Maria:
I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, holding up two dresses I don’t even like, when my door opens without a knock.
I don’t turn immediately.
“I said I’ll come down in a minute—”
“You won’t,” my mother cuts in.
That makes me look up.
She’s not alone.
Daniel’s mother stands beside her, calm and composed, like she’s inspecting something rather than interrupting. It’s subtle, but it shifts the room. It always does when she’s around.
I straighten a little without meaning to.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You have a trip,” my mother says, like it’s obvious.
I blink at her.
“A what?”
“A trip,” she repeats, already moving toward my wardrobe like she’s the one who owns it. “You should have been ready by now.”
“For what?” I ask, slower this time.
Daniel’s mother answers.
“There’
