"Hello, dear," my mother said when she answered the door, her famous fake-smile plastered on her face. It was Sunday night and seven minutes past six. I was sure my mother was going to mention the time, and was shocked when she didn't.
Instead, she introduced herself to the young girl beside me. "You must be Annabelle," Mother said. "I guess I'm your grandmother. You can call me as such if you wish."
Annie shook my mother's outreached hand. "With all due respect, I'd prefer to call you Mrs. Cullen," Annie responded. "I already have a grandmother, so I'd prefer to be called Annie."
My mother pursed her lips. My mother didn't like not getting what she wanted. "Yes, I suppose you do."
"Don't stand there all night, Esme," my father called. "You're letting the cool air in."
"Right," mother said, reverting back to the happy housewife who answered the door. "Do come in."