ChapterEight
Cillian
“What do you mean she’s not coming?”
“I’m not sure. She just sent a message that she was tired.” My mother shrugs as she moves past me to set the flowers on the sidebar. We have people that can do that for her, but she loves gardening and having fresh flowers everywhere.
“Who told you that?”
“The stylist Jackie. They went down earlier to drop off the clothes I ordered, and she said she was tired and was going to skip dinner.”
“She still should have something to eat.”
My mother turns around to face me, and for some reason I think she’s planned this. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Me?” She pretends to be innocent. “I would never keep anything from my children.” The sly smile she gives me lets me know she’s teasing. We both know she’s the best secret keeper in the family.
“Listen, Cora—”
“How dare you use my first name.” Now she’s pretending to be dramatically offended as she puts her hand over her heart. “I’m your mommy now and forever.”
“Cut the crap, Mother.” I enunciate the last word, and she rolls her eyes.
“Always so grouchy.” She has the nerve to pinch my cheek as she walks right past me.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” I stalk after her, and I swear I hear her laugh.
She goes back to the long table in the kitchen that’s covered in fresh cut flowers and begins to arrange another vase.
“Did you see all the roses Jeremy brought up from the south garden? Aren’t they spectacular?”
Jeremy.
I didn’t realize he was carrying anything, but it’s not like I paid a lot of attention. Between kissing Glenda and then her turning away from me, I couldn’t think about anything else. Let alone if he might or might not have been carting flowers to my mom.
“So that’s how you’re going to play this?” I’m standing behind her, and she smiles as she holds a rose up for inspection.
“You know I planted these right after your father and I were married.”
“Mom,” I warn, and I swear her grin widens.
“Since you inherited the property, I suppose these will be here for your own wife to enjoy.” When she’s finished filling the vase, she turns around and holds it out to me. “Here.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I love my mom even if she’s being aggravating. “Where do you want these?” I decide that the sooner I put them where they’re supposed to go, the sooner I can interrogate her about what Jeremy told her.
“In the cottage, of course.” She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous, but I see her sly smirk.
“In the cottage?” I narrow my eyes on her.
“I’m sure they’ll make Glenda feel much better.” She holds her chin up as she walks past me. “At the very least, they’re great for an apology.”
“An apology?” I stand there totally confused as I stare at the bouquet. It’s stunning, but I’m not about to tell her that right this second. “Mom?”
She’s already long gone, leaving me with the flowers and more confused than ever. What on earth do I have to apologize for? Glenda was the one that gave me the cold shoulder.
My mom and dad have been married for so long that sometimes I forget that they were ever not married. In all those years, I’ve seen them disagree, but I’ve never seen them fight. Maybe they know something I don’t. My dad won’t be here until late tonight since he’s finishing business in the city, but maybe I can text him and ask what the hell Mom is talking about. Maybe the key to a happy marriage is to apologize when you have no idea what else to do?
Deciding to deliver the flowers as an excuse to see Glenda, I begin to walk toward the cottage as I call my dad.
“Hey, son,” he answers, and I go straight for it.
“Do you ever apologize to Mom when you don’t know what you’ve done wrong?”
“Why, is she mad at me?” It sounds like everything around him stops, and I want to roll my eyes.
“No, I’m asking for advice.”
“Oh, thank god.” He lets out a sigh of relief. “And yes, I apologize all the time.”
“When you don’t know what you did? That seems ridiculous.”
“Son, there’s one piece of advice that I got from my dad on my wedding day that I’ve carried throughout my marriage.”
“Which is?” I stop walking and stare at the cottage in the distance.