Imagine Painting the Sky

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The dinner wasn’t half as awkward as it was when we were sitting in the living room, playing with our hands and struggling to find words to choke out of our mouths. Of course, Delilah and Isobel did make it a tad bit more a girly conversation than it needed to be. But for the most part, things started out okay. Gabriel and I had a fairly normal reunion with Jeff, we got the whole “when you’d get the cast off?” and “last time I saw you, you were barely past my knees!” speech, alongside a half uncomfortable lung smashing bear hug. 

Michael didn’t speak much, but he wasn’t exactly dark anymore. Eventually, the apprehensive gloominess that fogged his green-brown eyes dissolved into a more silent, thoughtful, dreamy sort of gaze. Still mysterious. Still quiet. Still secretive. But not dark any longer. While James on the other hand, was a chatter box, his eyes glittered when he laughed and I had to be positive he had girls clinging to him left and right. He was that sort of oblivious handsomeness that he had no idea existed, which made him more cute than before. Sure, he was cute, but I thought he talked too much. Lots of people think I don’t talk enough. Or it used to be that way, but Gabriel and I have sort of switched since he made me promise. He’s been slipping into an angry pool of misery while I’ve just begun to emerge from my own. 

Terrance didn’t speak too much either, but when he did, it made me tremble with uneasiness. He didn’t seem all there, and it made my stomach flop and I was thrown off whenever he looked at me. Which was a lot. I’d stare down at my plate of chicken, poke it with my fork, and look back up to see his dark eyes trained on me. It sent a billion insects chasing each other down my spine. But I shrugged it off, assuring myself that we was just another man. Isobel didn’t seem to mind him and Gabriel didn’t like anybody at the table minus myself. 

I had sat at the table, poking at my steak and potatoes with my fork. I noticed Gabriel hadn’t been eating either, simply swirling the ice in his water glass around with a shake of his glass. I was wondering when the questioning about Gabriel and I was going to start up, the fact that Isobel and Jeff had only been together for ten years, and that we were certainly not theirs. Then who did we belong to? Etcetera, etcetera, I was positive it was coming. I didn’t want to talk about Dad or his dying with these strangers. Or with Isobel and Jeff for that matter. So when the question finally arose, I stared at my lap and made no sound. 

“Isobel, I’d never have thought you had children,” Delilah had finally said, hardly noticing how uneasy Gabriel and I looked. Gabriel had froze, but only after slamming his glass onto the table. It sent Isobel into a squealing fit about how impolite it was and how the table was mahogany. 

“Though they are mine,” Isobel said through her teeth, “they weren’t for almost fifteen years.” 

“How does this make sense?” James said, his chestnut brows knitting together with curiosity and confusion. 

“They lived with their father-- my ex husband, Clarke-- in some sloppy off-the-map town up in Oregon or someplace. He was in a . . . tragic accident. Leaving these two to be sent off to me, the only flesh and blood left for them. Of course, I’ve taken wonderful care of them for the past few days, haven’t I, Gabe darling?” She cooed, tapping on his nose with a finger. 

“That isn’t my name,” he growled at her, and then replied in a voice so sugary sweet it was comical, “and yes, she’s taken wonderful care of us these past few days.” He mocked her dramatic tone with a posh looking smile that didn’t fit the half-hidden anger in his eyes. 

“I see. I’m so sorry, you two dears,” Delilah apologized, resting a hand on top of mine. I turned to her, giving a half hearted smile. A smile that showed hardly curved the corners of my lips upwards. One that was hardly a smile at all. Fake as can be, but she seemed convinced. Gabriel and I were both given the same apologies from James, Terrance, and Delilah. But only creepy stares from Michael, ones that made me want to duck under the table like some five year old on Halloween.