Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Yes,” she says with her eyes on the task of cutting into the pork chop. Her face sours. “Not if I have a say. I always disliked that saying.”
“I said it recently.”
She pauses with her fork in one hand and the knife in the other, both aimed in my direction. Looking at me, she asks, “Why?”
“I don’t know. It just came out.”
“Well, why are you mentioning it, then?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t know how to answer her question, though I search the restaurant to see if the answer is hidden in the decor or on a server’s face. No luck. I look back at her and add, “The words rolled off my tongue as if they were my own. The strange part is that I thought I’d feel better repeating his mantra. I felt worse. I still do.”
Her hair is pulled back and held tight, so there’s no hiding her feelings. It’s written in the expression on her face. Lowering her fork and knife, she taps the cloth napkin to the corners of her mouth. “There’s more to this story. Do you care to elaborate?”
“I said it to Delaney.” The admission tightens in my chest, and a lump forms in my throat. I don’t speak her name to anyone and only give myself the occasional permission to even think about her. “I said it as if it pertained to her.”
It’s the subtle things—the soft sigh, the corners of her eyes that lower, the thoughtful pause—that tell me what I already know. I fucked up. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you care about.”
It’s the disappointment heard in her tone that hurts. “No. It’s not.”
Peering up at me, she asks, “Is that why you’re no longer together?”
“It’s one of many things. It’s complicated.” I repeat what I told the doctor as if that somehow justifies it. “She eats cookies for dinner and spaghetti and meatballs for dessert, wears leggings around like they’re regular pants, has kleptomaniacal tendencies when it comes to my T-shirts, and leaves knickknacks around the penthouse. How does that even make sense to anyone else?”
She takes a sip of wine, but I have a feeling it’s to cover her laughing. I wasn’t allowed to walk into certain rooms if they were freshly vacuumed, so I assume she would side with me. When she lowers her glass, she says, “What a wonderfully unique young woman.” I assumed wrong. It’s hard to be upset when she’s siding with Sass, though.
“You don’t understand. She’s walking chaos in human form, a tornado that comes through, leaving dirty dishes and Cheez-it boxes in her wake. She lit my Radafo art piece like it was a candle from Bath and Body Works. The artist has died. It’s irreplaceable.”
“I never liked that piece, but it’s wax, Warner. When it’s burned through, you can have it refilled. Problem solved.”
“It was an investment piece, Mother.”
“Art should be about evoking emotion, not hoping it gains in value.”
I release the heaviest of sighs. “Well, it evoked an emotion, alright.”
“Listen, son, not one thing you’ve said about sweet Delaney would make me dislike her. If anything, I like her more for her carefree spirit.” She leans in and whispers, “She changed you in ways that you’re oblivious to, but I give her credit. The changes are good. You smile more, well, more lately. I know it was tough in the beginning. You had people sign your cast, and you didn’t give them strict instructions or require the same color. I’ve not reversed a meal order like she has, but maybe that’s something we can try next time we meet for dinner.”
“Dessert first?”
“I love a good apple pie à la mode and New York-style cheesecake. What’s your favorite dessert, Warner?”
Delaney. Not something I can say to my mother. “Double chocolate cookies.”
She starts back on her pork chop and says, “I love chocolate. Where do you get those?”
“I know a place. Maybe I can take you some time.”
“I’d like that.” She takes a bite. I do, too, but when she finishes, she adds, “What are the chances of you and Delaney mending fences?”
Making peace? I can’t say I thought it was a possibility. She went her way, and I went mine. Neither of us made the effort to contact the other again, although I have passed by more recently. I haven’t seen her the past two times I walked by Bayetti’s, which makes me wonder where she is, though I have no right to ask. “I don’t think she wants peace because of how it ended. She wouldn’t even fight with me.”
“My dear Warner. Have you ever thought that she didn’t argue as a way of sparing you more pain?” No, that hadn’t crossed my mind because it didn’t seem like an issue prior, but I’m in a different place these days with the distance between me and the pain that haunted me.