19. Sebastian
Sebastian
“You doing good?” I glance over at Flick, sitting stick straight in the passenger seat, her hands folded carefully in her lap.
“Mm-hm.” She nods. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling up for an outing, if you have any pain...”
She studies me. “Sebastian.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you looking for an excuse to not take me to meet your family?”
“No!” I grip the steering wheel tighter, afraid she’s right and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
But not because she has any shortcomings. Because my parents are...original.
Yeah. That’s a nice way to put it.
My mind races through the possibilities of what could go wrong.
Dad might launch into one of his conspiracy theories about Big Pharma—not ideal given Flick’s medical situation.
Mom could share her theory about how clothing is a societal construct, complete with photographic evidence from their last vacation.
“I want you to meet them,” I tell Flick, pushing down the memories. “I want them to know you. They’re, uh, they’re unique.”
“My favorite kind of people.”
I grunt in response, watching the familiar landmarks pass by—the old water tower, the abandoned fruit stand where Ben and I used to steal kisses from local girls in high school.
We’re only a few minutes away from Safe Harbor Petting Farm, the place where I spent as many hours while growing up as I did at home.
It’s Flick’s first day out of the house following her flare, and I want to make sure it’s a perfect one.
Which is why I’m having second thoughts about bringing her over here.
It’s too late, though, because suddenly, we’re pulling onto the dirt road and passing the colorful sign.
The main building, painted in rainbow colors by my dad twenty years ago, stands like a beacon among the trees.
The paint’s faded in spots, giving it a weathered charm that matches everything else about this place.
Animals—alpacas, pigs, goats, wallabies, and chickens galore—lounge in the shade in their respective territories.
A call goes up from the macaw area, and more birds answer.
Their screeches mix with the bleating of goats and the low humming grunt of the alpacas.
The air carries the earthy smell of hay and animals, tinged with the sweetness of the honeysuckle that Mom refuses to trim back from the fences.
It’s like stepping into another world, one where animals reign and humans scurry around filling their food and water bowls.
“This is amazing.” Flick’s voice is full of awe. She’s already leaning forward, trying to take it all in through the windshield.
Unexpected pride fills me. “It is pretty awesome.”
I park at the main building, alongside the other guest vehicles—mostly families with small kids here for the weekend petting experience. The gravel crunches under our tires, and I can already hear Mom’s favorite rooster, Napoleon, announcing our arrival from his perch on the fence post.
I go around the car to help Flick out. She’s still a little sore following the flare, but she was also insistent on getting out of the house after several days of bed rest. I notice the careful way she plants her feet, the slight hesitation before she puts her full weight on her legs.
“Thank you.” She slips her hand into mine as she gets her footing. Our eyes catch, and I’m sucked into their bottomless depths, a place I could happily drown in.
Heat simmers between us, and I step close to her, my arm going around her waist. The afternoon sun catches the auburn highlights in her hair, and she smells like vanilla and that lavender lotion she uses on her joints. “Thank you for coming here with me.”
Her lashes flutter. “Thank you for inviting me,” she whispers.
There’s more I want to say—like how she’s come to mean so much to me, how I want to make sure that I do everything right and don’t mess this up, how I’m suspecting and hoping that what we have is the real thing—but all of that stays stuck in my throat. I can’t seem to find my voice.
“You okay?” she asks, her thumb stroking across my knuckles.
“Yeah,” I croak, feeling even more emotional. “I just... I really appreciate you, Flick. A lot.”
She laughs, soft and warm. “I feel the same way.”
“And I want to say...” I suck in a breath. “I?—”
“There she is!” My mom’s distinct, gravelly voice booms across the parking lot, carried on the breeze along with the faint jingling of what sounds like wind chimes. Or knowing Mom, probably some kind of mystical animal-communication bells.
...love you, Flick.
I swallow my confession, stuffing it back into my heart for another time.
My mom hustles across the gravel, her arms stretched out wide, a huge corn snake draped around her shoulders like a living scarf.
Her tie-dyed shirt has seen better days, and her gray hair is twisted up in a messy bun held together by what looks like chopsticks.
Or maybe they’re knitting needles. With Mom, you never know.
“Flick!” she coos, already reaching out before she’s even close.
She doesn’t wait for anything. She throws her arm around Flick, snake and all.
“Mom.” I grimace. “Hold on. The—the snake.”
Flick’s eyes go wide as the snake’s head swivels toward her, its tongue flicking out to taste the air. But she quickly masks her surprise with a smile. “Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you, Mrs.—”
“Dove,” my mom corrects, pulling back just enough to beam at Flick while keeping one arm around her shoulders. “Like the bird. Birds are freedom, you know.”
“Dove.” Flick smiles bigger, and I can see her processing this information, probably wondering if it’s a nickname. “That’s so pretty.”
“She changed it,” I say. “Her parents named her Susan, but she didn’t?—”
“Oh, what does that matter?” My mom gives me a sour look. “Names are just labels anyway. We should all get to choose who we want to be.”
I hold back a sigh. She’s right; it doesn’t matter. I’m just on edge, and sometimes when that happens, I run my mouth to a rude degree. Old habits from trying to explain away my parents’ eccentricities to judgmental people.
“It doesn’t matter.” I hug my mom, snake and all. The snake’s scales are cool and smooth against my arm. “Hi, Mom. Hi...uh?”
“It’s Mushroom.” She extends the snake for me to see, and he obligingly lifts his head, showing off his pattern. “Hasn’t he gotten big?”
“Yeah, he has. I didn’t recognize him.” Shading my eyes, I look around the property. “Where are Dad and Ben?”
“They’re fixing up the cow pen. Those blasted goats got into it and busted up a wall.” She gives Flick an up-and-down survey that couldn’t be more obvious, taking in everything from her carefully braided hair to her sensible flat shoes. “Damn, Sebastian. She’s pretty.”
“Mom.”
But Flick laughs, a genuine sound that makes my chest loosen. “Thanks.”
“Steph is here too.” My mom speed walks away, not looking back to see if we’re following. “She just picked up these guinea pigs. Three total. Real cute. We don’t have a habitat for them yet. You could foster them.”
“My hands are pretty full,” I answer, slipping one of them into Flick’s palm. Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she gives a little squeeze that says she’s okay.
My mom takes us the long way to the cow pen, pointing out all the animals for Flick and telling stories about each of them.
She shows us the new piglets, the ancient tortoise named Herbert who’s been here since before I was born, and the trio of fainting goats that actually work as unofficial therapy animals for anxious visitors.
It’s going pretty well—Flick even laughs when one of the alpacas spits at a tourist who got too close—until Mom decides to give Flick a play-by-play of when she saw the mini horses getting freaky the other day.
“I mean, it was huge.” Mom shakes her head, gesturing with both hands while Mushroom adjusts his position around her neck. “I had no idea. I said to Ron, ‘I’ve never seen a penis that big. Have you ever seen a penis that big?’ And on a mini horse, at that! No wonder all the girls like him.”
I cover my eyes with my hand. Okay. I spoke too soon.
Spreading my fingers, I peek at Flick. Her shoulders are shaking slightly, and she’s biting her lower lip. She’s grinning from ear to ear, and it looks like she’s trying not to laugh.
“You enjoying this?” I whisper.
“Your mom is fun,” she whispers back, her eyes dancing with mirth.
“That’s one way to put it,” I grumble, though I’m secretly relieved.
I’m glad Flick doesn’t seem freaked out in the slightest. It hasn’t always been that way when I introduce people to my mom.
Jessica found her overwhelming. My high school girlfriend literally hid in the car after Mom offered to read her aura and proclaimed it “muddy with teenage angst.”
“Oh. There they are.” Mom waves at the rest of our family, headed our way.
My grip starts to tighten on Flick’s hand, but I force myself to relax. There’s no reason to freak out. Flick is handling Mom well. She’ll be just as good with Dad.
I watch them approach—Dad in his ancient overalls that Mom has patched with fabric in every color of the rainbow, Ben looking like a younger, slightly cleaner version of him, and Steph with her perpetual smile and dirt-smudged cheeks.
“Hey.” Ben grabs my hand and pulls me in for a hug, leaving some of the mud that coats his overalls behind on my shirt. Not that I mind. It’s pretty much par for the course. He smells like hay and honest work, and for a second, I’m hit with nostalgia for all the summers we spent here together.
“Hi. I’m Steph.” My sister-in-law, covered only in a little less mud, blows her blonde curls out of her face. There’s a piece of straw stuck behind her ear, and her wedding ring is caked with dirt.
“Flick.” Flick shakes everyone’s hands without hesitation, even Dad’s mud-caked one. “Thanks for having me.”
Dad—who still hasn’t said anything—is staring at her with a frown. His bushy eyebrows are drawn together, and he’s got that look he gets when he’s about to share one of his theories. My stomach slowly drops.
Oh God. What’s coming next?
“How do you vote?” he finally asks.
“Oh. Uh. At the polls.” Flick chuckles. “Preferably, early.”
“Are you?—”
“So, you were working on the cow pen?” I blurt out, loudly and with force. We need to change the topic right now.
My dad beams, crisis averted. “Sure were. Did your mom tell you about the mini horses? Lord, that Davie, he has a schlong out to here.” He holds his hands out arm’s length.
“Right.” Ben snorts. “Sure, Dad.”
The tour continues, with my parents leading the charge like tour guides who’ve had too much coffee.
They point out every new addition, every funny story.
Mom demonstrates how the pygmy goats have learned to open gates, while Dad explains his theory about how the chickens have developed their own governmental system.
Ben and Steph step back to talk with Flick and me, creating a buffer zone of normalcy.
“It’s really nice to meet you.” Ben leans around me to look at Flick. “This guy never brings anyone around anymore.”
“You too,” she says, watching as Mom tries to convince a small child that petting Mushroom will bring good luck. “This place is beautiful.”
“Sorry about Dad.”
“And Mom,” I add.
But Flick doesn’t so much as blink. She’s watching my parents with something that looks like fondness. “They’re entertaining. I like them.”
“And here are the rabbits!” Mom stops in front of the hutch and gasps dramatically, as if it’s a group of kindergarteners she’s showing around rather than adults. “Oh, they’re having cuddle time!”
Indeed, about six rabbits are piled together in a furry heap, their noses twitching in sleep. The hutch smells like fresh hay and that particular warm smell that comes from content animals.
“This little buddy is my favorite.” Steph reaches in carefully, extracting a white rabbit with black spots that immediately settles into her arms. “Want to hold him?”
She hands the rabbit over to Flick, who takes him with the same care she uses when handling her delicate yarns. The rabbit’s nose twitches against her neck, and her whole face softens. She strokes his fur gently, murmuring something I can’t catch.
“He likes you,” Steph observes. “Usually takes him a while to settle with new people.”
“Animals know good people,” Mom declares, finally passing Mushroom off to a delighted volunteer. “It’s like a sixth sense. Or maybe a seventh. Do animals have six senses already?”
Ben tugs my sleeve, signaling for me to hang back with him. We let the others drift toward the duck pond, Mom’s voice carrying back to us with facts about duck mating habits that no one asked for.
“Thanks for coming.”
I nod, watching Flick carefully hand the rabbit back to Steph, her movements still a bit stiff from her flare. “Sorry I’m a dick sometimes.”
“Me too. You’d be so much cooler if you were always a saint.”
“Whatever,” I snort, shaking my head.
We stand there for a moment, brothers who’ve grown apart but never really separated. The familiar sounds of the farm wash over us—birds calling, goats bleating, the distant laughter of children at the pony rides.
“She’s chill.” He nods at Flick, who’s now crouched by the duck pond despite what must be protesting joints, letting Mom show her how to properly hold the feed pellets.
“She’s special,” I add, unable to keep the warmth from my voice. “Really special.”
Even though my attention is on Flick, I can feel my brother watching me. His gaze is heavy with knowing. “You’re in love.”
I drop my gaze to my boots, not liking being put on the spot. But there’s no point in denying what must be written all over my face. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it.” He claps my shoulder, his hand solid and reassuring. “Congrats.”
“Nothing is sealed in stone.”
But I’m just deflecting. True, nothing is a forever thing, but I’m hoping Flick and I can at least be a sure thing. Maybe even a lifelong thing.
“I’m happy,” I say, really meaning it.
Despite all the craziness of life—work, the animal sanctuary—I’ve found something real and solid. Something rarer than gold. Someone who sees my weird family and doesn’t run. Someone who makes me want to slow down and just be.
“If she can let Mom and Dad roll off her shoulders,” Ben says, nodding toward where Mom is now demonstrating what she calls “duck meditation” while Flick watches with apparent delight, “she’s a keeper.”
“True,” I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in months. “True.”