Chapter 77

“It’s not surprising,” my mother piped up, looking at Marshall sitting across from her. “You’ve known her for, what, five years, give or take? On and off?”

Marshall shifted in his seat, placing his fork on the table, and glancing over at Philip and me staring down into our heaping plates, unresponsive.

“I, um—” He mumbled, tongue tied, and reaching for his coffee cup.

“Um, um.” My mother glowered at Marshall, her eyes ablaze, her voice adopting a mocking tone.

“I don’t—” Marshall started.

In a surprising gesture of fury, my mother slammed down her fork, folded her hands, leveling her elbows on the tabletop, a gesture my mother would have chastised me for as a child, and raised a quizzical stare at Marshall. “You don’t honestly believe that I haven’t noticed the two of you tonight?”

“What?” he said.