Twenty - Everything #2
Before I can process this absurdity, he flips his camera, and sure enough, there’s a black and white llama standing in a dusty paddock, munching hay with supreme disinterest in Kellan’s excitement.
It’s got patches of black across its otherwise white face and neck in a vaguely panda-like pattern, I guess.
If you squint and have the imagination of a five-year-old like Kellan.
“Oh my God,” Lena breathes, her face lighting up. “Is perfect! You must buy, Kellan!”
“Right?!” Kellan flips the camera back to his face. “I’m already working on it. The guy wants three grand, but I think I can get him down to two-five.”
I huff. “You’re spending three thousand real cash money on a llama because it looks like a shitty drawing you made on a sticky note?”
“First of all, rude. Second, hell yeah I am! This is clearly a sign from the universe. It’s kismet. It’s destiny. It’s—”
“It’s fucking stupid,” I cut in, but I’m chuckling now. This guy, oh my God. “What are you even gonna do with a llama?”
“Whatever I want!” Kellan grins. “Name him Vale Junior. Take him to shows. Start a social media empire. The possibilities are endless!”
“I give it two months before your parents make you get rid of it.”
“I give three weeks,” Lena says. “Remember miniature donkey?”
“Oh shit, the donkey,” I groan. “Didn’t it eat your dad’s underwear or something?”
“No, was mom lace panties,” Lena corrects, helpfully. “Creepy little thief. I adore Fuckface. ”
“Look, we all adore Fuckface, but she needs a sibling,” Kellan declares, way too seriously. “And anyway, llamas are different. They’re...distinguished.”
“That one looks like it’s distinguishably plotting murder,” I point out, as Kellan flips the camera again to show the llama, which is now staring directly at him with its disinterest starting to look a lot like hostility.
“He’s just shy,” Kellan insists. “Playing hard to get. Like someone else I know. Hint—hint.” He slides in front of the camera just to waggle his eyebrows. “Don’t you have someone’s phone number to give me?”
“No, I will not introduce you to Eli’s cousin.”
He gasps, then coughs because he gasped too hard. “What do you have against true love? You of all people. Shame!”
“He’s barely legal, Kellan,” I insist.
“Lena’s barely legal, and she’s had five princes and a sheik propose to her. Where’s my sheik?”
Lena just nods, having moved on to painting her toenails. “They are attracted to pussy juice. You have no pussy juice. Is sad.”
“Guys!” I yell out. “Marcus! Right here!”
“Marcus has three teenage daughters,” Kellan says. “His fate is sealed.”
Marcus just sighs dejectedly, staring blankly at the road ahead. “I wish I could say he was wrong.”
Poor Marcus.
“Okay, enough feelings,” Kellan declares. “Back to my new panda-llama. I need name suggestions. Vale Junior is still on the table, but I’m open to other options.”
“Absolutely not Vale Junior,” I say firmly.
“What about Bandido?” Lena suggests. “Because of the mask, yes?”
“Ooh, I like that,” Kellan nods enthusiastically. “Very outlaw chic.”
They continue debating names, their voices overlapping in a familiar chaotic rhythm that is somehow so relaxing. Like, down to my bones—it’s ridiculous.
Lena has now started suggesting increasingly inappropriate Spanish names for the llama, each one making Kellan howl with laughter. I catch phrases like enormous balls and sex demon , and decide it’s probably time to end this call before Marcus gets an education he didn’t sign up for.
“Guys, I gotta go,” I cut in during a brief pause in their hysterics. “We’re almost at Riverlight.”
“Fine, abandon us in our time of llama crisis,” Kellan sighs dramatically. “But send me a thumbs up or down on Bandido, okay? I need to make a decision before someone else snatches up this majestic beast.”
“No one else is going to buy your homicidal llama, Kellan.”
“You don’t know that. Lena wants him too.”
“Absolutely no,” Lena corrects. “But I ship now. Fuckface and Bandido. Fuckido forever.”
Kellan gasps. Again. “They’re siblings, Lena! Have some respect.”
“No respect in panda-llama-donkey love. The gods forbid. I subscribe.”
“ Aaand I’m out,” I tell them, trying not to fire them up even more by grinning but failing miserably because they’re incredible and I love them. And no, I will never ever say that out loud. They’d eat me alive.
They wave goodbye without pausing their bickering as I end the call. Then toss the phone into the duffel bag between my feet, looking out the window as familiar landmarks begin to appear. We’re getting close.
Marcus signals and turns out of the road, onto the long, black asphalt drive that’s clearly private property—no government-issued pot holes. Soon, the fences of the north pastures come into view, a few horses grazing peacefully in the late afternoon sun.
I sink back into my seat. And I let it come to me, let the sight blanket over my shoulders with this light, these trees, the creek glimmering around the mountain.
With everything that’s mine. Ours.
With everything that’s home.