Witness

16. Chelsea

Cecilia and my mother have equally large grins as they sit at the dining table across from me. My mother is especially overjoyed, thanks to the lie I told her.

It's a date.

Dinner with Kaiden Beckett is not a date. It's an exchange, and not one that I'm going to enjoy.

But dating keeps my mother from finding strangers on the street and offering them my hand in marriage. She's desperate to marry her children off, and I'm the last one she can get her hands on. Charlie, my only brother and her eldest child, is the exempt sibling. He runs the family business across the country, he's always busy, and he pays off the mortgage. Now Cecilia is set to marry, her efforts have turned to me.

If only the twins were still here, then we could share the heat of her constant pressure.

Having found my father at a young age, she believes it's vital to have found someone in your early twenties (or late teens, preferably. But I'm long past those.) According to her calendar, I should've been married two years ago, pregnant with my first child by now.

If pretending to date eases the pressure of that conversation, so be it.

"Kaiden's just a doll," I smile, bile rising up my throat. "You'd both adore him, I'm sure."

"What does he do?" Cecilia asks, pushing another cake sample my way.

Because, of course, sitting down together means sampling something for the wedding.

"I don't think a fourth cake sample is a good idea if I'm going to finish my dinner tonight," I say. My mother nods vividly.

"Yes, exactly, my love. Your face is looking a little... puffy, lately anyway."

"Mum!" Cecilia scolds. "You look great, Chelsea. Curves suit you."

Ouch.

Nothing like a good shot of confidence before a date.

NOT A DATE.

God, I'm going insane. Kaiden does nothing but give me a headache, and here I am, convincing my mother we might be written in the stars just to get her off my back for another week. I'll leave it however long is possible, and then break the news that we weren't meant to be. Maybe I'll tell her what an asshole he is.

Maybe my weight put him off, mother. My cheeks were looking puffy that day. 

Besides, it's not like I'm unhealthy. I eat alright, I don't get fast food; I just hold a bit of extra weight in some places. 

I look down at the skirt I've chosen to wear, my thighs splayed across the seat beneath me. 

The cake sample disappears in front of me. Cecilia winks as she throws it away. 

"I'm going to go with the vanilla, anyway. Everyone likes vanilla," she explains. 

"Right," I murmur. "Well, he should be here soon. So..." 

"He's not going to pop in and say hello?" Mum frowns. 

Cecelia and I share a look. 

"No?" 

Her face scrunches. 

"Well that seems rude," she mutters. "When your father would pick me up he'd get grilled by my mother, but he'd do it every time." 

The very word 'father' makes Cecilia and I flinch in sync with each other. 

Our father is dead, I want to say. But I hold my tongue, not only because it isn't relevant but because it'll send her into a spiral.