Page 14 of One Week Hating You
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THE PLACE HASN’T CHANGED. Same old rustic kitchen; oak cabinets, black appliances and robin egg blue fifties retro table. Same velvet flowery sofas in the living room. Momma’s books and knick knacks on bookshelves. Tim’s abstract artwork still covers the walls. “How’s Tim doing?” I ask.
“Well, you know your brother,” she says. “Still hasn’t settled down yet.”
“Well, he’s only twenty-five, and a guy,” I point out.
“His shop is running well,” she tells me. “Can I get you gals something to drink?”
Corrie’s gaze darts across the room. She seems amused, slightly surprised, and charmed. “Nice… I like the art,” she offers for lack of anything else to say.
Yes, it’s kitschy as hell, and nothing like you might expect my childhood home to look like.
“Yes, I’m parched,” Corrie says. “Thank you.”
“How ‘bout some iced tea?”
“Perfect.”
We settle at the kitchen table as Momma fetches a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. “I love this,” Corrie says, referring to the table. “Is this an original?”
Momma smiles. “I believe so. Picked it up on the side of the road. Can you believe someone was just throwing this out? Got them chairs too.”
I bury my face in my hands. Yes, my childhood home is furnished with others’ castaways. I smile at the thought of Peter whenever he came here – he hated it. Too small, too stuffy, too fishy-smelling.
I shake my head. I told myself I wouldn’t think about him.
The kitchen door swings open and Blake swoops in. He’s larger than life, like he’s always been. When Blake Taylor enters a room, people take note. Corrie’s mouth is agape – like everyone else, she’s fallen under his spell.
“Got her working,” he tells Momma. “And don’t you worry about the lawn, Sheila. I’ll mow it for you.”
She smiles tightly. “Oh, you’re such a sweetheart, Blake. You don’t have to do that. Tim is the one who should be doing it.”
Sweetheart? My mother has selective memory when it comes to Blake. She seems to have completely forgotten how he broke my heart.
Corrie’s jaw is still hanging. I nudge her. Seriously?
As Momma hands us our iced teas, the telephone rings in the distance. “Oh, that’s probably Marilyn,” she chirps. “I’ve been expecting a call from her. Excuse me, ladies.”
Blake inches closer and I can smell the town on him – truth be told, it’s not unpleasant. “Blake Taylor,” he says and offers his hand to Corrie.
“Nice to meet you,” she says in a small voice which is not quite her own. He’s managed to turn Corrie, who is one of the strongest women I know, into a quivering meek mouse.
He flashes her that cocky grin of his and takes a seat across us. He stretches his long legs and seems to take over the whole kitchen. “So what’s new, Freckles?”
I snicker.
Corrie smiles. She’s enjoying this.
“Heard you got ditched at the church.”
Asshole.
Sensitivity has never been one of Blake Taylor’s strong points.
“Obviously, the guy’s an idiot,” he adds with a wink.
“Well, I agree with you there,” I say.
