My mom knocks on my door twice before she pushes in. She hands me a bag. "It's a new jacket," she explains unnecessarily as I pull out the thick, tan fabric. "It'll be cold at night."
I finger the stiff fabric. The inside is softer. "Thanks, Mom."
"Sure." She twists the gold bracelet on her wrist. I think she has more to say, but she's holding back. "Are you looking forward to it?"
I give her a look.
She smiles lopsidedly. "Stupid question, huh?"
"I don't want to go, Mom."
She purses her lips, making a noise when she releases them. "You're very lucky you were drawn. Not everyone gets a tag."
I give her another look. "Was it just luck that Wes and Warner were drawn their first time entering too?"
Her only response is a long, hard stare. I sound ungrateful. Maybe Iamungrateful. How many of my friends wanted to get drawn for a deer tag? How many whispered behind my back that the only reason I got one is my last name?
"Never mind," I mutter. "I'm sure it'll be fine."
My mom touches my shoulder. "Your dad's been looking forward to this for a long time. And don't tell him I told you this"—she pretends to look for him around my room—"but I think he's sad. You're his last son. Which means this is his last father-son hunting trip."
"He and Warner go hunting all the time."
"You know what I mean. The last of the tradition. I think it's hitting him hard."
"He can take Jessie in twelve years."
"Quit arguing with me."
"I'm seventeen. I'm supposed to argue."
She smiles affectionately. I know she has a soft spot for me, mostly because Wes and Warner don't let me forget it.
"Wyatt," my dad calls from somewhere beyond my bedroom. "Load up, Son."
I shoot my mom a look. She nods encouragingly. "Go have fun. Make some memories." Her hand drifts through my hair. "Before long, you'll be grown."
She's feeling nostalgic. Wes ships out in a few weeks. Warner is always with his girlfriend. Jessie and I are all she has left. Then again, our business is run by family, and it's not like any of us, with the exception of Wes going into the military, are going to go very far.
Despite this, she's doing her mom thing. Soft-focus gaze, misty eyes. It's in conflict with the way she is the rest of the time.
"I'm already grown, Mom." I stand six inches taller than her.
She laughs once, a single sound. "Oh, Wyatt. You're still young enough to not know all the things you don't know."
"That sounds like a riddle."
Dad calls my name again, and she urges me on with a palm to my back. "You'll figure it out one day."
We walk out to the living room, and there's my dad, wearing brown pants and a camouflage long-sleeved shirt. He tosses a matching shirt in my direction.
"Can't wear red to go hunting," he says, bending over to rifle through his pack.
No shit.I know better than to say it out loud. "I brought a shirt to change into."
"Change into the shirt I just gave you."
I do as he says, pulling off my T-shirt right there. My mom grabs it from me, sending me a wink.
