Sawyer was there with him. They’d be working late—and I felt his absence immediately, I’d lost the one buffer that usually made these evenings easier.

Halfway through the meal, my mother leaned back slightly in her chair with her wineglass balanced lightly between her fingers.

“So,” she said casually, “have you given any more thought to who you’re bringing to the wedding?”

I set my fork down before answering. “I’m not bringing anyone,” I said evenly.

“Well,” she continued as she tilted her head, “I just thought it might be nice not to go alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” I replied while meeting her gaze. “I’m the maid of honor.”

“Yes, but after the ceremony—”

“Mom,” I interrupted quietly.

She waved a hand as if brushing the topic aside. “You can still bring someone.”

I looked up at her then. “I don’t want to.”

She smiled again, unfazed by the answer. “I met someone you might like,” she said.

Of course.

“He’s a Doctor,” she continued. “Successful. Very nice family.”

The familiar fatigue settled into my chest, heavy and dull. We’d had this exact conversation umpteen times. It felt like the worst version of groundhogs day I could be in.

“I’m not interested, Mother.” I tried to sound firm without giving her anything else to argue with.

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“I’m being clear.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I just don’t want you to regret it,” she said carefully. “Appearances matter.”

There it is.

“I’m fine with how this will appear to people.”

“A little help here, Alex,” she said, turning to my father.

He sighed. “I think you should let her make her own choices, Merrian.”

He sounded exhausted, and I had a feeling she had already talked his ear off about this long before I arrived.

Probably for weeks.

She studied me for another moment before turning her attention back to her plate. The conversation shifted after that, but the air in the room never fully recovered.

Later that evening, as I drove home through streets lined with early autumn leaves, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.

Sawyer: How was dinner?