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“Oh my god, shut up!”

“Are you worried about it?”

“Not as such,” Morgan replied, realizing she still believed that. “But speaking of them, I’m about to get off the freeway at their exit and I still want to run through what I’m going to say to them.”

“Good luck and call me when it’s over,” Naomi said. “Let me know how it goes. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

In her parents’ house fifteen minutes later, Morgan took a bag of potato chips away from her father in the kitchen.

“You’re not supposed to be eating these,” she admonished, remembering her mother telling her that her father’s last checkup revealed high blood pressure.

Warren Banks scoffed.

“Saturday is my cheat day,” he told her but let his daughter keep the bag. “You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Morgan beamed. She may be pushing forty but a compliment from Daddy always made her day.

“Get that tattoo yet?” Warren asked.

“Nope, not yet.” In truth, Morgan had completely forgotten about her idea to get a tattoo to mark the occasion of buying her house. She supposed falling in love with a woman could do that to a person.

“I was thinking about it,” Warren went on. “What about a tattoo showing your house, a moving van in front of it, you smiling and holding up the key and then you can even show some of the movers carrying boxes in.”

“Daddy, I want a small tattoo, not the Sistine Chapel.” Though, she had to admit, a concept involving a key did sound good. She resolved to put some thought into that. In fact, she resolved to ask Sienna to come up with a sketch or something. It was time she started getting to know Sienna; hopefully, it would make Sienna seem less threatening.

“Well, I’ll keep thinking about it,” Warren promised.

Morgan’s mother, Leslie, appeared then.

“Think about what?” she asked. Morgan noticed that her mother had new glasses.

“Morgan’s tattoo,” Warren answered.

“Ooh, what about one of those real estate For Sale signs with the word ‘Sold’ on it?” Leslie suggested.

Morgan nodded.

“Maybe.” She had no idea her parents were so literal when it came to art. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you two about something before we go to lunch. Let’s go sit in the family room.”

Leslie’s eyes went wide behind her new glasses.

“A sit-down conversation?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No! I swear! And no one has died.”

“I don’t trust you,” Leslie said, crossing her arms and making herself look immovable. “If it’s not something horrible, tell us this news standing

up, then.”

“Oh, for…” Morgan sighed. “Fine. Well, Mom, you remember I told you that I’ve been seeing someone.”

“And he’s a Trump supporter and that’s why you wanted us to sit down!” Leslie exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Oh my god, it’s something you think only happens to other people’s daughters!” She grabbed the bag of potato chips from Morgan and started eating from it.

“Mom…”