Page 78 of I Choose You
She responded right away.
Claire: I miss you, too. My mom’s roped me into some event planning and a dinner engagement, so my weekend is turning out to be the opposite of fun. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.
Me: When do you think you’ll be back?
Claire: Probably not until Monday now. I was hoping to get out of here tomorrow, but if the dinner runs late, then I don’t want to be driving back at midnight.
Me: You don’t have to stay, you know. If you want to come home, you can just leave.
Her mother was a manipulative shrew. I knew that if she got her claws into Claire, it would ruin my chances with her.
Claire: I don’t mind. She needs the help.
I finished my conversation with Claire and let her get backto her party planning. A sick feeling wound its way through my stomach. Claire being away this close to the end of the project was making everything feel too real.
Claire and I had an expiration date. I knew that. She knew that.
I stomped my way down the hallway of the library.
“What’s his problem?” Shawn muttered as he disposed of his white Tyvek suit.
“Three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” Dale said.
* * *
I got to my father’s house at the same time as Wyatt and Maeve. Wyatt pulled Jane from her car seat. She was getting so big. At almost a year old, she was walking and babbling away. She leaned toward me when I met them on the walkway, so I scooped her up and held her to me. This little girl could turn any of my bad moods upside down with her adorable, dimpled smile and two bottom teeth.
We walked in together, and my eyes snapped to Wyatt’s when we opened the door. Our father’s favorite recliner had been switched out for a brand-new electric model. But that wasn’t what really grabbed my attention. The old sectional was also gone, and in its place, a warm green couch and love seat were repositioned in the space. Homey blankets and throw pillows decorated the new seating set. The TV had been mounted to the wall, and a console table with vases, lanterns, and a plant was displayed under it.
There were a couple of framed pictures set up in the middleof the table. Jane was front and center, spaghetti coating her face and head as she smiled as bright as the sun. Just behind Jane, to the left, was an old photo of the four of us kids in the backyard.
Wyatt was probably nineteen, his stupid smirk betraying that he didn’t hate taking group pictures as much as he wanted people to think. Sixteen-year-old Luke was laughing. He radiated a joy I hadn’t seen in him in a long while. Lydia, oh Lydia. Thirteen years old. We had lost Mom about a year before this picture, and Lydia was still processing. She might still be processing, considering she ran out of this town and never looked back eleven years ago. But at thirteen, she was pure angst and rebellion. And then there was me. Instead of standing still like everyone else, I was mid-jump, arms stretched wide, a shit-eating grin spread across my face.
A picture of my parents sat on the other side of Jane’s picture. My father looked so young, whereas my mother looked exactly as I remembered her, before she got sick. Stuck in time at forty-three years old.
The last picture was one of Dad and Sheila. He was looking at the camera, his arm around Sheila while her head rested on his shoulder.
He deserved that. My father was a good man, and he’d put himself last for too many years. Sheila was good for him, and I was glad he’d found that again.
“What’s all this? You hire an interior designer or something?” Wyatt asked our father.
“I love it. I think it looks great,” Maeve added.
“Thank you, darling. I know it’s a lot of change. I hope that’s alright.” Sheila looked around the room, picking at the polish on her nails, her eyes darting between each of us.
“It was time for some change,” Dad said. “Is Luke coming?”
“I don’t know. He never got back to us.”
A car pulled up outside, and a minute later, Luke walked in, sans Juliet.
“Just you tonight?” I asked.
“Yup. You’re not the only one flying solo tonight.” Luke tried to smile, but the tightness in his eyes told another story.
“Well, dinner is done if you all are ready to eat,” Sheila said.
“And I hope you came hungry. Sheila made enough for a holiday feast,” my father added, a playful glint in his eye.
