Dinner with the Andersons

Liam’s gaze drifted from the vibrant painting before him as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw Anisha’s name, and answered.
“Hey, babe. I hope you didn’t forget about dinner with my parents tonight,” Anisha chirped, her tone bright and light.
Liam’s mind shifted gears. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be there,” he said, his voice steady but distant.
She launched into a stream of instructions—what to wear, how to behave—clear and precise. Liam nodded absently, though she couldn’t see him. As she spoke, his eyes returned to the canvas in front of him, but his mind was far from the painting. Was she even aware of how tightly she managed every little moment?
“Got it,” he finally replied, a beat too late. “Charcoal gray suit, black dress shoes. Best behavior. Understood.” Anisha’s tone softened. “Thanks, babe. I’ll see you tonight.”
The call ended, but Liam stayed still for a moment, phone in hand. The painting before him had lost its color somehow, faded under the weight of his thoughts. He wondered—not for the first time—if Anisha truly saw him, or if she simply liked the version of him that fit into her carefully curated world.
He dressed exactly as instructed, each step feeling more like rehearsal than real life. The tie knotted neatly. The cuffs fastened. The mask set in place.
At 6 p.m., Liam pulled up to the Anderson estate. The evening sun casting a warm glow over the manicured lawns and elegant facade. He took a deep breath, feeling a mix of emotions as he prepared to face Anisha's parents. He stepped out of the car, straightened his jacket, and took a deep breath before walking to the door.
He pressed the doorbell and waited, the soft chime echoing faintly inside the house. A few moments later, the door swung open and Anisha greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling.
“Hey, babe,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.
Hey,” he murmured, handing her the small bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on the way.
Her eyes softened as she kissed him lightly. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
Inside, Aran and Rachel Anderson welcomed him with effortless charm, leading him into the dining room where dinner was already served. The scent of roasted chicken and seasoned vegetables filled the air, and for a moment, everything felt... pleasant.
“So, Liam,” Aran began as they ate, “how’s the art going? We were a little surprised you didn’t go into the family business.”
Liam gave a small smile. The Baxtons—his family—were known for their business empire, but he had always carved a different path. “It’s going well, actually. I’m working on some pieces for an upcoming exhibition.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. “We’ve always admired your dedication. You’ve got a rare talent.”
Aran chuckled. “I remember when you were a kid, doodling on napkins at those boring dinners. Who knew you’d make a living off it?”
Liam chuckled politely. “Some things just stick, I guess.”
Conversation flowed easily—art, music, books. Until Aran, with casual precision, dropped a question into the quiet lull between bites.
“So... when are you two thinking of settling down? Engagement on the horizon?”
Liam froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Anisha, silently pleading for her to deflect.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Soon, Dad. We’ve discussed it.
Liam blinked. We have? He wanted to speak, to correct the narrative—but his phone rang, sharp and unexpected, and he grabbed the out.
“Sorry, I need to take this.”
He stepped away from the table, glanced at the screen. It was Alex, his agent.
“Hey, Alex. What’s up?”
“Congratulations, Liam!” came the excited reply. “Three of your paintings just sold at auction—for a total of 200 million dollars!”
Liam’s breath caught. “Wait... what?”
“I know! The gallery’s ecstatic. You’ve made headlines already. Collectors, media—everyone’s reaching out. We’ll need to plan interviews, press...”
Liam leaned against the wall, stunned. He had always believed in his work, but this?
“Thanks, Alex. I... wow. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He ended the call and took a moment to collect himself before returning to the table. His legs felt lighter, like they might give out from under him. As he sat down, Anisha gave him a questioning look. He offered a vague smile.
“Just a business opportunity,” he said when her parents asked.
The rest of dinner passed in a blur. Liam answered questions and laughed at jokes, but his mind was elsewhere—still reeling from the news, still clinging to the feeling that everything had just changed.
Later, as the evening wound down, the Andersons saw him off with hugs and warm farewells. Outside, Anisha walked him to his car. They exchanged a brief kiss and a promise to talk soon, but Liam felt oddly distant, like he was watching his life from outside himself.
As he drove home, the radio played low, but he barely heard it. His thoughts wandered—first to the auction, then unexpectedly, to his father.
Would he care? Would he finally admit Liam had chosen the right path?
He thought back to the endless arguments, the dismissive snorts at his sketches, the way his father called painting a hobby, not a career. Even now, that voice echoed in his mind.
But tonight, Liam had proof. Proof that his art mattered. Proof that his mother’s belief in him hadn’t been misplaced.And still, beneath the triumph, a quieter hope stirred—that maybe, just maybe, his father would one day look at him not with disappointment, but with pride.
 He tightened his grip on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, unsure what tomorrow might bring, but knowing, at last, that he was no longer chasing anyone’s approval but his own.