Breathing hard, I wipe the sweat of my forehead. Jogging has recently become a passion of mine in my last year of high school. I love it, but I hate to sweat, ah well, nothing in life is perfect. I sit on the front steps stretching out my legs and cooling down. I hear the door open behind me and mom stalks down the steps and turns her critical eye upon me."Really Emma? Just a sports bra? No shirt? That's really tacky." She says pursing her lips and arching her eyebrow."Thanks for the fashion advice," I say sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.I can't point out exactly when our relationship became so tense. It seems in the two months, since my 18th birthday, she has had nothing but critiques on how I dress, carry myself and do with my time. Something about having two grown women in the house is unnatural. She's even seemed protective and jealous of you, which completely blows my mind."You just don't understand how men look at girls your age these days, Em. A little modesty goes a long. ”“Sure, Grace. What is it you want to know?”“Aren’t you sometimes worried about how this thing with Francis will end up?”There was a long pause as Sue considered how to answer such a probing and deep question. Sue turned from the cooking to face Grace and put a hand on her shoulder.“Why do you want to know?” Sue asked in a friendly voice designed to reassure Grace that she wasn’t offended by the young Malawian’s question.“Because having seen what you and Pete have got, it set me thinking that I might like something like you’re arrangement when I find a guy to settle down with. But to a girl like me, brought up to be really conservative, I can’t help but worry about the consequences. And knowing that Francis is cut from the same cultural cloth as me, I can’t help but worry that in the end, he wants you all for himself.”Thirty seconds ago I’d been eavesdropping on a light-hearted and frivolous conversation about my ‘greedy girl’ wife. And know I had a lump in my throat and sweaty palms.
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