Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Fucking Boone,” I mumble.
I pick up the saltshaker and tap it against the table.
If he didn’t know something was afoot before, I’m sure the fact that I left the office at precisely seven thirty this morning made it apparent. But as much as I wanted to see Shaye this morning, I didn’t. I don’t want to see her until I know what I should say.
Which might be never.
“So …?” she prods.
“So let’s talk about Dad.” I get settled in my seat. “We had a nice father-son chat last night.”
Her face darkens. “So I heard.”
She heard? What the fuck does that mean?
“What the hell is wrong with him, Mom?”
She smiles, but it’s not a look written with happiness. Instead, the grin is almost a grimace, a tight-lipped gesture that makes me angry with my dad all over again.
“I know he’s been … slipping,” I say, watching her reaction for any indication that I should tread more lightly. “He’s been very disconnected for a while now. But last night? He was a total fucking dick—”
“Oliver.”
“What?” I lean forward and lower my voice. “Our shared DNA doesn’t save him from being labeled an asshole, Mom.”
Her eyes narrow. “No, but his behavior doesn’t give you an excuse to lower your standards either.”
“I apologize.” I blow out a hasty breath. The last thing I want to do is give her additional stress. I’m sure she has enough already. “Dad crossed a line last night.”
She opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t. I’m not sure if the words she planned to use were a lie and she reconsidered them, or if she can’t find them to use at all.
“I’m not sure what’s going on with him,” I say, “but he needs to check himself before he does damage that he can’t fix.”
I lean back as Lola places our lunch on the table. Mom has a quick exchange with the waitress before turning her attention back to me.
Her chest rises and falls as she lifts her fork. “I think he’s already done that.”
There’s a coolness to her words, a resolution, that lands hard.
Her fork dangles in the air, her eyes fixed on mine as she gives me a few moments to absorb the aftershocks of her statement.
I lean forward, forearms on the table, and hold my breath.
“Your father and I are separating, Oliver.”
Her tone is practiced, controlled. Her emotions are in check, as always. Her features are neutral and intentionally passive as she waits for me to react.
But I can’t. I can’t react. I can’t say anything because I really can’t believe what I’m hearing. Sure, Dad has been a prick, and Mom shouldn’t put up with it, but … my parents are separating?
My head spins as I sit back and try to work around this bomb that was just tossed onto my lap. In a split second, hundreds, if not thousands, of images and thoughts and concerns and emotions rip through me.
As the seconds tick by and my mother’s fork still hangs in the air, I snap back to reality.
I reach for her hand. “Mom.”
It’s all I can say as her shoulders drop. Her fork finally lays on the edge of her plate. She places her hand in mine.
The mask that she wears as the matriarch of the family slips ever so slightly. There’s a ripple in her green eyes, a wave of uncertainty that looks so strange on the woman who is always in charge.
“Mom,” I say again, my voice raspier than before. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Oliver. I’m fine. I’m not at my best right now, as you may imagine, but I will be stronger for it in the end.”
“Have you told my brothers?”
She shakes her head. “It was decided on last night. No one knows but you.” Her grin is wobbly. “You are my test dummy.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She slips her hand from mine, but not before patting my forearm.
Mom sits back in her seat and composes herself again. Where she finds her strength—the will to press on in the face of what must be a devastating turn of events for her—is beyond me.
“This has been a long time coming,” she says. “It’s no one’s fault.”
“Okay. For one, this is me you’re talking to. Not Boone or Coy. You can speak frankly.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
“Second, I don’t want you to feel like you have to explain anything to me. This is your marriage. I mean, it affects me—yeah. I’m curious. I won’t lie. But I can imagine that some things would be …”
“Better off discussed with a friend. I agree.” She waves Lola off for refilling our drinks and waits for her to leave. “It’s important to me that you have whatever relationship you want with your father. Your relationship with him is independent of mine.”
“There won’t be a relationship to have if he doesn’t get his shit straight.”