Page 62 of The Time It Takes
“Mouth,” my mother warns. I hadn’t realized I said it that loudly.
“You’re late young lady,” Frank states.
I ignore them as I walk over to one of the available chairs—right next to Oliver. It might have just been me, but I think he grimaces at my choice. I ignore that too.
My gaze wanders to the empty chair at the head of the table where Beau used to sit. Looking at Colleen I say, “I’m sorry I’m late.” I had sent her a text earlier that I needed to call my therapist and that I might be running a little behind, but she hadn’t responded.
She dismisses my apology with a wave of her hand.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Colleen says with ease. “I trust everything is well?”
So, she did see my text. I nod and she seems satisfied with it. She motions to the food laid across the table. “Dig in.”
I reach for the tongs, going for the garlic bread first before scooping spaghetti onto my plate. I would kill for some crab legs and shrimp right now. We all sit there like this for a while, in complete silence and I wonder if conversation carried on before I arrived.
“Oliver,” Colleen starts, “did you tell Willow about the event you’re hosting at the Grandeur on Thursday?”
He pauses, his fork frozen in front of his mouth. After a beat, he shakes his head. She rolls her eyes at her son. I know better than to expect him to tell me, so I look over at Colleen.
She opens her mouth, but to my surprise, Oliver beats her to it. “It’s just a charity event,” he says dryly as if uninterested in the fact.
“Oh?” I ask hopefully.
I wait for more of an explanation, but it never comes.
Figures.
He goes back to eating and I turn my head to look at Colleen. She’s looking at him with a drawn look on her face. When she catches me staring, she offers me a tight smile.
Alright then.
Several awkward moments pass before my mother decides to speak up.
“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you going to ask how my travels have been?” she asks. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a response to all the postcards I send. You never do talk much when I call.”
I suddenly wish to sit in silence again. Is she seriously doing this now? I want to laugh, because of course she is. She figures that she’s safe since we’re surrounded by company.
I shrug, staring down at my plate. “They must have gotten lost in the mail.” I twirl noodles around my fork and shovel in a mouth full. I can feel her glaring at me, so I lift my head to look at her innocently. The tension in the room is growing. Irritation flashes across her features before tossing out a dazzling smile toward Colleen. Knowing how my mother is, there is always something up her sleeve to play with.
“Willow’s been spending a lot of time with an artist. He’s very brilliant,” she muses before lifting her glass of wine to her lips.
Colleen lifts her eyebrows at me. “An artist, eh?” This is probably the only thing I never mentioned to her. Julian had become sort of like a safe place—something I kept to myself.
I stuff my mouth with garlic bread and nod, hoping the conversation will die.
It doesn’t.
“Have I heard of him before?” she asks me.
“I’m not sure. Have you heard of Julian Havord?”
She taps her chin, thinking it over. “I don’t believe I have. Is he really that good?” she asks, her eyes full of mischief.
A small smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “The best.”
Instinctively, I sneak a glance at Oliver. His eyes seem distant from this conversation, but I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. Just when I think the conversation is over my mother opens her mouth again.
“They’ve been seeing each other for years now,” she begins gossiping to Colleen as if I’m not sitting right here. “He’s so clearly smitten with her. My instinct tells me—”
