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‘See you at the meeting,’ he says as he steps through it.
Mum closes the door and leans her forehead on it briefly before turning to face me. ‘Biscuits aside, I’d call that a raging success.’ She waits for me to agree.
‘Yeah.’
She studies me, her smile wavering slightly. ‘I thought you’d be more pleased.’
‘I am pleased.’ I’m just not experienced in the art of happiness. I smile—for her.
‘We’re going to have single brothers lining up at the door to court you when word gets out.’
There’s that familiar feeling in my stomach, like I’m missing home even though I’m standing in it.
‘That was a joke,’ Mum says, reading my face.
‘I know.’
My reaction must make her nervous, because she adds, ‘You don’t even have to get married if you don’t want to. Plenty of sisters remain happily single.’
It’s true. There are two sisters in our congregation who appear happy with that choice. I don’t think I would be, though. Imagine never experiencing falling asleep beside someone you love and waking up with them every day. Imagine depending on females for companionship for the rest of your life and never experiencing sexual pleasure in any form.
Mum heads for the kitchen, squeezing my arm as she passes me. ‘I think this calls for a fresh batch of biscuits—made with sugar.’
Yes, that’s what this calls for. Biscuits.
I catch my reflection in the arched window of the front door. The woman staring back at me is the same sad-looking girl from a year earlier. The image crushes me. I’m supposed to look different. I did everything they asked, handed my life over to them and trusted them to fix it.
Turning away from my reflection, I follow Mum into the kitchen.
