It was February 28th, the last Sunday of the month, and Tristan was late for family dinner by nine minutes. When he sat down at the dining room table his mother gave him a half smile. Tristan knew exactly what that meant.
Though Leslie looked as calm as still waters, his father was furious.
A man who can mask whatever he is feeling is a man holding all the right cards, his father often said.
For his mother, Tristan decided that tonight he would be the agreeable one no matter how much his father tried to push him. "Good evening Mother, Father."
Mr. Bertram jostled the ice in his glass. "Is she worth it?" Leslie asked.
Tristan sighed. He tried.
"Oh, come on." Tristan's voice carried across the dining room, "Her name is Cianne. Cianne Baxter. You've known her for more than six months, and you're still choosing to refer to her as "She". As cold as you've been to her, I'd say she's earned the right to be called by her name. Don't you?"