"Don't." Her mother's voice carried clearly through the glass, sharp and clipped. "Don't 'Aunty' me."
Jake's smile faltered. "I just wanted to—"
"His father lost everything." Her mother crossed her arms. She had the particular gift of making herself look larger when she was angry, a talent that had served her well for decades and showed no sign of diminishing. "The hospital is gone. The money is gone. 'He' is gone. And you're here, standing on my grass, for what exactly?"
"I love Jenny," Jake said. His voice gained a desperate sincerity that might have moved someone who hadn't heard it before. "That hasn't changed. Whatever happened with my father, I'm still—"
"You're still broke," her mother said. The words arrived without ceremony, flat and final as a stamp on a document. "And the wedding is cancelled. 'Has been' cancelled. Which I have told you, and Jenny has told you, and yet here you stand on my grass."
