WHILE THE TOWN IS STILL IN DISARRAY, the trailer park mostly escaped the hurricane’s wrath.
There’s more trash littering the ground than on a normal day, but the trailers in sight seem in good shape, ours included. After the hurricane a decade ago, Dad did a great job bolting it to the ground and securing the roof and windows to withstand the worst winds.
The only thing that took a hit is Rebecca’s clay-pot vegetable garden, now notably missing. Either it got whisked away by the wind, or the pots shattered, and Dad already cleared the mess. Rebecca never showed much enthusiasm for gardening, so I doubt she’s upset.
Dad’s not home when I cross the threshold. His car sits in its usual spot, so he must’ve walked to work this morning. Rebecca’s there, though, mixing something on the stove, the trailer stuffy and filled with the scent of burnt potatoes.
“You finally made it home,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Your dad was worried.”
“He didn’t sound worried over the phone,” I point out, kicking my shoes off.
“He couldn’t tell you to come home with the roads being closed, but he griped for two days that he doesn’t even know where to look for you if anything goes wrong.” She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder, assuming the same pose she uses when interrogating Rose: shoulders back, chin high, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe if you’d introduce your new boyfriend to us, he’d feel better with you staying over there.”
“I will. Once I’m sure he’s worth it.”
I’m already sure, but introducing Conor to Dad won’t go well, so I’m buying all the time I can. With Christmas approaching, I should wait until after the holidays.
“You’re awfully secretive about him. Is he much older?”
“No, he’s my age.”
“A criminal?”
“Of course not. He’s in college.”
“Ah…” she drawls with a smirk as she turns back to stir whatever she’s cooking. “So a rich boy.”
Rose enters the living room, arms crossed over her chest, her fringe long enough to partially cover her eyes. “I’m in college, Mom. Doesn’t make me a rich girl, does it?”
“No, I don’t suppose it does, but you wouldn’t be in college without Vivienne.” She turns back to me, eyes narrowed. “I just don’t understand why your boyfriend’s such a secret? He never once dropped you off here, and you’ve not brought him around. We don’t even know his name. If you can’t tell us about him, there must be something wrong with him.”
“Maybe if you’d stop treating us like kids, you’d know what’s happening in our lives, and we wouldn’t keep secrets!”
“Watch your attitude, Rose. We’re not treating you like kids. We’re worried. You’ll understand when you have kids.”
Looks like this argument is about more than just my reluctance to bring Conor around.
Something must’ve happened while I was gone.
“Your fringe needs trimming, Rose,” I say, eager to find out what bent Rebecca so out of shape. “Another week, and you won’t see anything.”
She nods, turns on her heel, and retreats to our room. That’s my cue, but Rebecca blocks my way before I can follow.
“You’re an adult, Vee, but you still live here, which means you’ll respect our rules. Until you bring your boyfriend over, you’re not spending another night with him.”
My blood boils. “I’ve been nothing but supportive my whole goddamn life, Becca. I missed out on college so I could help you and Dad. I’m paying for Rose’s tuition so I can’t save enough to move out but make no mistake: if you force my hand, I will start thinking about myself, and you’ll either have to find another job or tell your daughter she has to drop out of college. You’ll meet my boyfriend when I’m ready to bring him over here.”
With that, I follow Rose into our room and slam the door, my chest rigid. “What the hell is her problem?” I ask.
“No idea. She’s been bitchy the whole time you were gone.”
“Did they fight?”
“Not that I heard. Dad didn’t mind you being gone, just so you know. He did ask me if I knew your boyfriend, so I said I don’t because he’d start digging, and I wasn’t sure how much you told him. It’s Mom who kept telling him to find out where you are. She’s probably worried you’ll move out and stop bringing money in.”
“I’ll have to move out someday.”
“I think she hopes you’ll stay until I finish college.”
I comb her hair forward, detangling it before I start cutting. “You’ve just started. I’m not staying here another three years.”
“Where will you live?” she asks, her tone cheeky, implying I’ll move in with Conor.
“I almost saved up enough to rent a flat. If not for my car breaking down, I could move out with Abby in three months.”
“It’s going to suck here when you move out.”
“At least you’ll have the room to yourself. You can invite boys for sleepovers.”
She chuckles, shaking her head and messing up the parting I made to cut her hair straight. “Yeah, imagine Dad when I bring a guy here to stay the night. He’ll whip out the shotgun in no time. Besides…” She looks at me in the mirror, her brow furrowed, a pained expression distorting her pretty face. “Liam and I broke up again. He’s such an asshole.”
I tilt her chin, urging her not to move as I redo the parting. “What did he do this time?”
“I caught him feeling up some blonde skank at that frat party last weekend. He can’t keep it in his pants to save his life, I swear. I mean, it’s not like I don’t give him any, so I don’t know why he’s looking for more.”
I take half an inch off her fringe before layering and blending. “He’s a guy, sis. He’s eighteen so his testosterone is raging. It doesn’t excuse him, of course, but it’s something you should know. Dump his ass once and for all. He doesn’t deserve you.”
We chat about college, Conor, and whatever comes to mind for over two hours. It’s been a while since we had a good heart-to-heart. We’ve been so busy lately we forgot to make time for each other.
I’ve missed this.
