Life could be a fickle bitch, and things rarely worked out for me the way I wanted them to. It’s why I thrived on control—reveled in it. The constant knowledge that things were predictable and followed a pattern was something I craved. Even if the pattern was knowing a simple afternoon at a festival would result in some sort of intervention on my part, it was predictable.
Relationships, even short-term ones, were notoriouslyunpredictable. And who the fuck wanted to deal with that?
Between Mom and running TriVolt with my younger brothers, Magnum and Miller, my days had enough to occupy the waking hours.
Take Mark and the litter of puppies that justhappenedto be the same breed as my dog, Malibu. What did my youngest brother expect me to do?Not offer to help?For one, puppy timewith the most amazing breed of dog out there was not something I was quick to pass up. And for two, how asinine could that man be? They just had a baby, for fuck’s sake. Mark and Jenna should be hopping up and down with glee that my schedule was flexible.
How about Mom? Should Inothelp her with the garden’s fall planting or her need to re-mulch the backyard? Allow her to lug fifty-pound bags of quartz stones because the Homeowners Association suddenly had the brilliant idea to outlaw the use of pine straw.
Asinine.
“Earth to Maverick? That was not a pathetic attempt to flirt. It was sweet. So, retract the claws. I’ll bet even now you’re going over all the ways you’ve beenforcedto help with things your brothers can do perfectly fine on their own.”
My mother, the realist. She even had the nerve to make air quotes around the word ‘forced,’ causing an irrational bout of annoyance to flare in my chest and the rest of my beer to disappear into my belly.
“Well. Now. That’s just absurd. Asinine even.”
“Asinine? Really? You create more drama for yourself than your brothers combined.”
“I do not,” I said, removing the koozie and crushing the plastic cup in my hand. The sound was satisfying, but the annoyance remained—not that Mom noticed.
“Of course you do. Then I suppose it’s no cause for concern to tell you that Mark and Jenna are bringing over two pups for me to help foster. They even said I could name them.”
“What?” I shrieked, dropping the cup to the bench and staring at Mom like she’d grown a third eyeball in the center of her forehead. “How can you expect to foster two puppies? The amount of work alone is ridiculous, not to mention the round-the-clock care they require. You’re talking about months of potty training, teething, vet visits, and leash training. Really, Mom?”
“Yes. How ever will I manage? It’s not like I raised handsome, active boys to be productive members of society.”
“Mom.”
“No. No. I understand your concern. Too bad your father passing away and leaving me with four children under the age of eighteen didn’t give me any experience dealing with two three-pound puppies.”
“Mom.”
“And you’re right. I’m no longer young and spry. My knees hurt when it rains, and I only ran three miles in eighteen minutes last week. I’m practically ancient and decrepit. You definitely should start looking into retirement homes. My days are clearly numbered. I’ve told you where I keep my will, right?”
I cursed, drawing in and releasing several breaths and looking toward the sky, hoping that some other-worldly deity would pity me, perhaps with an unscheduled monsoon. “Are you done?”
“I don’t know,” she said, untying the light scarf around her neck and folding it into a neat square. “Are you quite finished belittling me for offering to help? When you spend your days taking care of everyone but yourself?”
“Dammit. I’m an ass.”
“Indeed.” She tapped her index finger to her lips and finished her shandy, picking up my discarded cup and stuffing it inside her empty one.
That hit a little too close to home,I thought, rubbing the back of my neck. She had the free time needed to help raise those puppies. Unlike me, who lately purposefully looked for ways to get out of my house.
Solitude had a way of forcing a person to confront themselves—to take a hard look at things long suppressed. While the silence that comes with solitude could bring contentment, it also had the power to unleash a torrent of thoughts.Unpleasant thoughts.
In the same way isolation could be welcoming from the chaos of daily life, it could just as quickly force deeply buried issues to the surface. Work was no longer a distraction, and long walks with Malibu in the woods surrounding my house did little to quiet the noise in my mind.
Perhaps that was why I didn’t fuss much when Mom showed up, threw a cowboy hat at me, and ordered me to her car. I crammed my six-foot-four body into her little hatchback, my knees eating the dash as she drove us past Boone Hall Plantation and forced me into my current predicament of warm beer, lousy music, and foot-in-mouth syndrome.
“I would welcome any help you’d be willing to give with the puppies. Malibu is the best-behaved dog I know, of course. But I’ll refuse to let you in my house if you use helping me with the puppies as an excuse to curtail your social life.”
“You’re acting like I have all these thriving things to do at night.”
“I just don’t want you to turn into a recluse. You already have a log house. All you need is some antlers mounted over the garage and an absurd, furry, raccoon tail hat.”
“You love my house,” I quipped, leaning close and bumping her shoulder with mine.
