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.
