17. George
Chapter seventeen
George
I step back to inspect the wall that Katherina has just finished painting. Her expression is a mix of being guarded and hopeful as she scrutinizes me.
She has been helping me paint for an hour now. The whole time, she has carefully watched everything I do and mimicked me. It’s both flattering and a little unnerving. I’m not used to being watched so closely.
“Looks like you’ve done a good job,” I tell her.
A wide grin breaks over her face. “Really?”
I grin back at her. “Absolutely. You have a steady hand with that thing.”
She carefully wraps the head of the roller as I’d shown her earlier in the day. “Could you maybe hire me over the summer?”
“Oh, are you staying that long?”
“Well… I hope so,” she answers.
I nod. “I’ll talk to Lynn about it. We are hiring new people.”
Among the new hires will be a social media manager. After seeing what Catherine has done for the museum, I’ve decided I need one myself.
I’m not going to offer the role to Catherine, though.
For one thing, it’s nothing compared to the glamorous life of a pop star.
For another, she’s made things clear. She doesn’t want to stay in Sandburrow.
Which means even though she inspired the job opening, it’s not something she wants.
“Great! Thanks.” Katherina glances around the room to make sure things are put together. “I guess that’s all, huh?”
“Yup. Thanks for your help.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.” She beams as she leaves the room.
I chuckle as I return to my inspection. Katherina has left good coverage on the drywall. She saved me quite a bit of time here.
I hear her greet Catherine and my smile fades.
I’ve been putting in extra hours on Lynn’s house because I want to get it done before Catherine goes back to the city.
Which means there’s more opportunities for Catherine and I to run into each other.
It’s awkward, though. I have a difficult time keeping our interactions light.
I’m glad that we’re able to talk but there’s still a lot being unsaid.
Such as, how will I ever know if her feelings change?
What is the reason she said we need to make the default assumption that nothing will work between us?
Am I being pushy by wanting to talk it out more?
Do I even want to talk? Or do I want to kiss away her doubts until she agrees to stay here forever?
And if she did stay, would she end up being resentful of me?
I shake my head sharply as I slip from the back room. No point in interrogating myself like this.
I nearly knock into Lynn.
“Oh, there you are,” she huffs. “You weren’t trying to escape without talking to me, were you?”
She narrows her eyes and puts on her most fierce expression.
I laugh but shake my head. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Ahh, I see.” She puts her hands on her hips. “That means you were just trying to avoid Catherine.”
“Lynn—”
“No, no. Don’t you start saying I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She wags a threatening finger at me. “I know what’s going on. You want to kiss her in the rain and make love in the ocean.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “Lynn!”
She gives me a sly wink. “Hey, I know these sorts of things. Don’t deny it. You want a honeymoon on the beach.”
“I don’t know about that. And stop talking about it, Catherine and Katherina will hear you,” I hiss.
“No, they won’t.”
“Yes, they will.”
Lynn rolls her eyes at me. “I sent them into town for pizza and ice cream. So say thank you that I managed to get this time for us to talk alone.”
I sigh. “Lynn—”
“George.”
She looks so stern I can’t help but chuckle. “Okay. Thank you, Lynn, for making time for us to speak alone.”
Lynn nods once in satisfaction. “Right. Now come help me get the turkey out of the freezer. I’m going to thaw it out for tomorrow’s supper. While we’re doing that, you can tell me what’s going on with you and Catherine. She’s not wearing her ring.”
I wince. It’s in my toolbox. “We had a… well, a discussion.”
“About?” Lynn prompts.
“How she doesn’t want to stay in Sandburrow. And how my feelings are too real for us to play the charade any longer,” I mumble.
Lynn opens up the deep freezer. “I see.”
I have to rifle around through the massive amounts of food to find the turkey she wants. Once I pull it out, she frowns at me.
“Where do you want it?”
“In the fridge in a roaster.” Lynn shakes her head as she guides me back to the kitchen. “I was afraid that something like this would happen.”
I wince. “We’re handling it like adults. You won’t have any reason to have to pick sides.”
“Uh-huh, and what makes you think that’s what I was afraid of?” Lynn grabs a roaster from under the sink and puts it on the counter.
I place the bird inside and cover it up before transferring the dish to the fridge.
Lynn is still giving me a hard look, though.
I steel myself. “Everything that’s between Catherine and me is just between the two of us. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone else.”
I expect her to push back, to tell me that as Catherine’s grandmother, she has a right to know.
Instead, Lynn’s expression softens. “Alright. We don’t have to discuss it if you aren’t comfortable.”
“Really? You’re going to give up just like that?” I frown doubtfully at her. “You, who would badger me for ages if I didn’t bring Catherine’s suitcase in? And you badger me nonstop about making sure I eat enough.”
“And what does one have to do with the other?” Lynn snorts. “One is common courtesy. The other is concern for your well-being. This is about your personal business as an adult.”
“You really are amazing, you know that?” I shake my head.
Lynn pats my shoulder, laughing. “Oh, I’m more than amazing, my boy. I’m terrifically awesome. That being said, if you ever want to talk about Cat, you know you can talk with me. I’m not about to choose sides but I think I can help.”
“Thank you,” I answer. I give her a smile as I shrug. “Really, though, I don’t think there’s anything to say. I have to respect her boundaries.”
“And she’s told you not to talk to her about this again, has she?”
I flounder. “Not in those words exactly. But she did say we need to just move forward with the assumption that we will never end up together. She told me not to wait for her.”
Lynn rubs her chin as she gives me a searching look. “Those were her words exactly?”
“Close enough.”
“Right. Then I’m changing my advice. You walk up to her, tell her that you love her, and ask her to stay,” Lynn says, with a decisive nod of her head.
I stare at her. “But Catherine doesn’t want to stay.”
“And she told you that in those words?”
“Well… not those words exactly.”
Lynn nods slowly. “Alright.”
I wait, but she seems to be deep in thought. “So you see why I can’t tell her again?”
“No. But I also can’t see through your eyes. I can’t know what was said and what feelings there were.” Lynn hugs me tightly. “If you think it’s best to let it lie, I’ll believe you. I love you, kiddo. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do, Lynn.” I hug her back, welcoming her grandmotherly embrace. “You warned me this would happen.”
Lynn pats my back as she releases me. She gives me a strained sort of smile as she shakes her head. “Nah. Prophecy is just wishful thinking coming true.”
The way she phrases it makes me snort.
Luckily, she doesn’t insist that I stay for supper. Though pizza sounds delightful, I don’t want to have to spend more time close to Catherine.
As I’m driving home, I wonder what I can do so that Catherine knows I don’t want to shut down the new blossoming of our friendship.
I’ve missed her a lot over the years.
And now that we’re back on friendly terms, I don’t want to lose that.
I’m crafting the perfect text message in my head when I arrive back to my home.
My stomach drops.
My parents’ car sits in my usual spot on the driveway.
If I wasn’t exhausted as I am right now—and wasn’t so consumed with wanting the right words to approach Catherine again—I wouldn’t feel so defeated.
The interaction I had with Lynn plays more strongly in my mind.
I’m not used to people saying ‘okay’ and not pushing when I say I do or don’t want something.
Seeing my parents shouldn’t cause this knot in my stomach.
They love me. I love them. That’s not up for debate.
I just can’t tell if I’m the one being ungrateful or if they really are too pushy.
There’s a roast cooking. I smell it before I even get into the house. Which makes my stomach knot even more.
Strike one to me—I’m ungrateful.
As I enter my house, I see the coat tree has been removed entirely. In its place is a large metal line of hooks screwed into the wall. Which, according to my rental agreement, I’m not allowed to do.
Strike one to them—I told Mom I’m not allowed to damage the walls several times.
“Oh, look who finally decided to come by. We’ve been waiting for you for an hour,” Mom says crossly when I enter the kitchen.
Strike two.
“I worked late at Lynn’s place. I didn’t hear my phone.” I pull it out and check. No missed calls.
“You’re always home at seven, how was I to know you wouldn’t be back this time?”
The sound of the TV reaches me.
“Wash up,” Mom orders. “We need to eat this before it gets cold.”
“Mom—”
“Wash up,” she insists. “We’re starving.”
Strike three.
I shake my head. “I’m not going to join you for supper. I wish you had called me.”
Dad pads into the room, an empty plate in hand. “Oh, hi George.”
“Dad, can you please explain to Mom why you should have called me?”
“Oh no. Can’t do that. You’ll learn soon enough. In a marriage, you just have to do what your wife says.” Dad chuckles.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Then I let it out slowly, struggling to keep my emotions in check.
I don’t need this tonight.
“You need to leave.”
Mom gapes at me. “But we haven’t even eaten! I cooked this big meal for you—”
“No, if it was for me, you would have told me you were doing it. I saw the hooks on the wall. I told you not to do that. I keep telling you not to mess with my stuff, but you do all the time. I am done. Give me the key. Now.” I hold my hand out.
Dad frowns at me. “Don’t you talk to your mother in that tone.”
“Give me the key,” I repeat, remembering the one thing Catherine told me. Don’t engage. Right now, my emotions are boiling over the top.
I need to get my space back.
Mom huffs as she hands over the key. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this. I’ll bet your fiancé won’t like to know how you’re treating your mother.”
“Catherine and I aren’t engaged,” I snap. “I don’t have a fiancé. Now please leave.”
“But our food—”
I pull a fifty-dollar bill from my pocket. “You can go to a restaurant. Please leave.”
They shuffle out. I close and lock the door after them.
The smell of roast makes my stomach curdle with guilt. Yet there’s relief in there, too.
I close my eyes. My emotions are clearly too high to reach out to Catherine now.
So I’ll wait.
In the meantime, I need to take care of this food and clean up the many dishes left in my kitchen. And start coming up with a way that I can set boundaries with my parents so that this sort of situation doesn’t arise again.