Lennox was in a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts, barefoot, sitting at the kitchen table with a large sandwich on his plate. I had to stop myself from sailing over and hugging him like a mother hen following what I had heard him say about me.
Oliver. Oh, Oliver. He almost took my breath away. Leaning against the counter, his legs stretched and crossed at the ankles, with a coffee cup in his hand, clad in dark chinos and a pale blue, cuffed at his elbows, button-up shirt—what I imagined was business casual—he looked like he was still modeling for a magazine.
I wasn’t a model, but I noticed how his eyes widened and his gaze quickly took me in from head to toe.
Probably the effect of the red dress.
“Good morning.” I smiled at both and went over to my son for a hug.
“Oliver said it was okay I was here,” Lennox said into my hair as I bent to hug him.
Yes, I overheard.
I looked over at Oliver, and we gave each other a little smile. Did he feel my presence in the bedroom so close to him as I had felt his last night?
“Finish your sandwich, and we’ll wake the lovebirds so I can start getting lunch ready,” I said to the room in general.
“You can do everything here; it’s too crammed in there,” Oliver said, gesturing with his chin in the general direction of the garden where the pool house stood. “I’m out all day. Meetings.”
“Okay,” I managed to say. Only when he pushed himself off the counter, left his cup in the sink, and walked out, I added, “Thank you.”
He swung his head toward me and gave me adon’t worry about itsmile.
Lennox finished his sandwich in a few hearty bites. “So, Mom … an old friend?” he asked, pretending to be busy with the crumbs on his plate, but I saw the grin he was trying to suppress.
“Yes. He’s hardly ever here, so trust me, there’s nothing going on.”
I might need to involve my kids more, but my complexities with Oliver wouldn’t be the topic I’d open with.
“Come on; let’s get those two up. When’s your dad gonna be here?”
“Noon, I think,” Lennox said, getting up, seemingly satisfied with my reply to his inquiry.
The four of us spent half the morning in the kitchen, eating, chatting, and starting on lunch. We played our playlists in the background, each taking a turn in choosing a song.
“Mom!” the boys exclaimed with almost every song I played.
“Come on, you guys; you’ve heard me listening to Pearl Jam and Radiohead before. They’re my contemporaries, so why the surprise?” I laughed. “I’m offended you think it’s surprising that I have good taste in music.” I missed being with them so much. Their presence filled the voids—theirs, Vi’s.
“Oh, I love this song! I always wished there was a female version of it,” Stephanie said when I chose “Creep.”
Yep, she’s the one,I thought, smiling at her.
“How are you holding up?” A text message from June arrived just as the song ended.
I left the noisy kitchen to reply, wandering into the little office attached to it where, weeks ago, I had changed my clothes to cater a party.
Half-sitting on the desk, I typed a reply to my sister. “Everything’s fine. Great even. Stephanie is lovely. But they invited Jamie for lunch. Need him like I need a thorn in my butt.”
“Careful, he’d have you pay for the thorn,” June replied. “Hang in there.”
I chuckled alone in the small room.
As I got up off the table, I observed something that seemed out of place. So out of place that it took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.
My sons’ college logo. On an envelope that was addressed to Mr. Oliver Madden, half-hidden under a stack of random papers.
I had never snooped around Oliver’s house. I had cleaned it once. I had looked into the rooms at his invitation, but I had never touched anything. It was hard enough being surrounded by his things, but looking at that envelope now, I knew I was about to violate my rule.
