Further, there was a low, wide, rectangular wooden chest in front of it that I was using as a coffee table. I found it in an antique shop by the cove. And Josie’s interior designer had one of her cabinetmakers custom-make a very long, low media center. It sat under the hanging TV and had shelves for all the components, some cabinets to store stuff, and more shelves to put CDs and DVDs.
And the walls had been painted a warm, but neutral oyster. There was now another end table around the sectional that was also a chest, taller and square, and a square coffee table in the middle that wasn’t the same wood as the chest, but it was in the same hue, battered and beautiful.
There were wire glass candle pots and squat round pewter candle holders of varying heights with fat candles in them dotted around, mingling with the knickknacks I didn’t sell because they meant something from our home in La Jolla, and framed photos, with a fabulous conglomeration of the last scattering the top of the low media center under the TV.
I needed prints for the walls and afghans to snuggle under when it started to get cold. I also still needed a new dining room table, an acquisition that was foiling me.
But it was coming together.
The effect was warm. It was rich in a way that had nothing to do with money (but still did). It was inviting. It was pleasing to the eye. It was comfortable. And even with the magnificence of the structure all around, the stylish, state-of-the-art kitchen with its cement countertops, stainless steel appliances and fabulous hanging pendant lights, the massive wall of windows, the glorious view, it was not imposing, overwhelming or in-your-face.
It said you’re welcome to be there, take a seat, relax and enjoy.
It was me.
I kept rolling cookies, putting them on the baking sheet and blathering to my children.
“Tomorrow, I’m taking you out shopping.” I shook my head and a doughy hand at them and went on, “Don’t lose it on me, but I don’t want you to have to lug bags here and back to your dad’s. We’re talking shampoo. Curling irons. Pajamas. Some clothes if you want. Things like that. I just want you to do what you can in the short time we have to make this feel like your home. So that’s what we’re doing.”
I wanted that. I thought it was a good thing to do. Both of my kids liked shopping, even Auden. And I wanted them to feel when they came to me they were coming home.
I also wanted to take them to Dove House.
However, as sad as it was to admit, I didn’t know if they’d be as charming and respectful of the old folks as Aisling and Cillian were.
I did know that they would not be affectionate and respectful to me and I didn’t want the residents seeing that. I also didn’t want it to confuse them, considering Aisling and Cillian weren’t my kids and they had been both.
“We’ll go out to dinner and a movie tomorrow too,” I kept going. “Then, on Sunday, I found this place that does really amazing outdoor furniture. It’s not close, about an hour and a half drive, but that’s where we’re going.”
I put a ball of dough on the sheet and looked their way to see they hadn’t moved. Olympia was watching my hands. Auden was watching me.
I didn’t stop talking.
“I know that the weather is going to turn here soon so I probably shouldn’t worry about the deck until next year.” I grinned. “But I haven’t had weather in a long time. I’m looking forward to it. And knowing what it was like in Boston and Lexington, I know by the time summer rolls around again I’ll want to be ready to enjoy that deck right away.”
My kids said nothing.
I still didn’t quit talking.
“So that’s it. Those are our plans for this weekend. Sound good?”
“Did Dad shout at you?” Auden asked tersely.
I froze at his question, except my eyes slid to my daughter to see she was shuffling her feet and rolling her lips.
She’d told her brother what she’d heard.
I looked back to Auden, not even knowing how to begin to handle this.
“Yes, honey,” I answered honestly.
His jaw went hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed before he bit out, “He came here and got in your face.”
Even though I suspected (though I hoped not), that Martine and Conrad would throw me under the bus and did (often), that was not me.
So I didn’t do that.
“I believe we’re all aware that prior to me arriving in Magdalene, I gave your dad reason to be angry with me,” I reminded him softly.
“You were here by yourself?” Auden asked belligerently.
“Well, yes, sweets. I didn’t know anyone back—”
“You were here by yourself,” he repeated, a statement this time, his tone angry.
I turned fully to them, doughy hands and all.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Are you eating?” Auden asked confrontationally, a change in subject that made my head twitch.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re too skinny,” he informed me irately. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I…” I shook my head. “I lost some weight but—”
“You’re super-skinny, Mom,” he bit out.
God.
He called me Mom.
He hadn’t said my name in so long, it hurt.
Killed.
I didn’t burst into happy tears.
I told him, “I was busy when I got here, honey. I lost track of what I was eating. I know I lost some weight, but I’m eating again. Promise.”
After I said this, Olympia shifted a bit to her brother’s side and asked like she was making an accusation, “Are you dating?”
I stared at my girl.
How could she know that?
She must have seen more of the interaction with Boston, Mickey and me than I thought.
“Well…yes,” I answered carefully.
My daughter had not shared that tidbit with her brother. I knew it when his eyes got wide before his brows snapped together. “You’re dating?”
Now how did I handle this?
When that question hit my brain, it struck me that my children were living with their father and his new wife and they’d been doing it for years, so they knew very well how divorced parents moved on.
They also weren’t kid-kids anymore. They were old enough to know at least some of the ways of the world, especially those their father already taught them.
“Yes, I’m dating,” I declared. “And it’s healthy,” I went on. “It’s part of getting on with my life and building a life, enjoying it and maybe, someday, finding some happiness for me.”
“Are you dating that guy?” Pippa asked and I looked to her, worried she meant Boston Stone as she’d seen me with him and clearly seen me accept a date with him.
To confirm what she meant so she had a straight answer, I queried, “What guy?”
“The old, hot firefighter guy,” she answered.
Mickey.
Funny she thought he was old. He seemed criminally vital to me.
I shook my head. “No, Pippa, I’m not dating him. He’s…a friend.”
“You’re not dating him?” she pushed.
“No, honey, I’m not.”
“He’s into you,” she declared.
I blinked.