Straightening Affairs - 2. Chapter 2

It was in university that Michael met Sarah. She was different from anyone he’d known—sharp, thoughtful, with a quiet confidence that intrigued him. It wasn’t long before they were inseparable. Study sessions in the library turned into dinners at his place, and Michael was smitten.

He introduced her to his parents early on, beaming as they sat around the dinner table. His father, always eager for his son to settle down, was overjoyed. He clapped Michael on the back and welcomed Sarah into their home with open arms. But his mother was less certain. Over the years, she had come to see herself as the gatekeeper of Michael’s life, and Sarah—though kind and polite—didn’t quite fit the mold she had envisioned for her son.

“I just don’t know about her, Michael,” she had said one evening, her voice tinged with concern. “She seems... fine, but maybe you’re rushing into things.”

Michael nodded, not wanting to argue. For a time, he took his mother’s advice, pulling back from Sarah, seeing her less often. But the distance only made him want her more. It wasn’t long before he found ways to meet up with her again, this time without involving his parents. He stopped bringing Sarah home, opting instead to make excuses—late study sessions, group projects, anything to justify the time spent away from home.

His father remained oblivious, happy as long as Michael seemed happy. His mother, though, never stopped watching, her eyes lingering on him a little too long whenever he came through the door late. She never said anything outright, but the tension hung between them, unspoken.

Michael graduated with honors in Business, majoring in Accounting. Although he wasn’t selected as valedictorian this time, all the years of hard work had finally paid off. Walking across the stage to receive his diploma, Michael felt a surge of pride, not just for himself, but for Sarah too. She had also graduated among the top of her class, a testament to her intelligence and dedication. By now, Michael knew without a doubt—he wanted to marry her. It just felt right. They dreamed of the same things: a large family, the freedom to travel, and the kind of life everyone aspired to. The dream that was sold in movies and magazines.

He landed his first job at a prestigious accounting firm shortly after, and while the pay wasn’t extravagant, it was his first real paycheck—money that felt earned. With it, he took Sarah to dinners at fancy restaurants, buying her gifts that brought a smile to her face, always thinking about the future they would build together.

Sarah had fallen for Michael long ago, and her family adored him. When she brought him home, her parents were instantly charmed. Even her younger brother and sister gravitated toward him, captivated by his warmth and natural charisma. But it wasn’t just charm—Michael genuinely loved Sarah. He wanted to build a life for them, to create something lasting.

They spoke often of getting engaged but agreed to wait a year or two. Careers were still fresh, and they wanted to save enough to buy a place of their own. There was time, they thought. But Michael already knew. Sarah was the one.

And now, it was time for something bigger. It had been years since he’d brought Sarah home to meet his parents. It was long overdue, especially considering the direction their relationship was heading. He knew there was a chance it wouldn’t go well—his mother had never been particularly welcoming—but he felt it had to be done. After all, he planned to marry Sarah, and this dinner, awkward as it might be, was a step he couldn’t avoid.

That morning, before leaving for work, Michael casually mentioned to his mother, “I’m having a friend over for dinner tonight.”

His mom barely glanced up from her cup of coffee. “Oh? Someone from work, I assume?” Her tone was indifferent, uninterested.

“Yeah, something like that,” Michael said, deciding it wasn’t worth explaining further.

After work, he drove over to Sarah’s house to pick her up, feeling a slight knot form in his stomach. He wasn’t nervous exactly, but there was an uneasiness that settled over him. When they pulled up to his family’s house, the knot tightened.

They stepped inside, and as always, Michael’s mom emerged from the kitchen to greet him, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her usual warm smile faltered the second she saw Sarah standing beside him. Her eyes narrowed, confusion spreading across her face, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, thick and heavy.

“Mom, you remember Sarah,” Michael said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s the friend I told you about this morning.”

His mother’s gaze flicked from Sarah to Michael, her expression hardening. For a moment, she said nothing, letting the silence hang like a judgment. Finally, she let out a small, sharp laugh. “Sarah? Oh, I thought Michael had broken up with you ages ago. What are you doing here?” The words dripped with sarcasm, each one more cutting than the last.

Sarah’s smile faltered, but she held her ground, her voice calm and polite. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Evans. Michael invited me for dinner.”

Michael stood beside her, frozen. He could feel Sarah tense beside him, but he didn’t say a word. He should have jumped in, defended her, but the words lodged in his throat. He could only watch, his heart sinking.

His mother raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Well, I suppose if you’re here now, you might as well stay for dinner,” she said, her tone dismissive. She turned and walked back toward the kitchen without waiting for a response, her footsteps echoing in the hall.

Sarah’s face flushed, but she quickly composed herself. She could handle a rude comment or two—she had done it before—but it was the absence of Michael’s support that stung. Still, she wouldn’t let that show. With a quick breath, she followed Michael’s mother into the kitchen, her voice smooth and gracious. “Can I help with anything, Mrs. Evans? I’d love to lend a hand.”

His mother didn’t even turn around. “I’ve been managing this kitchen on my own for years. I’m sure I can handle it tonight.”

Sarah’s hand fell awkwardly to her side, her offer hanging unanswered in the air. She glanced at Michael, hoping for some reassurance, some acknowledgment that he understood how difficult this was. But Michael just stood there, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, avoiding her gaze.

“Well,” Sarah said softly, “if you change your mind, I’m happy to help.”

His mother gave no response, continuing to chop vegetables with a sharp precision that matched the tension in the room. Sarah felt the chill of the interaction settle into her bones, but she kept her smile plastered on, determined not to let it ruin the evening. Still, deep down, something cracked.

Michael swallowed hard, his palms sweaty. He knew he should say something, but every time he opened his mouth, the words died before they could escape. He’d always avoided conflict, especially with his mother, and now, standing there with Sarah beside him, he realized just how much that had cost him.

Dinner was uncomfortable. Michaels' mom sat at the head of the table, her lips pressed into a thin line as she picked at her food. She hardly said anything, her silence loud in its disapproval.

Michaels' dad tried to engage everyone in conversation, his voice overly cheerful, as though compensating for the frosty atmosphere. "So, Sarah, what are you studying in university? Michael mentioned you’re doing quite well."

Sarah smiled warmly, her voice steady despite the tension. "I graduated at the top of my class in Physiology, I'm now training to work with professional athletes as a physiotherapist. I’ve always been interested in helping people manage their health and well-being."

"Ah, that’s admirable," his dad said, nodding approvingly. "Important work."

Michaels' mom raised her glass but didn’t take a sip. "Important work," she repeated flatly, her eyes fixed on her plate.

Michael shot his mom a glance, his jaw tightening. "Mom, Sarah graduated at the top of her class. It’s not just important—it’s impressive."

"Of course it is," she replied curtly, not looking up.

An awkward silence fell over the table, broken only by the clinking of silverware. Michael felt the weight of Sarah’s discomfort and the simmering anger in his mother’s demeanor.

"Sarah, have you been to the city before?" his dad asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation back into safer territory.

"Yes, but not often. It’s nice to visit—so much energy and culture."

Michaels' mom cut in, her tone sharp. "You’ll find the energy exhausting after a while. Michael grew up here; he knows how chaotic it can be."

"I think I can manage," Sarah replied politely, though her smile faltered.

Michael’s grip on his fork tightened. "Mom, enough. Sarah’s not a tourist."

His mother finally looked up, her eyes locking with Michael’s. "I’m just saying, Michael. Some people aren’t used to the pace."

After dinner, Michael drove Sarah home. The car ride was quiet, the awkwardness from earlier hanging between them like a fog. Sarah looked out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and Michael kept his eyes on the road, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid. Finally, as they pulled up to her house, Michael forced a smile and broke the silence.

“It just takes time for my mom to warm up to people,” he said, though even he didn’t quite believe it. “Don’t worry about it. Things will get better.”

Sarah nodded, though her eyes said otherwise. “I hope so.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping out of the car, but the warmth between them felt dimmed by the evening’s tension.

When Michael returned home, the house was dark except for a soft light glowing from the family room. The air was still, and his footsteps felt unnaturally loud on the hardwood floor. As he passed by the doorway, his father’s voice called out from the shadows.

“Michael, come in here for a minute.”

Michael hesitated, the knot in his stomach tightening again. He stepped into the room and found his parents sitting on the couch, his mother’s eyes sharp and waiting. His father sat beside her, quiet as ever, a neutral expression on his face. The light from the lamp cast long shadows across the room, amplifying the tension.

His mother was the first to speak. Her voice was tight, controlled, but Michael could sense the storm brewing beneath it. “Why was Sarah here tonight?”

Michael blinked, caught off guard. “I told you she was coming for dinner. I mentioned it this morning.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell me it was her. You told me a friend from work was coming. I thought you broke up with her. You know how much you embarrassed me in front of her tonight?”

Michael felt the words hit like a slap, his chest tightening. “I never said— I didn’t mean to—”

"Are you calling me a liar? If you loved and cared for me, you would’ve told me she was coming,” she cut him off, her voice rising. “I felt like such a fool, standing there, not knowing who was walking through my door.”

Michael stood there, arms by his side, stunned, the familiar feeling of being a child in trouble washing over him. He wanted to explain, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to keep anything from her, but every time he opened his mouth, the words seemed to die before they could come out. His mind raced, searching for the right thing to say. When he finally mustered the courage to speak, his mother glanced sharply at him, and he fell silent again.

His mother let out a shaky breath, her frustration spilling over. “I care about you, Michael. You know that. I was just… surprised. I thought it was someone else from work. Sarah… I didn’t expect her. You should have just told me the truth. Isn't that what I always taught you?”

Michael stood frozen, torn between the urge to defend himself and the overwhelming need to make the situation right. His mother’s words kept circling in his head—if you loved and cared for me… How could he argue with that?

Then her voice softened, the anger replaced with something more calculated, more painful. “How long have you been seeing her again? Did you even break up with her when you told me you did?”

Before he could respond, tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice broke as she said, “I just don’t understand why you’d keep this from me, Michael. I love you. I want what’s best for you, and… and I don’t think Sarah is good for you. You can do better.”

The sight of his mother’s tears was enough to unravel him. His defenses crumbled, and the familiar guilt settled deep in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t want to make you upset. I thought it would be easier this way.”

His mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, nodding as if she expected the apology all along. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just wish you’d be more honest with me. You know I only want what’s best for you. Sarah… she’s not the right one, Michael. You can find someone better. Someone who’ll really fit into this family.”

The words stung, but Michael said nothing. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but the older man remained silent, just nodding occasionally in agreement with his wife’s words, as if they were discussing something trivial rather than his son’s future. Michael’s pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to stay calm.

“Mom, I care about Sarah,” Michael said softly, hoping to find some balance between standing up for himself and keeping the peace. “We’ve been together a long time, and I… I want to marry her.”

His mother stiffened, the tissue crumpling in her hand. “You can’t be serious. Michael, you’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why settle now? Why with her?” Her voice, once trembling with tears, sharpened, taking on an edge of incredulity.

Michael glanced at his father, hoping for some kind of intervention, some small act of support. But his father just stared at the floor, offering nothing but silence.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Michael said, his voice firmer now, though his heart was still pounding. “I’m going to marry her.”

His mother’s face hardened again, her tears drying as quickly as they had come. “We’ll see,” she said, her tone icy. “You think this is what you want, but you’ll regret it. Mark my words.”

The conversation was over. His mother turned her attention back to the television, her body language making it clear that there was nothing more to discuss. His father gave a half-hearted nod, as if acknowledging the decision but offering no real input.

Michael stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the room press down on him. Without another word, he turned and left, the quiet sting of his mother’s disapproval following him up the stairs like a shadow.

Michael is in a dimly lit room, the air swirling with the scent of aftershave and faint traces of cologne. He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, the sheets crumpled beneath him. There’s another presence in the room—a man—though his face is just out of focus, always shifting like smoke.

They’re close, too close. The man leans in, his breath warm against Michael’s neck, and Michael feels the graze of lips brushing his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. His body responds before his mind can process it, a surge of heat running through him as the man’s hands gently explore his back, his shoulders, his chest.

Michael feels conflicted, like he’s caught between two worlds—one where this moment is forbidden, and another where it feels perfectly natural. The man pulls him closer, and for a fleeting second, Michael feels the press of lips against his, soft and tender.

But just as quickly as it began, the dream slips away. He wakes up, gasping for breath, the sensation of the man’s touch still lingering on his skin. Who was he? he wonders, feeling a strange, unnamable guilt mixing with desire.

That dream again. Different this time, but the same. It's the stress. Stress of bringing Sarah home. Stress of trying to stand-up to his mom.