"You're hiding something."
In the mirror of my opened wardrobe, I saw a guy with weary, sunken eyes staring back at me, ruffling his damp hair with a towel, as he said with an even wearier groan, "No."
Reflecting back over his shoulder was the corner-end of a bed frame barely even visible in the glass, almost like a smidgen, and yet somehow that little petite figure sitting there had more of a visible presence than the guy in the forefront.
It's probably her eyes doing the heavy lifting there. Dad's color, but Mom's stare. In a way, intimidating.
The figure stood up, her chest swelling with a breath, and the bright blue in her scowl gazing back at the guy so defiantly. She marched, arms crossed, making her way forward, until she was to the side, her determined expression in the corner of my eyes.
"I'm coming with you," She said.