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Martha smiles when she sees us. "There you are, dears. Dinner is just about ready."
"It smells amazing," Anthony says. "Can we help with anything?"
"Oh sit, sit! You're our guests." Martha fusses, pushing us into chairs at the small kitchen table.
Her husband John chuckles. "When Martha says sit, you'd best sit."
We share a smile. Their easy affection is contagious.
Over heaping plates of rice, meat, and vegetable curry, we chat about nothing in particular.
The weather.
Our pretend cross-country honeymoon.
Anything but the truth.
Their kindness humbles me.
We're just strangers who showed up unannounced, yet they welcomed us without question.
Too soon, the food is gone.
Anthony helps John clean up while Martha hands me a few extra blankets and pillows.
"It gets cold out here at night."
We thank them profusely before going to bed.
But, this time, we sleep with pillows between us.
Why? I don't know.
It's now pointless, I think to myself as I turn to stare at Anthony's sleeping figure.
He emits a small snore, and I smile.
We've slept together.
We're to be wed, if not considered wed already.
We've been there through thick and thin.
It's destined for us to be married, and I can no longer pretend I'm not attracted to him or that I don't want him.
So why then am I throwing a hammer on my own foot by pretending I don't want this?
Probably to piss off my father.
To show him what a bad decision he's made.
But how long will I force myself to be unhappy just to prove a point?
Whether I'm happy or sad doesn't matter to him.
Whether I'm dead or alive doesn't matter to him.
So, why am I still so keen on pretending I don't want what I want?
