The lobby's cold marble floors click as the visitors stride in. You and Essie are stationed in the living room, waiting to welcome them. They wont meet your eye, gaze fixed on one spot of the wall. You stand at attention as the visitors stroll in, your mother in tow. "The girls will be in for assessment soon, please make yourself at home until then. There are refreshments and hors d'oeuvres, and these two can take care of anything you need." The two visitors take a seat on the couch. The first man was pale, his short hair styled neatly. His suit was well-fitted, but not particularly flattering. The second man stands for a second longer, checking his phone before joining his associate on the sofa. Neither were particularly unattravtive or awkward, and one sported a gold band around his ring finger. These men were not the regular crowd.

They exchange words out of earshot, and the first man stands and approaches you. He does not address either of you, simply collecting two drinks and two plates, nodding before returning to his seat. They converse, what about you do not know, but they both stop abruptly when a tone rings from both of their phones. Their postures straighten as they click their earpieces and the ringing stops.

"Interesting," you mutter, low enough that only Essie will hear you. They side-eye you as if to remind you of your mothers words, and just in time as the girls start to filter into the room.

The selection process is grueling, demeaning, and and takes far too long for what it is. You find your stomach in knots already at the thought of these girls being assessed as "bride material." Whatever that means. You prepare yourself to stare into the wall, pretend to be attentive, and filter out as much as you can, but there's something so different about this one. The buyers you see are never so… normal. One seems to be married, and the other hasn't taken his eyes off his phone since he arrived. These were not the type of men that were driven to Mail-Order-Bride operations, so why were they here? Then there was the phone call, they both answered, and they had both been silent since. The girls had arranged themselves in a line, but the two of them remained seated, as if awaiting further instructions.

Then, simultaneously, they stood and approached the first girl. One stood in front of her, but didnt look, just stood as if ordered to. The other went behind her, and did the same. They held there for a moment, and then both shifted to the next without a word. You couldn't help but stare as they went down the line. There were about 10 girls in the room, and you could tell your mom had picked them specifically for this. When they reached the end of the line, they stopped and turned to face the room. They murmur to one another for a moment, one reaches up to rub his eyes and sigh while the other approaches your mother standing off to the side.

He's quiet enough that you dont hear what he says, but your mothers reply makes it clear, they do not want any of the girls in the room. Your jaw is slack as you watch them filter out of the room, your mother scrambling to find another group. You've never seen this before, a buyer so particular about his bride that he needs not just a second opinion, but would also reject a whole group like that. You hear your mother once the girls have left, "okay I get it, blondes just arent to your bosses interest, I have a gorgeous redhead in the house right now! Just got in. Or maybe a brunette! I have a few I just need a moment to collect them-" One hold up his hand to stop her. "Ah, I don't know if that will be necessary. You see, my boss is looking for a very ah… specific type of woman. Perhaps more uh-" he is very careful when choosing his words, "unassuming," he decides. "Oh, you mean plain, quiet, I don't understand, a man of his position should want more!" Your mother is met with a stern look as he reaches up to click off his headset, the other following suit.

"WAIT," your mother wails, and the second hesitates, leaving his running. "I have the plainest, most simple girl in the world. My very own daughter in fact! Please, have a look!" Your jaw, already open, drops dramatically as you realize you're being dragged by the wrist toward the center of the room. Your tray is unstable in your hand and as you reach to steady it, you feel it being lifted out of your hand. You freeze, hands coming to clasp in front of you as you stare down at them. How could she humiliate you like this?? To call you simple in front of so many people. Your cheeks burn and you feel your eyes sting with tears that you wont allow to fall.

There is a hand below your chin suddenly, tilting you up to make eye contact with the man speaking to your mother. He squints, and then reaches up and turns on his headset. You see now that they're more than just earpieces, they connect to cameras on the sides of the mens faces. A red light blinks on the side, and you realize they've been streaming to their "Boss" this whole time. As the gears click in your head, you hear feedback in the headset of the man across from you, not loud enough to hear, but enough to know it must be about you.

"We'll take her," the man in the back says. "If he doesn't want her, I'll take her myself," he twists the ring on his finger and you feel dread rise in your throat. You whip your head around to your mom, but it is quickly clear she's delighted. "Mom, please," you try anyway, but she quickly shuts you down. "We'll go arrange her things, you two make yourselves at home until then."