“Since when do you claim the right to be protective of me? You never seemed to care before.” Cynthia appeared to almost swell with indignation. Or it could be a side-effect of the fact she was pregnant.
“All I’m saying is that he’d better be treating you right.” I grouched, not looking at her. She had to make this so uncomfortable.
My sister placed a hand over her her round belly, inadvertently displaying both her wedding ring and its natural result at the same time. Her other hand balled into a fist that rested on her hip: the image of a disapproving mother-to-be.
“Charlie treats me just fine, thank you very much.” Her chin jutted out as she spoke. “Besides, growing up with two brothers of my own helped me learn to deal with men. I just don’t get where this sudden concern is coming from.”
She waited, expecting me to pipe up and explain. I couldn’t. It wasn’t that simple.
Charlie chose that moment to walk in. “Everything okay, honey?”
Cynthia looked at me, still waiting.
Suddenly the kitchen was too small.