The visit
1124 Words
Elena returned home from her interior design studio, exhausted but slightly lifted by the buzz of her latest project — a full home redesign for a celebrity client. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting peace and quiet.
Instead, she was greeted by her mother’s familiar high-pitched laughter echoing from the kitchen.
"Yes, yes, Helene! He’s coming over this weekend! Can you believe it? Our Noah is coming to visit us," Rosita Carter squealed into the phone, completely oblivious to Elena’s entrance.
Elena froze by the doorway, eyes narrowing. She tiptoed past the hallway, craning her ear.
"We’ve been talking about this since Monday! The weekend can’t come fast enough. I’ve already bought new throw pillows, and I told your cousin to get that ridiculous broken mirror fixed in the foyer. I can’t let him see this place looking like we live in a barn."
Elena rolled her eyes and sighed. This again.
Her mother’s obsession with appearances and her dramatic phone marathons with Aunt Helene were nothing new. But the topic — Noah — made it all even more theatrical. Her mom was already planning wedding florals in her head, she was sure.
She took two quiet steps back, then turned and headed upstairs. Her fingers had barely touched her phone screen when it lit up with a new message.
Noah: Hope your day wasn’t as chaotic as mine.
Elena: Depends. Came home to my mom gossiping with Aunt Helene. Again. About you. Again.
Noah: Should I be flattered or scared?
Elena: Probably both. She called you "our Noah."
Noah: Oh no. It’s escalating.
Elena: She said she’s fixing the house because "our Noah" is coming. Furniture included.
Noah: Remind me what I signed up for?
Elena: A fake relationship. With real consequences. Apparently, matching curtains now fall under that.
Noah: Sounds intense. But hey — operation Make-the-Families-Believe is working. I’ll take a win where I can get it.
Elena: So… you’re still good to visit this weekend?
Noah: Absolutely. I cleared my weekend calendar. Just tell me what time to show up and what fake compliments I should prepare.
Elena: I’ll update you. Just brace yourself. You’re not coming to visit me. You’re walking into my mom’s fantasy world.
Noah: Can’t wait to play the charming future son-in-law.
Elena: You’re going to make her cry, I’m telling you.
Noah: Shall I bring flowers and pretend I picked them myself?
Elena: Please do. And wear a nice shirt. Last time she heard you came in a suit to the blind date, she almost fainted.
Downstairs, Rosita was now flipping through magazines, searching for centerpiece ideas. The moment Elena descended for dinner, Rosita looked up with glowing eyes.
"So," she said, clapping her hands, "Noah’s coming this weekend. Isn’t it wonderful?"
"Mom, it’s just a visit," Elena replied, sliding into her seat.
"Just a visit? Sweetheart, don’t be ridiculous. This is practically courtship."
"Rosita," Mr. Carter murmured from behind his newspaper.
"What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking."
"Not all of us," Elena mumbled, stabbing at her rice.
Rosita leaned forward. "What are you planning to wear? That pale blue dress? Or maybe the floral one that shows your collarbone. Noah seems like a man who notices detail."
Elena nearly choked on her food. "Mom!"
"What? I’m just helping!"
The rest of the week became a frenzy. Curtains were changed. Rosita forced Elena into a minor wardrobe overhaul. New tableware was purchased. New flowers were planted by the porch. Even the family dog was given a spa day at the groomer.
At some point, Elena stood in her room staring at three different dresses and sighed.
Elena: My house is undergoing a renovation because of you.
Noah: Should I apologize or send more money?
Elena: Money. Always money.
Noah: LOL. Done. How’s Friday night looking?
Elena: My mom wants us to have a family dinner. She’s cooking your favorites. Not sure how she knows what they are.
Noah: Your Aunt Helene has access to dark magic, I’m sure of it.
Elena: You still good to come?
Noah: I wouldn’t miss it. I want to see how well you act under pressure.
Friday evening arrived with the smell of roasted lamb and Rosita’s legendary coconut rice. The house sparkled, and everyone was dressed like they were heading to an engagement party.
Noah arrived in a sleek, navy button-up shirt and grey slacks, holding a bouquet of fresh lilies. He looked like a man auditioning for the role of a lifetime — and he was.
"Noah, darling!" Rosita squealed as she opened the door. She hugged him like he was already family.
"Mrs. Carter, you look stunning," he said smoothly.
"Oh, you charmer. Come in, come in!"
Elena appeared from the hallway, her face flushed. Noah handed her the flowers and whispered, "Am I doing okay so far?"
"You’re killing it," she murmured, trying not to smile.
Dinner was lively. Rosita asked too many questions. Mr. Carter observed everything quietly, nodding occasionally. Elena’s younger sister, Patricia, giggled at everything Noah said.
There were long stretches of storytelling, subtle elbow nudges under the table from Elena, and one unforgettable toast from Rosita: "To love — real or pretending. May it always bring people together."
As dessert arrived, Rosita sighed dreamily. "You know, I always wanted a son who was a lawyer. And here you are, Noah. Handsome, well-spoken, successful. You’re like a dream."
Elena nearly dropped her spoon.
After dinner, as Elena walked Noah out to his car, they burst into laughter.
"She said you were a dream!" Elena exclaimed.
"I feel like I should’ve brought a ring instead of lilies," Noah replied.
"You’re not helping."
"Hey, I warned you I was good at playing roles."
Elena looked at him. The porch light glowed softly around them.
"Thanks for doing this. Really."
He nodded, more serious now. "Anytime, partner."
And as he drove off, she stood by the driveway, clutching the flowers, wondering for a split second — what if pretending wasn’t so hard because part of it... wasn’t pretend at all?
That night, Elena found herself sketching furniture layouts and scrolling through Pinterest for romantic dining table settings, wondering why. Not for work. Not for a client. Just... wondering.
Meanwhile, Noah arrived home to find Isabel curled up on the couch.
"How was dinner at the Carters'?" she asked.
Noah smirked, hanging his jacket. "More intense than most courtroom trials."
"Are you surviving this fake thing or secretly enjoying it?"
He paused. "A little bit of both."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds dangerous."
"Maybe," he murmured, walking off.
Maybe pretending was becoming a little too easy.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the real danger.
- Writer
