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“It’s visually idyllic.”
She turns to look at me. “Very much.”
Questions fill her eyes, and I hear them in her tone. I respond without being asked. “I didn’t know the rest of the world existed. I grew up going to private schools in the city, returning to an apartment that took up an entire floor in one of the best neighborhoods of Manhattan. We’d come here on the weekends. Other family members or friends of my parents would visit.” I smile at the memory. “It was always a full house filled with laughter.”
I stop to pick some lint off my pants, a good momentary distraction. Those are good memories, and I haven’t thought about them in years. I don’t understand the sentimental feeling that’s come over me.
“What happened, Charlie? Tell me.” Her hand rests on top of mine again.
I turn my hand palm side up under hers and lace our fingers together.
“I grew up.”
I hear a breath of disappointment escape her, and she turns back toward the window. When she looks at me again, we’re pulling into the drive. I guess she realizes our time for this kind of privacy is ending.
“One day, Charlie Adams, I hope you trust me enough to let me in here,” she says, tapping my temple, “and here.” She places her hand flat on my chest over my heart.
I take that hand and cover it with mine. “You already are in here.”
She slowly slides her hand up and rests it on my cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
The door swings open, startling us both right out of our moment, and the valet greets me. “Welcome home, Mr. Adams.”
“Thank you,” I reply, stepping out and offering Charlie a hand out of the vehicle.
As the car pulls away, I remain standing on the gravel driveway, staring at the mansion before me. I’m still holding her hand for no other reason than I feel the need to be close to her right now.
She tugs gently and says, “Come on. Let’s go get this over with. I have four more Guinness and eleven cupcakes with our names on them at home.”
I notice how she refers to her apartment as if it’s both of ours, a space we share. It is when I think about it. I love any time I get to spend with her, but our Saturday afternoons mean everything to me.
We walk forward, and as the front door opens, I release her hand. I don’t want to give my family any ammo. It will be hard enough that she witnesses my dysfunctional family firsthand, so I don’t want their attention on her. She’s here for me, not for their entertainment.
I hear her heels clacking on the polished marble floors before I even lay eyes on her. My mother rounds the corner, arms outreached with that all-too-familiar party smile firmly in place. “Charles,” she says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She opens her arms to me, and I step into her embrace, returning the hug. The hugs she gave me when she arrived home from her many trips were always my favorite thing growing up. It felt like she loved me when she embraced me that tight. “Mother, it’s good to see you.”
She steps back and admires me. “You’re looking healthy, happy these days.” With her hands still on me, she faces Charlie. “Welcome to our home. I’m happy you could join us tonight.” She sounds sincere. I’ll have to stay on my toes tonight.
“Charlie, you remember my mother, Emeline Adams.”
“Yes, it’s good to see you again, and thank you for having me. Your home is stunning.”
“Well, maybe Charles can show you the rest of it while we wait for the other members of the family to arrive. What do you say, Charles?”
A server walks by with a tray of champagne, and all three of us accept a glass. “Yes, of course. You’ll call us when dinner is ready to be served?”
“Yes, yes. Now run along. I’ve got some last-minute details to attend to.”
“We should start upstairs,” I say, directing Charlie to join me.
“Yes, yes, we should run along upstairs.”
I’m halfway up the stairs when she says this. I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did you just mock my mother, Charlotte?”
She cocks her head to the side with a smirk and replies, “Yep, I sure did, Charles.”
“I knew there was a reason we were friends.” I laugh and continue up the stairs.
I give her the short tour and take her straight to my room since it’s mainly guest bedrooms up here. It’s weird facing the door to my past. I don’t know what to expect as I stand there with my hand on the doorknob. I don’t know if my parents changed it or if it’s the same. So when I open the door, I’m surprised to see it just how I left it. It’s a little cleaner than before, but my stuff is all here.
