Page 72 of The Sky in Summer
But it isn’t a happy celebration out there. I don’t give a shit about any of it. The mood is strained. Not just by my inner dialogue, but by others as well who seem to be having a conversation in their heads. Layla is off and so is my mother. They are putting on a good show though. I guess my mom is just upset we won’t be able to see each other often but why Layla is so different is just a guess. She will miss me I am certain of that. But not on the level or for the same reason I will be missing her.
Drying my hands, I catch my reflection.You look like shit.Put on the fake smile, asshole.
I can always count on my family for support and encouragement. We are a solid tribe. To the person, they want my happiness. Tonight was planned to mark my upcoming adventure, and it is loving of them to send me off with a celebration. That is how it has always been for us. I will miss that.
Walking back to the table, I take in the surroundings. Subdued lighting, crisp white tablecloths. The culture of la dolce vita tempts more than my taste buds. I’m drawn to the general coolness that shapes the fashion and modern art. It isn’t just Michelangelo’s creations that speak to me. Maybe I will get a chance to visit, taste the authentic dishes, and scope out the galleries now that Italy will be my new neighbor. That was supposed to make me feel better. Instead, it is hollow.
I didn’t get a chance to bring Layla here before tonight. We went to my favorite French restaurant and her favorite sushi spot. But mostly it’s been barbecues or family dinners. Hers and mine. We weren’t really all that interested in food. Or in leaving each other’s apartments. It was an orbit we were fine spinning within. It seemed like we had everything.
I need to try harder. Get in the right mindset. Other men would give their left nut to be in my position. So what? I don’t give a flying fuck. I cannot think of a single thing that sounds more appealing than being with her.
Snap out of it.
“Van, let your Papa pour you another glass.”
Reaching over, he fills the crystal glass.
Taking the empty seat, I reach for her hand.
“It’s cold. Let me warm you,” I say, rubbing hers between mine.
But she doesn’t linger. “It’s fine.” Her hand gently squeezes mine then pulls away.
“Parish, when’s the new book coming out? Now that I’m hooked on the series, I need to find out what happened to the Detective!” Layla puts on her usual mood, but I see it is false.
“October twenty-sixth. Not long now. And thank you.”
“When are you going to put a visiting French female detective in the mix? You know, someone with a little age and experience,” my mother says. “Then both Gaston and I would be represented!”
There is laughter around the table, but I am still thinking about why she pulled her hand away so quickly. I won’t start a whole thing though. Why? I’m leaving tomorrow at four. It is done. Not about to ruin the time left with questions. Especially ones that lead nowhere.
“I want to make a toast!” my father says, standing.
Aargon taps his wineglass with the side of his knife. “Gaston Lyon has the floor.”
Tears well in his eyes and it brings them to mine. Before he even says a word, and as his eyes meet mine, we feel the loss about to happen.
“Here’s to my youngest son. Van, your absence is going to be felt, more than you know. But we are happy for you. Really happy you are brave enough and adventurous enough to see where in the world you belong. N’ayez pas peur de changer d’avis.”
There is clapping and loving looks. Layla just smiles. I swear it is the same false one I’m wearing. But nobody but me knows the message he just sent. They think it’s a loving send-off or an endearment. What he said was,Don’t be afraid to change your mind.
“Just don’t forget you belong here first,” my mother says, wiping a tear away.
My father puts an arm around her shoulders and kisses her head. It is such a natural expression of his love. He understands her. He comforts her.
Raising his glass, we follow the lead. Not one person asks me to speak. Thank God. I am not in the mood. It’s weird. For the first time in my thirty-eight years, gathering for a happy occasion with the family takes on a different mood. The playfulness is missing. Everyone at the table is pretending. That’s how it seems. Pretending my dream is the right one.
It could be because I am not a hundred percent here and they sense it. I am deep within my mind dealing with the reality of my choices. It is a conveyer belt I have stepped on, and it carries me forward now without any more effort on my part. It is as if I am already gone.
Dinner ended earlier than I thought it would. Thankfully. As much as they tried, nobody was having a good time. It was all smoke and mirrors. All I want is to spend the remaining hours in Layla’s bed. Just being together. The sex is secondary.Where did that come from?We climb between the sheets.
“You ready for your flight? Do you have your passport and driver’s license in an easy to reach place?”
“You realize I have been on a plane before, right?”
Layla chuckles at herself.
“Once a mother…”
