You’re no prince charming.
I definitely don’t tick off many boxes from her list. I don’t come from wealth for starters. I scoff out loud at that one. Any money growing up would be funnelled up my parents’ noses. I tried as hard as I could in school to just get out of the house as much as possible and eventually move the next town over as fast as I could. That’s all the distance I could afford at the time. They said I was a high achiever. My parents were always high and never achieved anything. People offered dozens of helping hands along the way, and my survival instincts told me to take them, but my parents never did.
I close my eyes and exhale slowly, letting all my air go as I pinch the bridge of my nose. The flowers are going to fucking wilt before I even muster up the courage to go apologize and explain myself to the woman I’m ridiculously in love with, whom Ihurt.And here I am wallowing in how I came from a couple of duds. I continue pacing outside one of Celeste’s neighbours’ houses like a stalker. So fucking stupid.
Grow a pair Dominic! Go and own up to your shit.
I take a deep breath, turn to face the street, reading house numbers as I make my way to Celeste’s house.
Four hundred and twelve…four hundred and fourteen…then four hundred and sixteen comes into full view. A waist high white picket fence surrounds a small white two-story. Baby blueshutters and a butter yellow front door adorn the house, with full flower beds on either side of the front steps. I smile at just howCelesteit is. It’s like if a bright summer’s day were a house, warm and welcoming. I didn’t get a chance to really take it in when I dropped her off here after the disastrous double date.
I open the creaky gate and make my way through the little stone path, then up a few wooden steps to the small porch, where a wreath of faux sunflowers hangs on the door. I raise my hand to knock, but the door swings open. A middle-aged woman stands smiling at me.
“Uh hi, I’m sorry I was looking fo—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Celeste? You must be Dominic. Come inside.” She moves sideways, her shoulder length ash-blonde hair swaying as she turns, gesturing me in.
The inside of the small house is just as cozy as one would assume. Soft yellow walls reflect all the natural light seeping in through the large window at the front of the living room that sits to my right. Two giant white arm chairs face each other instead of the TV, and a pile of books and a half played game of Scrabble sit atop a small coffee table wedged between them. The light oak stairs to my left show exactly how many steps have been taken up and down them; the centre of every step worn down with use. The woman leads me toward the back of the house to a quaint kitchen. The cabinets are a soft pink that compliment the butter yellow of the walls. It’s so bright and airy you forget that it’s only about ten paces from front door to back kitchen sink. The woman, whom I presume is Celeste’s mother, is already seated at a round kitchen table with a steaming mug in her hands and a blanket thrown across her lap.
“I just made some tea if you’d like to grab a cup from the top shelf to the right of the sink. Bags and sugar is just beside it.” Shesmiles at me, her words are kind but leave no room for me to say no.
“Great, thank you.” I nod and move to grab a mug before realizing I still have the giant bouquet in my arms.
“Vases are under the sink dear, pennies are in the cat dish beside the stove.” She gives me a wink as I lay down the flower gently and pour hot water into my mug.
“All right.” I get to work unwrapping the flowers while my tea cools. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.” I force a smile onto my face instead of the grimace I know I normally wear without effort.
“Not really,” she says over her cup, “You know, Dominic, Celeste and I are very close,” I guess I look confused because she continues, “I know, she doesn’t talk about me much, if ever, but we are.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I say as apologetically as I can. I know better than most how hard it is to talk about family sometimes. But I’m still so confused, this woman here seems content and kind, and it’s clear Celeste lives with her, so why would she never bring her up?
“Most don’t. Celeste keeps her cards close. June,” she says.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s actually July. Wait, no it’ll be August in like two days, I think?”
Oh no, does she suffer from dementia? Is that why Celeste didn’t bring her up?
I begin to panic a little.
What is today’s date?!
“No, honey,” she huffs a laugh, “That’s my name, I’m June Pinkfordt.”
* * *
June and I are in the middle of a Scrabble game at the kitchen table, tea drunk and mugs cast aside. When I had asked why we couldn’t use the board game that was in the living room, June said thatthatboard was for her and Celeste, an unending game that had been going on foryears.
“So you really never keep score?” I ask, laying down a five letter word hoping it might impress June. It doesn’t. She quickly lays down a much larger and more intricate word across mine before answering.
“Never have, never will.” She looks at me with this all-knowing stare that makes me squirm, but also feel seen. It kind of reminds me of Vic but without the tattoos. I wonder if this is what it’s like to have a protective mother.
“So, is Celeste going to be home anytime soon? Unfortunately I have an afternoon shift at my job and then a family dinner afterward,” I say looking around as if Celeste will materialize out of nowhere.
“No. she’s staying at Delaney’s all week,” June admits, rising from her chair to refill her tea from the kettle.
“Oh,” is all I can manage.Why am I here then?
“Thank you fo?—”
