“So, how did the four of you meet?” my father asks, voice even and curious, the kind of question that always sounds like an exam.
Killian smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen from him tonight, easy, practiced, the kind that makes him look younger. “It’s a funny story,” he says. “Cherrie and June were in the park, in the car, and Cherrie tossed a snack wrapper out the window. I pulled them over and gave her a ticket. June made a joke, what was it, June?”
“I said she deserved it,” June answers, grinning despite herself. “That it’s not that hard to be a decent person. And that she was breaking the rules and her diet.”
Killian laughs. “I laughed, too. We started talking."
My mother watches me with that proud look she gets when she thinks I’m doing something right. “June really does have
