The buttery chardonnay glugged into the glass, and he handed it to her. Olivia took a sip and admittedly felt her frayed nerves start to dull already.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Barb sang.
Olivia bulged her eyes out at Chuck and mouthedpick one.
He glared back at her and then smiled. “Nothing, Mom. Who wants a glass of wine?”
“Oh drats. I meant to put that in the fridge to chill,” Barb said. “But I guess a little warm white never hurt anybody. I’ll take one.”
Chuck retrieved two more glasses and artfully held them with stems poking between his fingers and bowls in his palm as he poured. The sight reminded Olivia that he’d waited tables when he’d first moved to L.A., like many a hopeful young actor.
“None for me, son,” Sam said, and sipped his sparkling water again. “Rumor has it booze and pills don’t mix.”
“I believe those are well-founded rumors, Dad,” Chuck said. “Here you go, Mom.”
Barb took it with an outstretched arm and lifted it toward the ceiling. “Thank you, sweetheart. A toast! To the happy life the two of you are building together.”
“Hear, hear!” Sam cheered.
Olivia sputtered into her wine, which she’d been in the middle of sipping already.
Chuck patted her on the back and clinked his glass to Barb’s. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Cheers,” Olivia managed to mutter as she wiped a dribble from her lips. She took another gulp for good measure.
Barb had wrangled the chicken into the pan and set about rubbing it with butter and sprinkling herbs on it.
Chuck returned to his kale station and softly cleared his throat. “So, um, what exactly do you know about the show?” His voice rose awkwardly high, and he nodded at the nearest camera. Olivia relaxed a fraction more, seeing that he was finally leading them in some direction, though she wasn’t sure which.
“They told us it’s a reality show about your life living together,” Sam said. “I’ll tell you, your mother almost did a backflip when she heard that the two of you had moved in together. She wasthrilled.” Sam leaned back on his stool with a chuckle and squeezed Chuck’s shoulder.
“Well, I won’t say I’ve beenwaitingfor you two to take the next step, but I am rightly overjoyed to see you moving in that direction. It’s interesting that you would choose to do it on TV, but what do I know about Hollywood!” Barb said with a boisterous laugh.
Barb Walsh’s drink threshold for oversharing was apparently two sips of warm white wine.
Olivia’s face burned hotter than the sun. She gulped at her wine until she almost needed a refill. Chuck had turned a shade of crimson.
“What direction?” he asked.
Barb tilted her head and gave him an adoring look that screamedOh my sweet, silly child.“I think you know, sweetie.”
Olivia suddenly understood, with an overwhelming sense of conflicting emotion, what he’d meant when he said confessing to their breakup was not the easy option. Barb was practically ringing wedding bells with her butter-coated hands.
Olivia twitched with a nervous urge to flee. To protect herself from falling in love with this family any further only to lose them because they weren’t even hers to keep. But at the same time, she couldn’t resist their pull. Barb’s adoring gaze, Sam’s lippy smile. The way both of them were looking at Chuck like they were thrilled for him to have found a partner, and for that partner to be her.
For a moment, she saw it too. Her and Chuck, a few years down the road. A house—no cameras. Maybe a dog to start. A couple of kids after that. Both of their careers taking off. Him becoming an A-lister while she wrote biographies that were hailed in theNew York Times Book Reviewand adapted into screenplays. Maybe Chuck would even star in one as a truly full-circle moment. They’d spend white Christmases in Ohio and vacation on tropical islands. They would celebrate Grandma Ruby’s birthday with her for years to come.
A small smile curved her lips. She looked up to see Chuck looking at her like he might have been painting the same picture in his mind.
The oven timer dinged and snapped them out of their reverie.
“Olivia, could you get that, please?” Barb asked. “It’s the cobbler.”
“Of course,” she said thickly. Her voice had grown rough with emotion. Chuck noticed and got up to join her.
“Are you all right?” he whispered as she bent over to take the bubbling cobbler out of the oven. Heavenly wafts of cinnamon and peaches billowed out and filled the kitchen.
“Yes. This is just…a lot.” She sniffled and used her oven mitts to set it on the stovetop.