AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can move to my old room.”
“No, no. Just…” Her hands are openflat in front of her chest, and she pushes nonexistent burdensaway, once, twice, trying to reassure both me and herself in theprocess. “It’s Okay, I will just turn around. Tell me when you’redressed.” She sits on the bed, facing away from me, and looksthrough the window. “What are the plans for the weekend?”
“Well, tonight we have dinner withmy parents,” I say as I put on fresh clothes. “Tomorrow we can dowhatever you like in the morning, but there will be a party prettymuch all afternoon. On Sunday, we have a little time in themorning, which I usually spend chilling at home or going for aswim. Then we fly back home.”
“Can you surf?” she asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Can you teach me?”
I smile. “I’d love to.”
“Good.” She bounces on the bed. “Ithink I should take a shower before dinner. Since you’re so cleanand fragrant, I figured I should be, too.”
Fuck. Me. All I need is theimage of a clean, fragrant Roxie in my head.
“That’s a great idea,” I say,sounding shockingly nonchalant.
Chapter Thirteen
Roxie
We sit in the living room on acream-colored leather set consisting of a sofa, a love seat, and acouple of chairs. The design is modern, without armrests, and itlooks fragile and expensive and, if I’m being honest, not verycomfortable. It’s clear the room was professionally decorated, withthe rug, small sculptures, and various accents working togetherperfectly.
Chris and his dad drink scotch,which I’m informed is Glenfiddich, and I try to look appropriatelyimpressed. I felt out of place drinking beer, so I went with amojito and don’t regret it. The bar is well stocked, and Chris’sdad seems ready to make any cocktail I could think of, whichprobably wouldn’t be too taxing since I only know about ten ofthem. All my years of bar hopping haven’t adequately prepared mefor this moment, and I make a mental note to learn more aboutcocktails. I think I’m going to put a bug in Joe’s ear aboutinstalling a full bar at his and Liz’s new house. I smile to myselfat this excellent idea.
What strikes me most is the artthroughout the house. It’s a breathtaking mixture of oils,watercolors, and ink drawings. Some of the paintings are abstract,a handful are of nature or still life, but a majority are portraitsrendered with such intensity that I almost expect the subjects toleap off the canvas.
“Those are my wife’s,” saysChris’s dad as he notices me admiring the work. “Good, aren’tthey?”
“They’re amazing,” I say honestly.“The portraits look so … alive. They aren’t hyper realistic, butthey have so much energy in them. Does that make sense?”
He smiles. “It does.”
“You seem very proud of yourwife.”
“I am. She’s amazingly talentedand very dedicated to her work. It sells and reviews verywell.”
“Mom is the opposite of a starvingartist,” Chris chimes in. He is seated on one end of the infernalsofa without armrests, and he looks predictably fidgety. I imaginehim in my home, covered in cat hair and relaxed against the throwpillow in the sofa corner. I like how comfortable he is at myplace.
“She shouldn’t be much longer,”Chris’s dad says. “She often works late at her studio. Loses trackof time.”
“Let’s set the table,” Chris saysas he gets off the sofa. “I’m hungry and I assume Roxie is,too.”
“I can wait—” I say.
“Chris is right,” Donald says.“Let’s set up and I’ll go get Charlotte.”
Ten minutes later, I am seatednext to a nervous Chis.
“I can’t believe she’s so late,” Ilean to him and whisper. “And I can’t believe she didn’t come tosee you when you arrived.”
“She never does.”
“That’s insane. She’s yourmom.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t think shelikes me very much,” says Chris. The fact he’s so matter-of-factabout it is the worst thing about it.
