“No, it’s not. If you can forgive me, anything is possible, right?”
She dismisses me, pulling out of my hold with the sharp dip of her chin. Following silent orders, I reclaim my seat at the table, confused about what’s going on inside of her. It’s clear her relationship with her mother is strained, and our combined presence here isn’t helping.
Timothy swallows, his eyes darting around as he begins to sense it and fidget, but being the man he is, he’s opted to bullshit around it. After another sad attempt by him to break the foot-thick ice, Diane speaks up. “So how long,” she asks in a weak tone, drawing my attention from Cecelia. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”
“That’s a complicated question, but the short version is we were together briefly before she went to college and just got back together three weeks ago.”
“Complicated,” Cecelia harrumphs, “I’ll say.” She flips a pancake, a very, very angry cook, and I frown at her back before she turns to address me. “She doesn’t need to know.” She slams her spatula down and folds her arms across her chest. It seems she’s on a fucking warpath now, and none of us seem to be safe. Timothy audibly swallows, his coffee halfway to his mouth.
“Well, I would love to know.” Diane retorts, her eyes flitting from Cecelia to me.
“I’m sure you would,” Cecelia snarks, hurtling the milk back into the fridge before slamming it closed.
“What’s important now,” I referee, “is that we’re together, for good.” Cecelia cuts off the burner, adding the last of the pancakes to a platter before setting them next to the bacon waiting on the table.
“Orange juice?” She barks in what feels like accusation at the three of us, and we collectively shake our heads in reply.
Timothy digs in, looking for any excuse to keep his eyes down and his mouth full. Diane ignores the food, staring between her daughter and me as I busy myself, piling cakes onto my plate and digging in, hoping to ease some of the churn in my stomach. Cecelia’s focus remains fixed on me as she feeds some bacon to Beau.
“That bacon is yours,” I scorn her. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” I can’t help my grin as a glimpse of the stubborn nineteen-year-old that ruined me for all others peeks through. “Trésor…”
“You eat,” she snaps before her eyes again soften and dart between her mother and me.
“Please,” I ask, nudging her, using her maternal concern for me to my advantage. She narrows her eyes, letting me know she’s onto me but shoves a bite into her mouth anyway.
“So, I’m assuming you aren’t coming with us now, due to company?” Timothy asks, now attuned to the chemistry at the table.
“Where were you headed?” I ask as mother and daughter resume their stare-off.
“Cecelia was going to camp with us for a few nights before we head out west. We’re going to Colorado, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico.”
“Going to hit the four corners?”
Tim points his fork at me. “Exactly. Standing in four states at once. It’s this camper’s dream.”
Cecelia is already shaking her head when I glance her way. Though two days may buy me enough time to get a handle on my situation, just the thought of parting with her for any amount of time gnaws at me. But if there’s a chance, this disruption might be a Godsend if I can get her to go.
“If you want to go—”
Slapping her hand on the table, she points her cutlery in my direction. “Finish that sentence, King, and I will stab you with this butter knife.”
I can’t help my chuckle. “Well then,” I look between them, “You’ll stay here. At least for the night? There’s no need to cut your visit short.” I turn to Diane, who’s focused on Cecelia, her eyes glistening as she continues to grapple with it all.