Bien cursed. He had. He looked at the clock. It read 7 p.m. Their dinner with her parents was at seven thirty. “I’ll be right over,” he said.
“Are you all right, honey?” Sheila asked, her voice changing from irritation to concern. “You don’t sound well.”
“I’m okay,” Bien said.
“You sound sick, Bien. Listen, I’ll tell mama and papa you can’t make it. You stay at home and rest, and I’ll come over after dinner, all right?”
Somehow, Bien managed to convince his fiancée that she didn’t have to come over and see him.
“As long as you think you’ll be fine on your own,” she said. Bien assured her that he would be.
“All right. I love you, Bien.”
Bien had wanted to say the words right back but they caught in his throat for a second and by the time he had them out, Sheila had put the phone down
