Page 28 of Mirror Image

“Jesus, she’s not in middle school,” Sam said lightly, almost amused. My parents both stiffened at the language, which only made her raise her brows innocently.

“Meaning what, exactly, Samantha?” Mom asked through clenched teeth.

“Meaning she’s not getting held back or whatever,” Sam replied, unbothered. “Hell, she was there for like five minutes. She didn’t even have time to make any friends.”

Mom’s spine straightened a fraction—the profanity, the flippancy—but Sam either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

Dad stepped in. “We put a very high premium on education in this family. The sooner she finishes her degree, the sooner she can take her place at Langston Pharma, like her grandfather always wanted.”

“And what does Mary want?” Sam asked—not confrontational, just direct.

Three pairs of eyes swung toward me.

“I . . . uh . . . I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe take some time to work, travel. It might make me a better employee later. You guys both worked before joining Langston Pharma.”

Dad sighed. “Your mother and I both earned our degrees while working full time. It took years. We don’t want that for you. You should focus on school now—plenty of time to work later.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, pointing her fork in agreement. “Doug, you just said it—she’ll spend most of her life doing something she probably hates. Shouldn’t she get to enjoy herself first?”

Mom’s tone sharpened. “Your father and I will discuss this, Mary.”

Sam let out a soft, incredulous breath through her nose—not mocking, just . . . amazed.

Mom heard it anyway. “Is something funny about that, Samantha?” she asked icily.

“Actually, Theresa? Yeah,” Sam said, mirroring the cool formality of my mother’s tone. “You talk like she’s eight, not eighteen. She’s legally an adult. She can make her own choices.”

“We’re her parents,” Mom snapped. “It’s our job to guide her.”

“Oh, and I’m the danger she needs guiding away from?” Sam asked, voice still steady. “Jesus Christ.”

That did it.

Mom’s chair scraped back. “We do Not take the Lord’s name in vain in this house!”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Right. Sorry. Maybe you want to baptize me in the pool next?”

“Okay!” I said brightly, hands up. “Let’s not do this.”

I exhaled. “Look—I’ll go back to school. But maybe I take a gap semester first. I’ll tell the college I’m returning in the fall, and I can spend a few months out West with Sam. It’s a compromise.”

The tension stretched taut for several seconds until Mom finally sighed, her shoulders releasing. “All right,” she said quietly.

Dad looked ready to object but wilted the second she shot him a look.

Sam leaned back, muttering, “Just one big happy family.”

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, things between Sam and my parents had thawed only slightly. They were polite with her, careful with their questions, but there was always a faint stiffness beneath everything—as if they were still trying to decide what box she belonged in. Sam felt it too. She stayed helpful, quiet, and mostly out of the way.

The kitchen was its usual holiday chaos.

Mom orchestrated the vegan spread like a conductor—mushroom-lentil roasts, wild-rice stuffing, roasted vegetables, all her usuals. Meanwhile, the housekeeper happily handled the small turkey entrée for Sam and our guest, humming as she basted it.

I was lighting the candles when the doorbell rang.

“Mary, get that?” Dad called.

“Of course!” I called back. “Sam, come meet my Uncle Jules!”