Page 65 of Falling for You Again

“Not that I know of.”

Graham, Aaron’s dad, won’t be here. He lives in Newton with his second, much younger wife, Oriana. Her name means “a fresh start,” Aaron explained, and candidly, Graham had wanted exactly that: a fresh start after divorcing Kaye. Graham and Oriana leave for Florida tomorrow morning to embark on a four-week cruise to South America.

“I haven’t spoken with Charlie since yesterday morning,” Aaron discloses in a tone that tells me everything might not be right between them.

“When she told you your mom was coming to see me?” I ask and he nods. “Is she upset with you?”

He sighs. “Yes, at the moment. I’ll explain after dinner.” He takes my hand and rubs the back of it, looking quite dashing in his dark-wash jeans, casual-print button-down shirt, and blue sport coat. He polished off the look with brown derby shoes. His hair is a shaggy tousle I’m tempted to run my fingers through. I’m also tempted to whisk him away for a night of cocktails and jazz music at a club downtown, if only to lighten his mood and avoid another run-in with Mommie Dearest.

“All right.” I give him a small smile so he knows I’m okay with that.

We didn’t have much time to talk today about anything other than Artisant Design’s relocation; otherwise, he might have explained the situation with Charlie already. When we weren’t talking about the shop, I was trying to reach Uncle Bear and Mom. If my uncle is serious about transferring ownership, I want that on paper. I left them both messages, asking for the buy-sell agreement, if one exists, drawn up when Grandpa Walt formed the LLC or when Uncle Bear assumed ownership. The agreement would outline the transfer process. He, with Mom’s assistance, will need to update the business license and supplier contracts to reflect the ownership change. Otherwise, I have to negotiate new contracts, which could give our suppliers an opportunity to increase their rates.

“Don’t worry. Mom will be on her best behavior. She won’t single you out, not in front of me,” Aaron says.

“It’s not that. I’m thinking about you and Charlie.” I hold his hand in both of mine. He and his sister are close. I’m worried for him. I just hope my not signing the postnup isn’t the cause.

“I’m fine, really. It’s temporary. She’ll get over it.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Let’s do this so we can go home,” he says, opening the door.

How ironic. With a dry smile, I open my door. I’d kill to have Mom invite me over for dinner, and Aaron can’t get through this evening fast enough.

After my first impression of his mom, I expected Kaye to have a house filled with staff. But she answers the door wearing a stained apron, of all things, over a black silk blouse and pressed white pants. Apparently, she cooked our dinner. Not a hired chef.

“I’m so glad you made it, dear.” Kaye hugs Aaron first, then me, catching me completely by surprise. I almost drop the bouquet I bought on our way here. She also dives right into the heart of the matter. “We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, so I appreciate you coming, Melissa.” She speaks with an exuberance at complete odds with the cold, calculating business executive I met yesterday. The one who insisted she doesn’t want to get to know me. It’s also not lost on me she’s invited us onto her turf.

“We wouldn’t miss this,” Aaron placates. “What’s for dinner?” He sniffs the air as we enter the house. “Smells ...” He frowns. “Smells good. I can’t place it. What did you cook?”

Kaye gives me a flat look. “It never changes, does it? Thirty-two years old and he still asks the same question every time he visits. ‘What’s for dinner?’”

“It does smell good,” I agree.

“Excellent, because we’re having buttermilk fried chicken legs, corn on the cob, and potato rolls. You remember whose favorite that was, don’t you, Aaron?”

Aaron stands in the shadows of the foyer, hanging my light sweater on the coatrack, but I swear the color drains from his face.

“What’s the occasion, Mom?” he asks in a tight voice.

“No occasion. I had a craving for comfort food. Are those for me?” Kaye asks of the flowers.

“Oh, yes.” I give her the bouquet of alstroemeria flowers in a rainbow of colors.

“Cute.” She hands the flowers off to Aaron. “Be a dear and put these in water for me.”

“Of course.” He juggles the wine we brought with the bouquet, apologizing for his mom with a look.

Kaye takes us into the kitchen, and if it weren’t for a pot of cooling cooking oil and grease spots on the stove, I would have gambled she ordered KFC takeout. Her kitchen smells exactly the same.

“Dinner’s ready, so let’s sit right down.” She removes the crispy fried chicken legs warming in the oven and sets the tray on the stove. Using tongs, she transfers the legs to a ceramic bowl.

“What can I help with?” I offer as Aaron puts the flowers in a vase of water and opens the bottle of wine.

“Grab the corn and rolls.” She points to them on the large island. “We’re eating on the screened-in porch out back. Aaron, darling, bring the plates and utensils. They’re stacked behind you.”

He recorks the wine, tucks the bottle under his arm, and picks up the plates and utensils. I get the bread basket and platter of corn. Kaye leads the way, and when we reach the porch, Aaron’s step falters. He stares at the picnic table decked out with a red-checkered tablecloth.

Then he pulls himself together. “Where’d the table come from, Mom?” He sets down the plates and wine. “I thought you got rid of it.”

The table seems like an oddity among the wrought iron patio furniture with plush cushions. Definitely out of place in Kaye’s house of pristine white walls, polished walnut floors, and Savant House–catalog furniture.

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