dish from the microwave and set it on the table, motioning for Eli to take a seat. “I never said I loved it.”
“I’m intruding. I’m sorry.”
I released a heavy sigh and lifted my gaze to his. “Okay, I did love it. I thought I would be an artist. But you know, I fell in love, and my priorities changed.” I spooned some food onto my plate.
He nodded without comment, but his eyes remained on me.
I was ready to stop talking about me. “So your mom runs a natural-food store and cooks from scratch. How about your dad? What was he like?”
“Let’s see. He was the sort of guy you could count on. Salt of the earth. Truly a 1950s,
Father Knows Best
type. Went to all my games during school. Took me camping. That kind of thing.”
“Wow. Lucky you,” I said around a cheesy, tomatoey bite.
“I take it your dad wasn’t the Ward Cleaver type?”
I paused to think about it. My dad was my hero too. Only he wasn’t the 1950s dad. “My dad’s more ’60s than ’50s. Still to this day. As a matter of fact, I think he still has the lava lamp and bong he used in the ’70s. A real role model.”
“Hippie, I take it?”
I laughed. “Something like that. He’s the artistic type, which is where I get my creative side. My mother was going through a rebelliousphase when she met him at college. They eloped. And she made him miserable until I was about twelve, and he ran off with someone who ‘understood’ him.”
“I didn’t notice a fifty-year-old hippie at Jarrod’s funeral. He didn’t attend?”
I smiled and shook my head. “He called after Mother chewed him out over the phone. Said he really tried to come. Yada-yada-yada.” I felt Eli’s sympathetic gaze, and he asked the inevitable question.
“Do you ever see him?”
“Occasionally. When he thinks of it. He’s killed a lot of brain cells.” I laughed because, despite his negligence, I adored my dad. He was who he was, and I accepted him. I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, and tossed the plastic containers into the sink, a little embarrassed that I’d eaten more than half the food he brought. “I think I’ll take a walk by the bridge before I get back to the boxes,” I said. “You’re welcome to join me.”
He shook his head. “I would like to, but I want to finish the floor today. Then we can start putting down the tile tomorrow.”
My cell phone buzzed from where I had set it on top of the fridge. I pulled it down and rolled my eyes. “My mother …”
Eli stood, lifted the plates from the table, and set them in the sink. “I’ll get back to work and let you deal with that.”
I sighed and hit speakerphone. “Mother, we were just talking about you.”
“We?” Her voice was high and controlled, as if her bun was too tight.
“Eli and me.”
“Are you already dating? Good grief, Corrine, you’ve only been there a day.”
Eli grinned over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen door and then laughed out loud when I scowled at him. I quickly disabled the speakerphone and put the cell to my ear.
“No, I’m not dating. You met Eli at the funeral, Mother. He’s Jarrod’s best friend and cousin. Eli is doing all the renovations on my house.”
“Oh, the handyman.”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for too long, and I realized she must be distracted by something at the office. “Did you need something?” I asked, my voice sharp. Who called whom, here? I had plenty to do without being ignored on the phone.
“Oh yes, I’m sorry, Corrine.” And she’s back … “Listen, honey. Your grandparents’ anniversary is in two weeks, and I’m booking flights for you and the rest of the out-of-towners. I’m e-mailing you your itinerary. I’ve made your return flight a week after you arrive.”
“A week! Mother, I just got here. I don’t want to be away for a whole week.”
“Well, how will you see everyone and get in your summer shopping without at least a week?”
By
summer shopping
, my mother meant she and Lola
“I’m intruding. I’m sorry.”
I released a heavy sigh and lifted my gaze to his. “Okay, I did love it. I thought I would be an artist. But you know, I fell in love, and my priorities changed.” I spooned some food onto my plate.
He nodded without comment, but his eyes remained on me.
I was ready to stop talking about me. “So your mom runs a natural-food store and cooks from scratch. How about your dad? What was he like?”
“Let’s see. He was the sort of guy you could count on. Salt of the earth. Truly a 1950s,
Father Knows Best
type. Went to all my games during school. Took me camping. That kind of thing.”
“Wow. Lucky you,” I said around a cheesy, tomatoey bite.
“I take it your dad wasn’t the Ward Cleaver type?”
I paused to think about it. My dad was my hero too. Only he wasn’t the 1950s dad. “My dad’s more ’60s than ’50s. Still to this day. As a matter of fact, I think he still has the lava lamp and bong he used in the ’70s. A real role model.”
“Hippie, I take it?”
I laughed. “Something like that. He’s the artistic type, which is where I get my creative side. My mother was going through a rebelliousphase when she met him at college. They eloped. And she made him miserable until I was about twelve, and he ran off with someone who ‘understood’ him.”
“I didn’t notice a fifty-year-old hippie at Jarrod’s funeral. He didn’t attend?”
I smiled and shook my head. “He called after Mother chewed him out over the phone. Said he really tried to come. Yada-yada-yada.” I felt Eli’s sympathetic gaze, and he asked the inevitable question.
“Do you ever see him?”
“Occasionally. When he thinks of it. He’s killed a lot of brain cells.” I laughed because, despite his negligence, I adored my dad. He was who he was, and I accepted him. I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, and tossed the plastic containers into the sink, a little embarrassed that I’d eaten more than half the food he brought. “I think I’ll take a walk by the bridge before I get back to the boxes,” I said. “You’re welcome to join me.”
He shook his head. “I would like to, but I want to finish the floor today. Then we can start putting down the tile tomorrow.”
My cell phone buzzed from where I had set it on top of the fridge. I pulled it down and rolled my eyes. “My mother …”
Eli stood, lifted the plates from the table, and set them in the sink. “I’ll get back to work and let you deal with that.”
I sighed and hit speakerphone. “Mother, we were just talking about you.”
“We?” Her voice was high and controlled, as if her bun was too tight.
“Eli and me.”
“Are you already dating? Good grief, Corrine, you’ve only been there a day.”
Eli grinned over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen door and then laughed out loud when I scowled at him. I quickly disabled the speakerphone and put the cell to my ear.
“No, I’m not dating. You met Eli at the funeral, Mother. He’s Jarrod’s best friend and cousin. Eli is doing all the renovations on my house.”
“Oh, the handyman.”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for too long, and I realized she must be distracted by something at the office. “Did you need something?” I asked, my voice sharp. Who called whom, here? I had plenty to do without being ignored on the phone.
“Oh yes, I’m sorry, Corrine.” And she’s back … “Listen, honey. Your grandparents’ anniversary is in two weeks, and I’m booking flights for you and the rest of the out-of-towners. I’m e-mailing you your itinerary. I’ve made your return flight a week after you arrive.”
“A week! Mother, I just got here. I don’t want to be away for a whole week.”
“Well, how will you see everyone and get in your summer shopping without at least a week?”
By
summer shopping
, my mother meant she and Lola
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