“Your tastes have matured, all right. I can barely get you to laugh at my testicle topiaries on the patio anymore. It’s maddening. You went from sixteen to thirty-six overnight,” she said, crossing her arms and straightening her shoulders.
Her gaze went somewhere south of the stage, probably working out how many ways she could make me feel guilty for whatever travesty I’d committed this week—like not laughing hard enough at her dick-shaped plants that she constantly tortured the neighborhood with.
“Mom—”
“Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t fuss over things that can’t be changed. You’ve always been an old soul. Wise beyond your years. Just like your father.”
“Mom—”
“I should have suspected as much when your weekends consisted of nothing but sports or accompanying me to my knitting—”
“Mom—”
“Or helping me host the gardening club. It’s a wonder you’re so well-adjusted, living all by your lonesome, with nothing but Malibu for company in that big log house of yours. Oh, well. I do hope you’ll at least pretend to enjoy the rest of our afternoon together. There are always the hayrides and scarecrow making. Now, fetch me something stronger than lemonade, please? But none of that hoppy nonsense you drink.”
I lifted my arms above my head, rolling my eyes at a couple huffing and puffing behind me for obscuring their view, before nodding to Mom and dutifully climbing down the hot metal death seats.
The beer tents were past the food trucks, and I rounded the playground, where a dozen kids were taking turns running up and then sliding down a giant sand mountain. I cringed, raising my shoulders and shaking my head as one of the hellions tumbled down the hill, then flopped to his back, kicking his feet and screaming.
My hand dragged down my face, scratching my stubble as I watched the scene unfold. It was one of those weird moments where time slowed down, and my vision narrowed to pinpricks, knowing what would happen next.
Sure enough, the little girl at the top of the sand pile stomped her foot and threw her blonde curls over her shoulder before running down the hill. The boy at the bottom kept screaming, and my eyes darted to the edge of the sandpit in the hopes that a parent would step in and aid.
Nope.
With three quick strides, I made it to the edge of the pit, snatching the little girl right before her sneakers collided withthe screaming kid at the bottom, and placing her gently out of harm’s way beside the sand.
Parents finally flocked to the playground. One picked up the boy throwing a tantrum, while another cuddled the little girl, checking them for bumps and bruises.
Stepping away quickly, I made my way to the beer tents before someone could drag me into a conversation I had no desire to entertain.
The line crept along at a snail’s pace. It seemed many patrons had the same idea as me—use the mind-numbing properties of alcohol to deal with the mind-numbing chatter and music of the festival. One shandy, a double IPA, and a general annoyance that hard liquor wasn’t offered later had me stumbling back to Mom, carelessly spilling a little of her shandy over the lip of the plastic rim. I passed her the cup, wiping my hand on my jeans as she took a sip, reached into her purse, and handed me a koozie.
I slid the maroon and black colors of the South Carolina Gamecocks over my Solo cup, sighed, took a long drink, and turned to sit, only to come face to face with a blonde wearing an obscene amount of perfume.
“Nice music, isn’t it?” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and resting her hands on her hips. “Makes you wanna dance.”
Who knew why she felt the need to comment on the subpar music and lackluster line dancing happening below us. I definitely had no interest in engaging in small talk. My face was anything but approachable, and I’d long given up on any form of companionship.
“Not really,” I said, turning away from her and glancing at the hastily made dance floor and the couples twirling about. “But there’s plenty of people down there who seem to enjoy it.”
Nodding in what I hoped conveyed nonchalant dismissal, I sat and spread my legs, attempting to get comfortable beforeturning toward Mom as she adjusted her koozie with the College of Charleston mascot on it.
“I can’t believe Mark has a litter of pups to deal with. He said there were five of them, right?”
An audible huff had my eyes flicking back to the girl who mistook eau de toilette for shower gel. I watched as she made her way down the bleachers to the dance floor.
“Six actually. You know that girl wanted to dance with you,” Mom said, chuckling.
“What? No, she didn’t.”
“Of course she did, you dolt. She wanted you to ask her.”
“Well, that’s just stupid.”
“It’s not stupid, Maverick. You were just too preoccupied with fixing other people’s issues to notice.”
“Other people’s issues? That’s why I failed to notice her pathetic attempt at flirtation?” I laughed at the absurd comment.What a joke.My solitary life would be infinitely simpler if it remained free from obstacles, and a relationship was an immovable obstacle I had no interest in.
