Somewhere in my head, as a biting wind ushered the four members of Family Perfect into the restaurant, I heard glass shatter. Or maybe that was the sound of my heart breaking.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in intuition and a restless gut. Because Mr. Perfect, in his sports coat and his cocky saunter, walked towards us in his tilted style, looking around with an obvious indifference and arrogance.
He greeted us courteously enough, followed by his friendly sister and his parents: one shy, the other sporting a sweater vest and talking boisterously about how much he loved the cold weather.
Dinner started with the siblings ordering wine and asking me furiously whether I would have some. When I said no, they exchanged a disappointed, disapproving look with one another.
Let me not subject you to the full extent of awful that…
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