Parental Disapproval

The air in the car, usually thick with the comforting scent of leather and David’s mother’s lavender perfume, felt suddenly charged, brittle. It was the drive home from the train station, the echo of Mindy’s laughter still a vibrant hum in David’s ears, a melody that seemed to have woven itself into the very fabric of his being. He’d held her hand for as long as he could, a silent promise passed between them, a whispered “I love you” that had felt both terrifying and utterly right. Now, the silence in the car was anything but comfortable. It was a heavy, expectant silence, the kind that precedes a storm.

His father, usually engrossed in the evening news on the car radio, had turned it off the moment they’d pulled out of the station parking lot. His grip on the steering wheel was a little too tight, his jaw set in a way David knew all too well. His mother, beside him, kept her gaze fixed on the passing houses, her fingers interlaced so tightly they looked white.

“So,” David’s father began, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the dashboard. “Mindy Sandcastle. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”