“Give my dumb son and his wife a break. I don’t know where I went wrong with him, but they love you in their own way.” if she says so. I believe they would love me if I fit into their ideal, but not right now.
“Whatever. What do you say we eat this pound cake I made you and the ice cream I hid in the back of the freezer?” She smirks at me and shakes her head.
“What makes you think you hid it?” Laughing, I kiss her cheek and shake my head. What am I going to do with her?
I have been home for five hours, and already I am ready to barricade myself in my room and not come out for the next three days. “Honestly, Orla, sit up.” Meet my mother, Emily Post of the Polish community. “Here. Eat this salad. Lord knows what junk you have been eating the last four days.” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “Definitely can tell by your hips,” she mumbles that last part, and though I should be used to it, it still manages to sting. Ding Dong. I look at my mother, expecting her to go get the door, but she is looking at me. I am definitely not expecting anyone, so I am not answering it. It rings again, and then my father, who is working from home today, walks past us.
“I will answer it.” I go back to sipping my tea and trying to ignore my mother. After a minute or so, my father comes in carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“Honey, you shouldn’t have.” My mother says to my father, assuming they are for her.
“I didn’t. These are for Orla.” My tea sprays from my mouth, and I vaguely hear my mother complaining about the mess I just made. My eyes are glued to the flowers. I am staring at them like they are infected or something. “Are you going to read the card?” My father says. Grabbing it from the front, I open it.
Angel,
Don’t be upset with your grandmother for giving me your address.
I told her how bad I messed up last night, even though I am not sure what I did.
She felt that made me a good candidate for you. She is hilarious.
I would like to try again, my angel. Please. Call me at the number below when you get this. Not so patiently waiting for you.
~Liam
Wow. I don’t know what to say. I thought that was the end of…everything before it started. It certainly should be. But, then again… “Well, are you going to tell us who it is from?” My mother asks, turning her nose up at the flowers.
“His name is Liam. He is a traveling photographer, visiting his family for the week.”
“Figures.” My father says, clearly not impressed. Ignoring both of them, I go upstairs to my room and look at the card for a few more minutes before calling him. It rings once, and he answers like he was waiting on a call from the Pope.
“Aingeal.” My breath stills hearing him call me that with such adoration.
“Hi, Liam. Thank you for the flowers.”
“You are welcome, my Angel. I am so glad you called me. I didn’t think you would.”
“I wasn’t going to. I mean, what is the point. You are still leaving at some point, right?” God, I want him to say no. I want him to say how can he leave when he is going to have to leave me behind, but that only happens in my books. Right?
“I am, but does it help if I tell you I have never questioned my job… until you?” Well, shoot. That was pretty darn close to my fairy tale. Now what? “Listen. I want you to go out with me today. How about we go to the art museum and out to lunch and just see where the day takes us? Will you go with me?” I should say no. I should tell him thank you, but no thank you, and hang up. Instead, my heart guides my mouth.
“Alright, Liam. I would love to.”
Why am I running toward heartbreak?
Chapter Seven
Liam
I have never been so conflicted about something in my life. I have always been sure about every path I took and the decisions I have made until now. Hell, I barely slept last night; my heart and mind conflicted about the course of action I am taking. On the one hand, I know my father is right about me not being here and maybe leaving her alone so she can find a guy that is willing to stay here and make a home with her but the thought of someone else even looking at her sends me into a rage. I can hardly fucking breathe when I contemplate another man getting the oasis between her legs while bathing in her smile. See. Now I am a fucking poet. Not to mention when she walked away from me last night, it felt so finite that it almost ripped my heart out. That has to mean something, right?