Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [67]
“It’s true,” Henry says, seeming to regain his composure and slinging his arm over her shoulders. “Been on enough bad ones to finally deserve a good payoff. Paid our dues and all of that.”
I smile roundly, pressing my cheeks into themselves and pushing my dimples in as far as they can go.
“That is just wonderful!” I say. “Wonderful!” I clap my hands for emphasis.
“It is, isn’t it?” Celeste looks at me conspiratorially, as if I’m in on the secret. “I’m so over dating at this point.”
“So you’re already shopping for furniture together?” I can’t help myself.
“No, nothing like that,” Celeste flits her free hand about. Her other one seems firmly entrenched on Henry’s ass. “I just need a new couch, and we were hanging out this weekend, so Hen came with me.” If she weren’t so casual about it, I decide, I’d have to hate her.
She’s probably one of those free spirits who turns into a wild monkey in bed, I think, then nearly audibly heave at the thought. I glance around to make sure that, in fact, I haven’t retched out loud, but none of the three seems to have noticed. Then Celeste removes her hand from his pocket (about fucking time!) and rises on her toes to kiss him.
“Come on,” she says, tugging on his belt loop. “We have to find my dream couch before it gets too late. We have Darren’s party, remember?”
Darren? Who the hell is Darren?
I smile wider and suspect that I might now resemble a mentally unstable chimpanzee. The creases of my underarms and elbows feel sticky and warm.
“Congrats,” Henry says, leaning in to peck my cheek. My pulse throbs through my neck so fiercely that I’m certain we can both feel it. “And I’m sure that I’ll see you soon.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “No matter where I go, I just can’t seem to dodge you, Jillian Westfield.”
“I could say the same of you,” I reply, unconsciously moving my fingers across my cheek.
He and Celeste round the corner, and I see him lean over to whisper something in her ear. She tosses her ginger hair around and giggles, the sounds of her mirth spreading their wings all the way back to where Jack and I now stand.
“Okay, so, back to business,” Jack says, pointing at the golden leather couch in front of us. “Is that the one you want?”
Without pause, I sit down and tuck my clammy hands beneath me.
“Yes,” I answer, unable to meet his eyes. “This is the one for me.”
Chapter Nineteen
I have picked up the phone to call my mother at least eleven times before I can bring myself to punch in one of the numbers. The truth is, I don’t know what to say and I don’t know how to begin saying it. I’m not even sure when something shifted in me such that I decided to lower the bridge to forge our peace.
Most likely, it had something to do with Katie.
Katie, whom I now dreamed of nearly every night; Katie, whom I sometimes searched for in passing strollers; Katie, whom I so palpably missed, I felt wounded without her. I wondered if she’d forgive me for being gone, for being as selfish as I needed to be to safeguard my sanity, and for abandoning her to do so. And when I thought about that, and then thought about the firm grip of my mother’s embrace that bright summer day in the garden, it was nearly impossible not to soften.
But now, with a dial tone in my ear and her letter pressed on my desk, I have nothing to say. How do I open? Do I call her “Mom”? Where has she been all this time? The questions felt heavy, insurmountable, and I wasn’t sure I had the fortitude to hurdle them. A sturdy backbone, I could see now, was never my forte.
Just as I’m about to dial again, holding my breath as if I’m diving under frigid water, Josie ambles into my office. I quickly hang up, relieved for the excuse that isn’t of my own making.
“I’m thinking about sleeping with Bart,” she says, so fast that the sentence tumbles out like one consecutive word.
“What? You can’t, Jo!”
“I absolutely can,” she says, casually crossing her legs, like we’re discussing something as mundane as ordering