Chapter 50
If my family’s farmhouse in Indiana is a Best Western, Danica’s family’s house is a Ritz-Carlton. Light brick with white shutters and tall, white columns. A circular driveway made of smooth, white stone. More points on the multi-tiered roof than I care to count. A large balcony off to the side, and a two-story arch framing the entry. Perfectly trimmed hedges, and an oversized autumn wreath hanging on the red front door.
I climb the stairs behind Danica, but before either of us can reach the top, my little brother bursts from the house. “HAILEY!” he shouts, practically running Danica over as he bounds down the porch stairs. His lanky arms wrap tightly around me, and I squeeze him back with all my might. He’s grown since I’ve been gone—by summer, I bet we’ll stand eye to eye.
“Did you miss me?” I ask, trying to recover from the hellish ride here, and Luke makes a noise before hastily letting me go.
“No.”
I smile at him, and he cracks a smile back. “Liar.”
Luke gives up the fight and hugs me again, and I hold him tight until he’s ready to let me go. He glances over his shoulder to see that Danica has gone inside. “Mom made me wear khakis,” he complains with his thick brows knitted and his chunky glasses slipping down his nose. I use my pointer finger to push them back up, and the disdain remains on his face.
“If I have to wear a skirt,” I say of the purple knee-length skirt I’m sporting, “you have to wear khakis.”
“Do you think Aunt Tilly has ever worn jeans?” he asks, stoking another smile out of me. She married my uncle Rick before we were born, but she didn’t grow up on a farm like he or my mom or dad did. She and my uncle met in college, while my mom and dad met when they were kids—in the town they grew up in, that their parents grew up in, that I grew up in.
“I don’t know. You should ask her.”
Luke snorts. “You should see the size of the turkey she’s cooking.”
I sigh as we climb the stairs. “How’s Mom?”
“You know,” Luke says, and he doesn’t need to say more. The turkey my family always cooked for Thanksgiving dinner was just enough to feed our extended family of seven, while the turkey my aunt Tilly cooks is enough to feed an entire town. As soon as we enter the house, I can tell how my mom’s day is going by the defeated look on her face.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her as she squeezes me close. My mom stands only a half inch taller than me, with hair just a little straighter and eyes just a little lighter. She’s wearing a floral lavender dress she bought for a friend’s wedding three years ago, and I pull away to admire it. “Is this new?”
My mom smiles like she knows what I’m doing, and then she pulls me back in for another hug and kiss on the cheek, enveloping me in the familiar rose-scented perfume that she only breaks out for special occasions. It reminds me of a lifetime of Easters, birthdays, and Christmases all at once. “How was the drive here?”
I groan, still feeling battered by the hour I had to spend listening to Danica trash literally every aspect of my life. My body, my clothes, my dreams. She even tried to make me feel bad about volunteering extra time at the shelter. How dare I spend my free time “playing with dogs” while her dad is working hard to pay all of my bills.
Nevermind the fact that he pays all of her bills too, while she spends her time skipping classes, talking on the phone, and wasting his money on purses and shoes. It took everything in me to not tell her so, but Mike is coming home in nine days, and I’d like to still be alive when he gets here.
“You need something to eat,” my mom decides, hooking her arm around my waist and leading me through the high-ceilinged foyer. The sound of her short black heels echoes off the walls, and in the kitchen, I make a beeline to where my dad is sitting.
He pats my arm as I lean down to hug him from behind, the scent of cherry chewing tobacco in his front shirt pocket reminding me of home. “Tell me something good,” he says, a little tradition between him and me, and I struggle for a moment to think of something.
I’m dating a rock star, Dad. Every father’s dream, I know. I’m dropping out of college for him. I’ll probably have to move in with him and wait tables for a few years. He wants to knock me up with ten of his babies.
I clear my throat, and my dad glances at me over his shoulder.
“Uh,” I stammer as I stand back up, “you know that dog I told you about?”
My dad looks around the kitchen for it as I hug my aunt Tilly and then my uncle Rick. “Hailey Marie, if you expect us to take home another dog—”
“I found her a home!” I interrupt, and my mother lets out an audible sigh of relief.
A chuckle escapes me, because they know me too well. If Mike hadn’t come home last night and offered to keep Phoenix, I would have brought her along today and begged my parents to take her home with them. I wasn’t sure she’d ever adjust to life on the farm, since she shuts down around other animals, but I was hoping maybe the dog whisperer gene runs strong in my family, and my brother could coax her out of her shell.
Luckily, Mike came to my rescue, a white knight on a white plane.
“Thank the Lord,” my dad says, melting back into his high-backed chair. He looks so strange wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt that’s buttoned the whole way up, but it’s a concession he makes for my mother, and it’s one of the reasons I love him so much.