A flood of embarrassment makes my skin hot.Why can’t this be a normal vacation for once?
“Please don’t tell me that you’ve hooked up with the inn’s accountant already!When are you going to stop wheeling and dealing your way through life and using men as your bargaining chip, Mom?”
Here we are, mother and daughter, facing off.
“I’m not a ho, Aila.How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!”
Great.Just great.We are clearly the first of the summer guests to arrive at the Landslide inn, and here we are, acting like trash and yelling at one another.
“Please keep your voice down!”I’m hissing at my mom, but my blood is boiling.Blame it on our Irish roots.“I never said you were a ho, Mom.Hooking up is not an insult, for God’s sake.”Especially since I am thinking about doing it myself.“Just tell me how you managed to wrangle us a free stay.”
The angry red fades out of my mother’s cheeks.
“Fine!Ben suggested it to that woman at the bar.What’s-her-name.”
“Her name’s Luna.”I’m opening up the sash at the window and unhooking the thick wooden slatted shutters to let out the shower steam.
The evening air floods into the room, bringing the aromas of the night with it.The blanket noise of birdsong has faded with the sunset, leaving only the occasional owl hoot behind.
Standing at the window, I breathe deep.My serenity would be complete if I had someone warm and kind sharing my bed with me.I haven’t spent the night with a man to hold me in his arms in years.
My bed is next to the window.Jumping up onto the mattress, I untie the silk ribbons holding the muslin mosquito net and let the soft white folds fall around me.
“Yeah, Luna.”My mother commits the name to memory.“You see, I told Ben—he’s such a great guy, Aila, you will love him.He’s a rancher, a widower, and his family have lived on Landslide for generations.”
The net draping has turned my mother into a blurred outline.I snuggle under the covers and crisp sheets.“You told Ben what?”I steer the conversation back on track.I’ve heard my mom sing the praises of such a long line of gentlemen over the years, I know her spiel by heart.
Slamming drawers after throwing her clothes inside, my mom explains.“I told Ben that we were working at the diner but chucked our jobs to come here.”
I’m too tired to care about my mother’s flagrant disregard for my privacy.Do I want people to know about our gypsy job history?No.Is there anything I can do to stop my mother from not giving a fuck?Again, no.
“So, Ben told Luna about our work experience, and she offered us jobs for the summer.Free accommodation.Free meals.The only thing we will have to pay for ourselves is the booze bill.”Sitting at the dresser, my mom begins removing her makeup with a wipe after pushing her hair back with an elasticized terry toweling band.
She stares at her face with critical scrutiny.
“I’m tired, Baba.I know I like to put a positive spin on things, but it’s scary getting old and being single.And broke… I had to pawn the diamond ring Mo bought me just to pay for the last three months’ rent in that shitty apartment.”Stepping out of her linen pants suit, my mom sighs.“Thank you for sticking by me, Baba.I promise our ship will come in—one of these days.”
Baba is my mom’s pet name for me.I think I will always be a baby in her eyes.
Stepping into the shower room, my mom wishes me a good night and closes the door.
On the edge of sleep, I whisper, “Good night, Moon.”
It’s our private joke and my favorite book growing up.Has all this job-hopping and apartment-jumping frozen me in amber, trapping me as a child forever?
Waking up this morning is dreamy.I never thought I would be lucky enough to stay in a place like this.All the dark foreboding I felt last night has evaporated with the rising sun.Everything is beautiful in my eyes.
Gray light filters through the window as birds chuckle and chirp in the forest.An intense scent permeates the air—pine needles, decaying leaves, and whatever that substance is that they paint onto wood to protect it from termites.
Pushing the net aside, I get up.The island is slowly stirring awake.Far away, I can hear a rooster crowing.I glance at my phone to check the time: half past four o’clock.I always worked late at the diner, which meant I would always wake up late in the mornings, too.This is my first dawn in a long time.
I am going for a hike.
Bunching my thick hair into an untidy ponytail, I wash my face with water and apply a slick of sunscreen.It’s a no-brainer what I want to wear.I want to feel that fresh morning air on my skin.
Rifling through my drawer, I step into an old pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank.Pulling sneakers over my feet without bothering to undo the laces, I head out.
The forest is calling me.
