Every family dinner turned into a matchmaking session.
“Miley, honey,” my mom, Martha, would begin. “You remember the Johnsons’ son? He just got promoted to regional manager at his firm. Maybe you two should grab coffee sometime?”
“Mom, I’m not interested in dating right now,” I’d reply. “I’m focused on my career.”
“But sweetheart,” my dad, Stephen, would add, “your career won’t keep you warm at night. Don’t you want someone to share your life with?”
“I share my life with you guys and my friends,” I’d argue. “That’s enough for me right now.”
But they never stopped. It was a constant stream of “What about so-and-so?” and “Did you hear about this nice young man?”
Then one night, things escalated.
We were having our usual Sunday dinner when my parents dropped a bombshell.
“Miley,” my dad said seriously. “Your mother and I have been thinking.”
“Oh boy, here we go,” I muttered.
“We’ve decided,” he continued, ignoring me, “that unless you’re married by your 35th birthday, you won’t see a cent of our inheritance.”
