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Before he can say anything, I hear the clacking of heels on the hardwood, and when I turn my head, I see Linda walking into the room.
“Did I hear you talking about the boys?” she asks, giving Ken a tight smile, her eyes straying to mine for a second before returning to her husband.
“Yes, well…we were just…talking about—”
“Whether or not I’d get to meet them,” I say, interrupting Ken’s blustering. I stand, giving Linda my full focus, knowing she’s the gatekeeper I’ll need to get through. “I’d love to get to know them while I’m here.”
Something dark flashes in her eyes before she gives me the same expression she gave me the day I arrived: sour discomfort clambering to hide behind a hostess’s smile.
“Let’s just get through this dinner, shall we?” she says. “Speaking of which, everything’s ready if you want to…”
Linda motions in the direction she just came from then heads that way, not waiting for me or Ken to follow.
Get this over with.
Those were her unspoken words.
Everything’s ready if you want to get this over with.
I glance over at Ken, seeing that his eyes are glued to the space where his wife was just standing. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a sadness in his eyes, something that reeks of guilt.
But just as quickly as I see it, it’s gone.
Ken turns to me and gives me that same uncomfortably tight expression, waving his hand toward where Linda went.
“Let’s get to dinner, then.”
* * *
“So, Ken said you do interior design?” I ask, spearing my fork into a piece of asparagus then lifting it to my mouth.
Linda bobs her head a few times but stays silent, as she has for most of the dinner so far.
Ken and I have been exchanging brutally awkward chitchat. He’s asked me a few questions about work, and we made small talk about the things I’ve done since I came to town. Other than that, there’s been lots of fork and knife clanking and chair shuffling, with Linda staying almost completely silent other than telling Ken she was going to turn up the air conditioning then disappearing for ten minutes.
“What made you want to get into that?”
Ken should be the one I want to talk to, but the hostility in the room is coming from Linda. Clearly, I’ll need to break down this aggressive dislike—i.e. hatred—she has for me, or else things are just going to continue on this path. If I’m going to try to engage Linda in conversation, I’ll need to ask her questions that force her to actually use her words.
She finishes chewing her mouthful of food then takes a sip of wine…then uses a cloth napkin to dab her mouth before setting it back on her lap.
When she finally looks at me, I see reluctant acceptance in her eyes.
“I really value a traditional home environment. I used to help my mother rearrange things and decorate in the home I grew up in, so it just seemed to come naturally to me.”
“Well, you’re clearly very good at it. Your home is beautiful, and I love the way you did the guesthouse. Boyd told me you just had it redone?”
Her body shifts slightly when I mention Boyd.
“Yes. About two years ago.”
“Well, you’ll have to make sure to talk to Patty about it,” I say, glad we’re finally on a topic that feels comfortable to me. My shoulders lose some of their tenseness and I settle back into my chair. “Boyd said she raves about how gorgeous it is, and how she needs to redo their guesthouse in a similar style.”
Something akin to moderated delight crosses over Linda’s face when she hears that.
“Really?”
I nod. “Absolutely. We’ve both seen the inside of their home, and Patty clearly has a very specific taste. It’s gorgeous, no doubt, and a really warm place to spend time. But the guesthouse isn’t where she’s going to live, and there is something to be said about having an actual designer turn a space into something you’d see in a magazine. You should talk to her about it.”
