Chapter 37 #2
“That, I agree with. But she didn’t, and we’re here now. Maybe it will make the trip better, having them here as a buffer. And it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to fly again before I have to, so we’re stuck here.”
“We could drive.”
She rolls her eyes. “Caleb, come on. They’re your parents. If you don’t want to spend future holidays with them, that’s fine. I’ll be completely on board with that plan. But we’re already here for this one.”
I pull her to me, brushing some of the hair away from her face. Her ponytail didn’t fare very well on the trip here. Lennon’s hazel eyes teem with amusement as she watches me study her. There’s no sight in the world I know better than Lennon Matthews’s face.
I keep gazing at her, even as her cheeks flush with self-consciousness.
“You’re pretty fucking amazing, you know that?” I whisper.
Lennon scrunches her nose, wrinkling the constellation of freckles. “Yeah, I know.”
I move even closer, my lips ghost against her jaw.
“Caleb…”
“Mm-hmm?” I murmur against her skin.
“We should unpack.”
I slip my fingers under the bottom of her puffy coat and am greeted by an endless stretch of warm, smooth skin. “Yeah, we should,” I whisper.
Then I kiss her, easing my tongue inside the warm heat of her mouth the same way my fingers are creeping under her jacket. Lennon melts against me, closing the small distance between our bodies.
“Here are so—oh!”
Lennon pulls away, and there’s my mother, standing in the doorway holding a stack of white towels and wearing a shocked expression. The arm not clutching towels is still extended from pushing the door open.
“Oh!” my mother says again. I don’t think she’s ever seen us kiss before. She hasn’t spent enough time around us to know that if I had my way, that’s how I’d spend the majority of the time.
“You could have knocked,” I say.
Lennon elbows me in the ribs.
My mother tracks the movement. Her eyebrows rise higher. She thinks Lennon encourages antagonism toward my parents, not that she’s the main reason I’m even here.
“I was just dropping off some towels. There are extras in the hall closet if you need them.”
“Okay,” I state.
“Okay,” my mother repeats. “I’ll let you two…” She quickly turns and leaves the room without finishing the sentence.
I glance at Lennon and smirk. She rolls her eyes.
We unpack, which doesn’t take long. I try to talk Lennon into hiding out in our room until dinner, but she ignores me and heads back downstairs. I follow with a sigh.
My father has appeared in our absence. He’s settled in the leather armchair by the fireplace, sipping bourbon and studying a packet of papers I’m certain are business-related.
He rises when we walk down the stairs, flashing his most charming smile. I don’t think he approves—actually I know he doesn’t approve—of Lennon any more than my mother does, but at least he doesn’t act like it around her.
Austin Winters thrives on being well-liked. On being the easy-going guy who just happens to be wealthy and powerful. He rarely lets that mask slip, and he most certainly doesn’t allow it to around anyone besides me and my mother.
“Lennon! So glad you could join us.”
“Hi, Mr. Winters,” Lennon greets politely. “Nice to see you.”
“Austin, please.” He gives Lennon his trademark, charming smile, then turns his attention to me. “How are you, son?”
“Fine, Dad,” I reply.
“Classes going well?”
“Yes.”
“George Coleman sent us an article about your last scrimmage, honey,” my mother says, appearing from the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand. “Seems like it will be a great season.”
“Yep.” I take a seat on the couch facing the wall of windows. Lennon sinks down beside me.
I could have predicted my father would ask about academics and my mother would bring up baseball before we came downstairs.
Add in my mom’s meddling and my dad pretending our last conversation at Earl’s funeral never happened, and this is following the same pattern of every other interaction I’ve ever had with my parents.
“Did you hear about the scrimmage, Lennon?” my mother asks politely. She seems to be on her best behavior now, but I don’t trust it will last.
“Uh, yes. I was there, actually,” Lennon replies. “Caleb’s pitching was very impressive.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize. Caleb said you didn’t make it to many baseball games,” is my mother’s response.
I send her a sharp look for that comment.
“It’s easier to go to his games now that I live ten minutes away from the baseball field, rather than three hours,” Lennon says.
“Ah, yes. I heard that you transferred. How are you liking Clarkson so far?” my father asks her.
“It’s been great,” Lennon responds. “I’m really enjoying all my classes. Richardson’s journalism department didn’t have anywhere near the same amount of resources.”
“I would imagine not.” My father chuckles. “Have you given any thought to what you might do with a journalism degree?”
I grit my teeth. “People typically become journalists , Dad.”
“Difficult industry to get a foothold in,” he comments, taking a drink of bourbon.
“It is,” Lennon agrees.
“Long hours. Horrible pay,” my father continues.
“The same is true for many career paths,” I state. “I think it’s more important to pursue something you’re passionate about.”
“Passion doesn’t pay bills, Caleb.”
Rich, coming from a man who inherited most of his wealth.
“Can I get you two anything to drink?” my mother asks, clearly sensing the fire isn’t the only reason the temperature in the room is rising. My temper is climbing with every comment my father makes. “The St. Jameses should be here any minute. Their flight was supposed to land at six.”
“Great,” I mutter.
“You must have met Sophie, if you’re at Clarkson now,” my father says to Lennon.
“I have,” Lennon replies.
“Her father is an old business school buddy of mine,” he continues. “Quite an eye for investments he’s got.”
Lennon nods. “It’s nice that you two have stayed in touch.”
“I’m grabbing a drink,” I announce. “Do you want anything?” I ask Lennon.
“Just some water,” she replies.
“Okay.” I stand and head into the kitchen.
The fridge is filled with prepared meals and plenty of alcohol. I grab a beer for myself and fill a glass of water for Lennon.
When I approach the couch again, they’re discussing Earl. My grip tightens on the beverages I’m holding.
“—such a loss,” my mother is saying. “Must be especially difficult with the holidays approaching.”
“My grandfather wasn’t one for giving certain days more significance over others,” Lennon replies. “But it’s certainly been difficult, not having him around.”
I return to my seat on the couch and hand Lennon her glass of water, giving her knee a quick squeeze once I have a free hand.
“Caleb said you both came to the service. That was very nice of you.”
“Of course. We were coming to town for the Cup anyway. We wouldn’t have missed it,” my mother replies.
I drown my scoff with a gulp of beer.
“We drove past Matthews Farm while we were there,” my father states. “Quite a chunk of land there. What is it, nine acres? Ten?”
“Fifteen,” Lennon replies. “And it’s not Matthews Farm any longer. I sold it.”
This is news to both of my parents, based on their shocked expressions. I guess enough of their friends in Landry are strictly summer residents who don’t visit or pay attention to what happens there the rest of the year. I hope now that they know about it, neither of them will dig into the sale.
“That’s quite a decision. That farm was in your family for four generations?”
Lennon sips some water. “Five,” she answers quietly. “But things change. I needed to fund my journalism career.”
I never told Lennon how my mom freaked out about the money I gave her.
I’m sure my father was angry about it too, but we mostly communicate through my mother when we’re in different places.
They both know Lennon didn’t need to sell her farm to afford college, and the fact she did is throwing them both off-kilter.
The doorbell rings, and my mother flies to her feet.
“That must be the St. Jameses!”
My father stands as well. Lennon and I follow suit, trailing after my mother toward the entryway.
Sophie is standing with her parents, surrounded by several bags of luggage. She smiles when she sees me, but it dies when she sees Lennon next to me.
I’m clearly not the only one who had details about this trip sprung upon them last minute, I guess. It explains why she didn’t mention this when I ran into her on campus a week ago.
I introduce Lennon to Mr. and Mrs. St. James while my mother embraces Sophie like a long-lost relative.
Once all the greetings and introductions are done, Sophie and her parents head upstairs to get settled in their rooms. My mom disappears into the kitchen to heat the food the chef already prepared. My father goes to get more firewood.
“Having fun?” I smirk at Lennon.
“Yup.” She gives me a wide, fake grin.
“Jake texted me earlier. His family is here, and Colt came with him. They’re coming over at eight to go sledding. There’s a hill close to here.”
“The Barneses have a place here?”
“Yeah. They follow my parents’ lead when it comes to most things. Including the real estate market.”
Lennon shakes her head. “Of course they do.”
* * *
Dinner is some sort of chicken dish. The table atmosphere is uncomfortable.
For the first few minutes, the only sound is silver utensils clinking against china as everyone serves themselves food. Then, my father and Sophie’s start a hedge fund conversation filled with business terms that I could probably follow if I wanted to.
I don’t.
“So, Lennon, you grew up in Landry?” Sophie’s mother asks mid-way through the meal.
Lennon quickly swallows and nods. “Yes, I did.”
“It’s such a lovely town. We were just there for the Cup a few months ago. So much character and passion. It’s hard to find that these days.”
“Landry is one of a kind,” Lennon states.
“And you just transferred to Clarkson this semester?”