“Come on, ya big sap, Mom needs you to put the lights up,” she says lightly, pulling me out of my chair.
“Those damn lights are going to kill us all one day,” I reply.
Before we get too far out of the room, I text Ollie back.
Me: You won’t regret it, Bennett.
I'm not letting Ollie go, she let me back into her life and I will do everything I can to stay there forever, even if I die in the friend zone.
I put my phone in my pocket and head to the living room to start creating the right ambiance for the party. I know Mom loves hosting this party year after year, and being able to maintain Dad’s favorite holiday tradition, but sometimes I wonder if it's time for us to create new traditions.
Chapter 17
Noah
“WhatisMs.Fleming doing?” I ask Archie as I lean against the wooden beam in the dining room, looking through the archway to the living room. Archie’s sitting at my side and he takes one paw to scratch the side of his nose.
“I know, Archie, I can barely stand to watch it either,” I say, chuckling to myself. Ms. Fleming lives on our street and is in her fifties with gray-silver shoulder-length hair. She’s never been married but is the town flirt. Watching her sit on the arm of the couch, leaning around Gary, trying to flirt with him is painful. So painful I can no longer watch.
Although I’d rather Ms. Fleming and Gary be occupied with each other than come over to my side of the house and interrogate me again.
“Oh shit, Archie, I spoke too soon, here they come,” I mumble looking down at my best friend of a pup, who is about to run away before Ms. Fleming squeezes his cheeks and flaps his ears back and forth.
“Noah! It's so good to see you home,” Ms. Fleming calls as she walks through the archway into the dining room.
“You too, Ms. Fleming. Gary, I hope all is well,” I reply as politely as possible.
“A little birdy told us you’re sticking around this time around?” Ms. Fleming asks with a sense of attitude I’m not ready for.
This is a topic of contention with the people who live on this dead-end wooded street, worsening after Dad died.
“True, signed the papers yesterday,” I answer, hopeful that not feeding into her nonsense will at least put it to rest for the night and avoid causing a scene.
“It's about time you stay home to take care of your family. Maybe you can convince the Bennett girls to move back since you already got behind one of them,” she says with more aggression in her tone this time.
It's one thing to be angry with me for leaving, but to bring Ollie and Penelope into this conversation is a whole other thing. And not one I tolerate well at all.
“Doris, leave the boy alone; it's not his fault the girls left town.” Gary steps in quickly. “Noah, we’re so happy to have you home, are grateful for your service, and lucky to have you on the local fire squad,” he finishes.
“Noah, there you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I need your help with some ice.” Mom swoops in out of nowhere, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been more grateful to be freed from a conversation.
I'm a mix of emotions, primarily confused and angry. I haven’t told anyone about the fire squad, aside from Cole and a few of the other guys on the squad who would have the same shift as me and that’s only because they see me every shift. The pleasure of living in a small town is that your business is no longer your business, it's everyone else’s business. And that’s going to take some time to get used to again.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say as we head from the dining room into the hallway by the front door, genuinely grateful she saved me from that dreadful conversation.
I wouldn’t say I have anger problems, but insulting my family is a really fast way to tick me off.
Ms. Fleming is not only the town flirt, but the town gossip who might as well be a reporter because she’ll use any means necessary to get the story. Any story that can be shared with her book club to get her some extra brownie points.
“We all know Ms. Fleming, but after that comment about the Bennetts', she’s lucky I didn’t throw her into the snowbank outside,” Mom replies with the hint of a smile at the end.
I can’t help but laugh, imagining my mother, the small, former pole vaulter, politician's wife, throwing the frumpy Ms. Fleming over her shoulder and into the four-foot-tall snow mountain in the driveway.
“Well, I appreciate it,” I reply. “I'm guessing you mean the ice in the driveway, so all these idiots can leave.”
She nods. “They need to leave at some point.”
“The sand mixture is right below the deck. I’ll get right to it, if you start rounding up the troops to leave,” I say.
