Chapter Twelve
Everett
Around nine Saturday morning, I put Merlin on the leash and walk over to my mom’s to beg for breakfast. The smell of bacon and eggs makes my mouth water as I enter the kitchen, where Mom is at the stove.
“Morning,” I say. As soon as he’s off the leash, Merlin hurries to my mother’s side, hoping for handouts.
“Morning.” My mom clacks her spatula twice on the rim of an ancient frying pan and sets it on the spoon rest before giving Merlin a piece of bacon. “I saw the photo.”
“What photo?” I grab a mug from the cupboard and pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot.
“Everett McKean, don’t play dumb with me.”
Turning around, I lean back against the counter and sip my coffee. Remain silent.
She faces me, fists parked on her hips. “Well? What does it mean?”
“It means I ran into someone I used to know. We sat down and had a drink.” My tone gives nothing away.
“Looked pretty friendly.”
“I’m a friendly guy, what can I say?” Setting my coffee cup on the large wooden table, I take a plate from the cupboard and mosey over to the stove. “Any of this up for grabs?”
“Eat what you want. It’s not like I have grandkids to cook for.”
“But you have a grand-dog.” I fill my plate and set it on the table. Then I grab a banana from the bowl of fruit on the counter. “Can Merlin have this?”
“Sure.”
After peeling it, I break it into thirds and put them in the food bowl my mom keeps for Merlin near the back door. “Here, boy.”
“You want some toast?” my mom asks.
“Yes, please.” I watch with dismay as she limps to the toaster. “How are you feeling today?”
“Meh.”
“Did you take your meds this morning?”
“I took some ibuprofen.” She sticks two slices of bread in the toaster and pushes down the lever. “So what’s Mila been doing with herself?”
“She’s a botanical illustrator and college professor. Lives in Brooklyn.” I pull a fork from a drawer that doesn’t shut right and sit down at the table.
“Botanical…like plants?”
“Yes. You should see her drawings. They’re incredible.”
“How’d you see her drawings?” My mom is immediately suspicious.
“She showed me her Instagram account.” I debate mentioning our dinner tonight and decide against it.
Mom isn’t as bad as some of the aspiring matchmakers in this town, but she isn’t shy about letting me know she wants me to settle down and start a family.
I could see her making more of it than the situation warrants.
“She still has that gorgeous red hair, huh?”
I picture that hair spilling over her shoulder last night and remember the way she smelled like orange blossoms.
“Yep.” Realizing I’m staring into space, I refocus on my breakfast. Start chewing again.
“Well, if you see her again, tell her I said hello.” The toast pops up. A moment later, my mother brings a cup of coffee and the toast to the table, taking the seat across from me. “What are you up to today?”
“Irrigation maintenance and then a meeting with the fertilizer guy. What about you?”
“I’ll be at the store. I’m doing a soapmaking class this afternoon.”
I nod. Summer is our busy season, but weekends in autumn still bring lots of tourists and local families.
We have wagon rides, cider tastings, apple picking, preserve- and jam-making classes.
My mother demonstrates how to make soaps and other skincare products from our goats’ milk, and my cousin teaches goat yoga, which is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of, but it brings people in.
“Going out tonight?” my mother inquires as I carry my dishes to the sink.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t tell me—you’re going to the pub with the guys.” Her aggravated tone tells me how she feels about my typical Saturday night. “How are you going to give me those grandchildren if you spend all your spare time throwing axes with Hunter and Doc?”
“Good question. Thanks for the grub.” I grab the leash and whistle softly. “Come on, Merlin. Let’s go.”