Page 31 of Taking It To Overtime
“I’m just saying,” his mom isn’t hiding her smile anymore, “when you invite people over for dinner, the expectation is that everyone gets to eat.”
There’s a beat of dumbfounded silence before Jack cackles.
“Did your mom just make an oral sex reference?” He claps his hands together. “This is the best summer vacation ever.”
“We’re coming,” Robbie says and I can’t decide if I want to laugh, or flee, when his mom says. “Well, not now. You aren’t.”
With the initial awkwardness behind us, it’s easy to slide back into old habits with Robbie. I sit next to him at the big cherry-wood table, our hands brushing as we reach for our waters. He slides the corn off his plate and onto mine, just likehe used to do when we were kids. I can’t remember the last time I ate it. It was probably the last time I lived at home.
“You don’t like corn on the cob?” Jack asks. “I feel like I’m learning so much about you this trip, Dad.”
Robbie pins the kid with a look and I wonder what he’s going to say. I used to trade him almost anything on my plate for his ear. Then he’d laugh at my method of systematically picking the kernels off with my teeth, one by one until there was nothing left but the empty husk.
“Vera likes it more.”
Both our mothers sigh, dreamy contentment etched on their faces, and I look to my right at Robbie. He is looking back at me, calm, stoic, staring. My mouth curves into a smile and I pick up my corn, letting the ends singe my fingers.
Conversation turns to summer plans, the kids in the hockey camp, and Jack’s family and home. I’m trying to focus on the hum of voices, but Robbie is taking up every one of my thoughts. His knee bumps mine under the table and my hand fists around the handle of my fork. His eyes dart to mine as his lips hitch in a smirk.
Yes,I have the urge to stand on my chair and yell at the ceiling.I still find Robbie Oakes devastatingly handsome. I still care for him deeply, but that’s it. It doesn’t mean anything else. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.
A hand settles on the bare skin above my knee, a thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth until I think my eyes are going to cross right here in front of everyone. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. Even by myself. Robbie is classically handsome and I’m hard up. It’s not personal. I bet Jack could be the one sitting next to me and I’d…
I stare across the table at the blonde teenager and shake my head, thoughts clearing just a little.
Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t be attracted to Jack Spaeglin, but that’s because he’s an infant. Cute in a baby brother kind of way. And okay, there was that rockstar I met up with twice back in LA, but Gibson Hawke is a fuck boy. Not my style at all. And the French underwear model was nothing more than a PR stunt for both of us during fashion week. I still have brunch with Olivier and his boyfriend Maël whenever they’re in LA or I’m in Paris.
My last couple of “dates” have been more for show than anything else, but I’m not still pining for Robbie Oakes. Checking up on his career stats, watching his games, looking for him at parties, none of that means anything more than nostalgia. Curiosity about how an old flame is doing. An old friend. Don’t most people stalk at least one old acquaintance online? It would probably be weirder if I didn’t.
By the time Robbie and Jack clear the dinner plates away, everything feels almost normal between us. The casual brushes of our hands no longer make me jump out of my skin. Now I search for them, initiating contact when Robbie doesn’t.
I station myself in front of the wide farm sink, shooing Vivian out of the way so I can take over the washing.
“It’s nice seeing you there again.” Vivian says as she wipes her hands on a blue dish towel.
“Cleaning?” I tease, bumping her shoulder with mine.
She tips her head toward me until our temples touch. “You know what I mean, sweet girl. I always thought… I always hoped….”
I press my lips to her cheek as the words trail off.
“Well,” her arm squeezes around my shoulders, “Here we are now.”
A wash of guilt coats the inside of my stomach. The lying was a bad idea. I wanted our parents to be happy—content—during our mutual visit. It’s such a short time that we’re here beforeRobbie and I both jet back to our regular lives. I didn’t want to break their hearts with the news that we weren’t together.
I should probably examine why that would be bad news. That two adults are not in a relationship despite a long history of caring for each other. Sixteen years ago, it was the wrong time for us, but things have a way of staying exactly the same and changing all at once. Now, for all I know, the time could be right. And we could have grown into the wrong people.
Am I giving everyone false hope?
Myself included?
I open my mouth, ready to come clean and beg forgiveness, when the dish towel is pulled out of Vivian’s grasp and two large hands come down on her shoulders.
Big hands, with tanned skin and long, blunt-tipped fingers.
“I got it Ma,” Robbie says, shifting his mother out of the way as he steps in between us, bellying up to the sink.
Over his broad shoulder I see the watery sheen in Viv’s eyes, her hand coming up to press over her mouth. It’s a look of wonder, awe. I know she’s seeing us standing in her kitchen both now, and as kids. Our shared history is playing right there behind her whiskey eyes. I know it is, because it’s playing behind mine, too. Robbie doesn’t see his mother’s face because he’s too busy tipping his chin down to look at me, but the past is right there behind his pupils, playing on a loop for anyone who bothers to look.
