“Yes,” Mom murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You picked all the best ones. The pentas are my favorite; they attract the butterflies.” She dipped her head and stuck her nose into the star-shaped pink and red flowers, smelling the nectar. “I love it so much, honey.”
Her glossy gaze penetrated a locked chamber of sentiment inside me, stinging my nose with unshed emotion. I cleared my throat, trying hard not to give in to the weaker, hidden side of my grief before it reared its head.
“I’ll get started after dinner. Should only take a few hours. I brought some old newspaper and cardboard boxes I’m finally getting rid of from back when we bought the house.”
“You should keep those handy,” Addy suggested. “To pack away all five of your shirts and the one hat you own for Colorado.”
“I’ll just wear them all on the flight. Problem solved.” I hooked my sister’s elbow and deposited her in front of the truck’s rear door. “I didn’t have time to wrap anything,” I said. “Save the fucking turtles or some shit though, right?”
She pushed up on her tiptoes, trying to see over my shoulder into the cab.
I turned back around with an arm full of oil paints and a rolled palette of expensive hog bristle brushes. Then went back for the several different-sized canvases that had done all they could to prevent me from using my back window on the ride to Coral Grove.
“It’s nothing crazy,” I said. “I figured you were probably due for some new stuff.”
My mother and sister stared at one another with the same owlish commiseration. Their eyes held a secret conversation that I was lost to. Eventually, Addy turned her attention back to me and grinned. “What’s her name, Frankie?”
“What?” I choked on a laugh, looking away.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone, Frankie?” my mother added.
“I’m not.” I shrugged, bumping the door closed with my hip and walking toward the hatchback of Adriana’s SUV. “What’s going on with the two of you?”
“Bullshit!” Addy followed hot on my heels, inserting her petite frame between me and the trunk. “When did you meet her?”
I easily lifted my sister under the arms, dropping her back down with our wide-eyed mother so I could start loading the canvases for her to take to her own apartment. “Meet who?” I played stupid, schooling my face into a brick of indifference.
“The girl that told you exactly what to get us for Christmas.” She poked my arm.
I was apparently as transparent as a glass vase.
“Why didn’t you bring her here?” My mother was at my other side, caging me in like I was a misbehaving dog and they were both trying to figure out what I had in my mouth.
“Is it so hard to believe that I would buy the perfect presents for my family, whom I love and know better than anyone else on this planet?”
“Candles, Francesco.” My sister huffed. “Every single year I expect a candle and a card, sometimes a coffee mug. One year you got real crazy with a T-shirt.”
I pouted. “You loved that T-shirt.”
“I did,” she agreed. “Now spill it.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“She’s not from here,” Adriana guessed.
“Still don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lifted my hat, running my fingers through the thick waves. Damn, I needed a haircut. “You think I need a haircut?” I asked no one in particular. Anything that would get me out of the current conversation.
“She’s not like that last one, is she?” Ma scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. I frowned.
“Nothing like her—”
“Ha!” They both pointed at me in unison.
Mom and Adriana had never looked so much alike, the wide-lipped beam and heralding posture. Same height, same eyes, same haughty expression.
I was prepared to pay for that verbal hiccup for the remainder of the day, probably the rest of my life, really. Now that they knew Ophelia existed it’d be a miracle if my sister didn’t find her on Instagram within the hour, no name necessary.
“I promise it’s not what you guys think it is,” I said. “I’m not dating anyone.”
“Okay…” Addy slammed the trunk closed and stuck to my side as we raced each other up the driveway. “You’re not dating her, but you’re fucking her.”
“Adriana!” Mom looked near ready to faint.
“Nope, not doing that either,” I confessed, speeding through the side gate that led into the backyard, suddenly wanting to see exactly how much elbow grease would be necessary to get the buckets planted. Hopefully a fuck ton so I had an excuse to skip dinner, because I was no longer hungry or in the mood to talk about my love life and Ophelia any more than I already had. You don’t bring your friend with benefits to Christmas dinner for the same reason you don’t talk about them at Christmas dinner.
Because it’s like metaphorically sitting with your dick out at Christmas fucking dinner.
“Mom.” Adriana paused, eyes widening to saucers. “This one is serious.”
I laughed. “You’re reading so far into this, it’s hilarious.”
“So if it’s nothing, why are you hiding it?”
“It’s not nothing.” I shook that sentiment away. “But it’s not something—never mind, can we drop it? She’s not from here, she’s too young for me…”
“How old is she?”
“Not old enough.”
“Just tell us her name!” Addy fired back.
“Why—” My heels stuck into the grass at the center of the backyard, a spark of something between shock and discontent straightening my spine.
The plot of land where the garden was gnarled and dead three months ago was now sowed and replenished, fresh grass growing in bright green patches, a little sprinkler system waving back and forth over new seeds.
“The garden…” I pointed at it. “You cleaned it up.”
“I had some help.” My mother’s shoulder lifted, too small a gesture to be a shrug.
“Not me.” My sister shook her head as I turned to her. Judging by her apprehensive expression I could see I was about to be introduced to a situation I wasn’t prepared for. My skin prickled in anticipation, the heart-in-my-gut feeling returning tenfold.
“Who?” I asked sternly. The tables had turned quicker than the weather on a Florida afternoon.
“It was me.” A foreign voice ripped my attention to the sliding door off the back porch as it closed. To a man I’d never seen in my entire fucking life, standing on the outside of it, as if he just let himself in and out of my mother’s house like he owned the place.
My pulse drummed in my ears. Who the fuck was this guy? On my porch in his tailored chinos and Christmas sweater? With a dorky looking combover like a regular Clark Griswold?
My gaze narrowed. “Who’s me?”
The stranger stepped off the deck and joined us in the center of the yard. My instinct to protect had me sliding in front of Addy and Mom like a barrier.
“Charlie Wright.” Clark Griswold extended a palm. “Excuse the cliche, Frankie, but I’ve heard so much about you.”