I found myself inside Emilys home, drifting between pillows and picture frames, when her father materialised out of nowhere like a character from a silent film. He was carrying paper bags full of groceries that seemed oddly weightless, as if filled with feathers or teacups. With a single upward tilt of his chin, he revealed his displeasure at my presence, his gaze sharp as a robins beak. Emily led him quietly into the kitchen, the walls bending as she passed, but I could still hear his voice split between whispers and shouts, calling me some country lad trying to make off with his daughters flat.
He claimed to have seen me prowling around the garden more than once, nearly accusing me of being some kind of shadowy watcher. Everything felt confused, as if wed slipped into a peculiar stage playEmily responding to her father in equal measure, insisting we only worked together at the university library once a month, and thats why we wandered the neighbourhood. In truth, wed been together for two months alreadya secret that seemed to float above our heads like a balloon nobody could reach.
Id barely managed to remind Emily that just because my parents own a house on the edge of town doesnt mean Im from the wilds. We live close to the city, in a neat two-storey house, and my father runs his own business. No, I dont careen around in gleaming imported cars or shout about being from a wealthy family, but its honestly better that way. Its how people like Emily and her family are separated outfrom the whispering crowd into the quiet.
My mother has always told me to keep silent about anything resembling wealth, that the person you love should never judge you first and foremost by what you own. Theres no reason anyone should be ashamed of me, even if at first glance I dont look like riches. Everything is strange, everything is dreamlikethe words, the rooms, even the judgement that floats through like fog.
