Inside the jacket
On graduation day, Brenda, who disowned me five years ago, suddenly called me home.
I thought she regretted kicking me out, but the moment I walked in, I saw that 50-year-old bachelor from our old town.
"Ashley," Brenda said, her eyebrows knitting in impatience, "you're not getting any younger. I called you back for your wedding. I've found you a good husband."
The old man, Frank, his face a mass of wrinkles, grinned and reached for my hand.
I recoiled, backing away, staring at Brenda and my sister, Brittany, in disbelief.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
