Chapter 7 #2
I nodded, lifting myself off the floor. “Like I’d miss a rarity like that.” Our mother was a fantastic cook but hated doing it. When she did decide to not order takeout, we never missed it.
Will untethered himself from Alex and she pouted. “Will you come back over later?” She looked back at him, her eyes wide and expectant. “Pleeease?”
“My god, woman, get a grip on yourself. He’s been here for hours,” Victoria said, plopping backward on the bed. Alex flashed her younger sister the finger as she kept her face trained on Will.
“Anything you want,” Will promised. His fingers reached under her chin to bring her face to his, giving her a long kiss.
Victoria’s face softened. She was convinced men didn’t get any better than my brother.
I didn’t understand how she felt that way after spending so much time in our house, but she did.
“Gross, Will. Come on.” I wrinkled my nose, kicking his shoe.
The sound of the Hopelys’ front door opening quieted all five of us, signaling the arrival of a parent into our space.
“There’s Mom,” Cassandra said, looking mildly disappointed.
I expected to bump into Mrs. Hopely as we rounded the corner out of Cass’s room—her mom was slight and well-preserved, like she was the oldest Hopely sister—but instead Mr. Hopely appeared.
He was a behemoth of a man, the size of a pro wrestler, with the same detached irritated energy as his wife.
He dressed, always, in suits or khakis and polo shirts that seemed like they belonged to someone else.
His curly gray hair was close cropped and tidy, never a stray hair out of place.
That afternoon, you could tell he was furious.
All three Hopely girls stiffened, instantly tense.
“Dad,” Alex said quickly, her cheeks darkening as her expression turned guilty. “You’re home early.”
“Had a light day,” Mr. Hopely said, clearly unamused. He looked from Alex to his other daughters, taking his time before settling on Will and me. His lips pursed as he zeroed in on my brother. A quiet fury enveloped his features.
I hadn’t had many interactions with Mr. Hopely.
He was a stern, rules-based man who worked for a bank and kept to himself.
So different from my father’s easy-going nature.
The only times I ever saw Mr. Hopely relaxed was when he took Alex and Victoria to their cheerleading competitions. He was dedicated and never missed one.
“I told you girls already, no boys in the house when your mother and I aren’t home,” he said. The corners of Mr. Hopely’s mouth turned downward as he took in Will again. Four years of dating had seemed to do very little to make Mr. Hopely like him.
Will offered him a gentle smile, but I could see he was uncomfortable. “Sorry, Mr. Hopely. I wasn’t here long. I just dropped something off. Come on, Rosie. Let’s get out here.”
The sun was setting over the Hopelys’ pool as we left through the back door, avoiding the canopy of poison ivy that grew in the small forest between our two houses. The seven of us Hopely-Dearlings had walked this path so often, we had created our own trail.
“You and Alex are really joined at the hip these days,” I commented, watching my older brother skip over the dead Christmas tree we had dragged back here the year before.
“Yeah, I’m trying to cram as much Alex time in as I can before … well, everything. Graduation. School. You know.”
“Are you going to miss her?” I kicked a rock, watched it collide with a fallen tree trunk.
I knew the answer already. At least I thought I did. Will had never given us any reason to think he didn’t love Alex. He’d pined for her for years, a true kindergarten love story that came to fruition at freshman-year homecoming.
Will snorted. “Course I’m going to miss her. We see each other every day. I don’t know what I’m going to do when she’s not right across the street anymore.”
His face fell slightly, making my heart lurch.
“Gainesville and Tallahassee aren’t that far from each other,” I reminded him, skipping to catch up with his longer strides. “I’m sure you’ll still see her all the time.”
“It’s different in college though. People start new lives. They forget about things back home.” His voice dropped a bit. Will was normally a cheerful, glass-half-full kind of person, so hearing him like that was jarring. It shouldn’t have surprised me, though. Alex was his entire world.
“But you’ll talk every day, and you’ll see her at Thanksgiving, because you’re coming home, right?”
I narrowed my eyes to make sure he knew how serious I was. Mom had threatened him with no care packages if he ever skipped a visit home on school breaks. We were all sad at the thought of being without him for months at a time.
A laugh escaped Will’s lips. “Aw, Rosie, are you going to miss me?”
“Hardly,” a voice called from the back patio, echoing through the trees. “She’s just worried that if you don’t come back, I’m finally going to get the big room.”
Tommy was sitting in one of the red Adirondack chairs near the fire pit, a tattered paperback open on his lap.
His grin was wide, his eyes crinkling beneath his black-framed glasses.
We had lovingly bullied him into making the switch from his round Harry Potter eyewear to Clark Kent–esque frames earlier in the year.
“If anyone’s getting the room, it is me,” I shouted back. “I have more clothes than you and his closet is huge.”
“Ah, but I have more books, and Will’s room has those built-in shelves.”
“Well, what makes either of you think I’m giving up my room?” Will asked. “Mom’s desperately hoping I hate living on campus and come home to do my courses online.” We’d reached Tommy’s perch in the garden. Will disappeared through the back door.
Tommy abandoned his book and followed him in, forever the overeager younger sibling. I grabbed it, knowing he’d be annoyed if he forgot it was out here and it got soaked by one of the early-summer rains.
The inside of the house was warmer than usual, the smell of garlic wafting through the kitchen and a Michael Bay movie screeching across the TV screen.
“Willy!” A tiny squeal cut through the noise of the TV. Hazel hurled herself toward our oldest brother, wrapping herself around his leg like a small animal.
“Well, hey there, Hazelnut,” Will said, wagging his leg so that her small body moved with it in circles.
“Be careful with her, William,” Mom warned from the kitchen, a red spatula pointed at her eldest son.
Her Southern drawl made it sound more threatening than she meant it to be.
She was too relaxed to be truly angry at anyone.
She had a half-full glass of red wine beside her on the counter, and her black heels had been kicked off near the front door. Classic signs of a good workday.
“Mom, relax,” Will assured her, a smile stretched across his face as Hazel’s shrieks of delight filled the front room. “She loves it.”
Hazel’s face was turning red from how hard she was laughing. More fair than the rest of us, Hazel’s skin revealed everything she felt.
“Are you murdering my favorite child over there?” our father called from the couch.
Will grinned. “Oh, come on, Dad. She can’t be the favorite. She’s not even yours.”
Our father turned around from the couch, grinning at the familiar joke.
Hazel being nine years younger than her closest sibling, and having fairer skin and eyes than the rest of us, had led to an onslaught of family jokes about her parentage.
They were always lighthearted, and my parents took it in stride.
Our father considered this. “Maybe so, but she’s still the cutest.”
Tommy snickered. “Yeah, because she looks like the mailman.”
“Y’all are going to make that child pee herself,” Mom said, shaking her head. She turned back to the pot that was bubbling on the stove. I could smell it now and realized with delight she was making her famous Cajun pasta.
Mom motioned over to the table. “Come on, everyone, grab your grub.” She took her usual seat beside Dad, getting comfortable as the rest of us followed. “We’re sitting at the table tonight.”
“Aren’t we more of an eat-on-the-couch type of family?” Will asked, looking amused.
“Unfortunately,” Mom said, looking a little embarrassed as we took our seats at the table. “And your granddad lectures me about it every time he visits. But tonight was your dad’s idea, so we’re having a real meal together.”
“Parents still lecture you even at your age, huh?” Tommy teased.
“It’s a lifelong burden,” Mom said, smiling as she flicked a piece of garlic bread in Tommy’s direction. It flew past him and landed on the floor, where our haggard beagle, Davis, lunged for it.
“I don’t think dogs are supposed to eat garlic bread, Lyla,” my father said, eyebrows raised as Mom waved him off.
“He’ll survive. I caught him eating a tampon last week.”
Dad, Tommy, and Will all shuddered, as Hazel giggled obliviously and took a large bite of her Nutella sandwich. Ever since Will had told her Nutella is made from hazelnuts, she had refused to eat anything else. It had also earned her the nickname.
“I showed a monster of a house over by Publix today,” Mom said, changing the subject. “The thing had eight bedrooms.” She looked smug.
“Eight bedrooms?” Dad asked in disbelief, cracking a can of Diet Coke. “Who in god’s name needs eight bedrooms?”
Mom shrugged. “They’ve got a shitload—” She caught herself mid- sentence, her eyes flashing to Hazel. “Ton,” she corrected herself, “of kids …”
“Says the woman with four,” my dad joked.
Mom kept going, ignoring him. “If I sell this house, you are all going to have very nice birthdays this year.”
It was evident from the look on her face that she knew she would sell it. Our mother had made a name for herself here. Loxahatchee was her market, her community. All the other nearby Realtors lived in Royal Palm Beach or Wellington, the next towns over. She was a local.