Chapter 1
They can certainly grow them up on these mountains, I thought as Mrs. Tree’s husband and three sons helped me load all of my supersized groceries into my car.
While I was thinking mostly of the monster-sized produce I’d picked out— russet potatoes big enough for Bigfoot, his buddies, and then some— thick stalks of celery fatter than any I’d ever seen, onions bigger than softballs— I mean, really, I have no clue how they did it, producing gargantuan sized produce on the scale they did— my remark could apply to the males aiding me with my purchases just as easily.
A grunt left Elm, the oldest of the three Tree sons as he toted the last bag out and carefully placed it inside the trunk of my car.
Elm, Cypress, Birch, and their father Forest, none of them were much in the way of talking. Never had been. Grunting and gesturing, signing if the person they were speaking with was familiar with it, were their preferred means of communication. Sunny, their mother, claimed speaking was harder for them due to a very rare, hereditary genetic condition, a special kind of tongue-tied that was inoperable. Having grown up around here,I was used to the oak sized, quiet Tree boys and the way they spoke, if they chose to speak at all.
Sunny did all the talking in public. Holy cow, could she gab. It was her gift. She talked enough for her entire family and then some. The woman was pure sunshine, bubbly, friendly, true to her name.
The only thing she was holding out on was how she got her veggies so darn big. Mom had tried to get it out of her for years but no dice. Whatever it was Sunny used, did, the trick to her trade in getting her mega veggies remained solely with the bubbly blonde.
I’d tried my hand at gardening a few times but had to concede quite early on in the endeavor that I must be cursed with some sort of black thumb. That, and the cost of trying to keep up with a garden while living in the middle of a winter wonderland trying to freeze everything to death year round with my meager wages. There was that.
“Tanks. Have good day. Come ‘gain,” Elm rumbled out softly, low enough he wasn’t easily overheard, but I’d caught it. Lower, he added, as if as an afterthought, hesitant, unsure, “Pru.”
His shaggy mop of hair hanging low over his face hid his deep green eyes from me but it didn’t matter. He hesitated a wee bit too long as he closed my trunk. Almost a whole minute and a half of hesitating. Perhaps more— I’d counted Missisippily. I couldfeelhis eyes on me.
Just as fast he was moving, second guessing whatever’d had him dragging butt, addressing me familiarly, hustling to get away from me.
Eyeing him through the corner of my eye, I gave up pretending I wasn’t watching him, smiled his way despite his attempt to escape me, or so it felt as he quickly turned and gotthe lead out, and threw him a wave and a cheerful, “Of course. And, uh, you, uh, have a good day too, Elm.”
Unsure what the hell had come over me, my regret was instant. Why the hell did I feel the need to be so friendly with him? We weren’t friends anymore. He was just being nice, that’s all.
If my foot could fit in my mouth, I’d be stuffing it so far down my maw I’d be tasting rubber and mud for a week. Gah. Could I be any more awkward?
Elm froze in place at my words, his back to me. He was so stiff, awkwardly jerking as if he meant to turn around and respond but then kept thinking better of it.
Probably for the best he let it be. It’s been too long. Far too long.
It was a nice idea, to think that he’d finally come back around, even if it’s taken him this freaking long, futile as it felt at this point. Whatever the hell it was I’d done in his eyes to deserve the boot from his life…
Cypress popped his head out the back door, leaning out and around the door jamb, and made a noise that sounded like a low rumble, followed by a very loud grunt.Quit gossiping and get back to work, I took it as.
“Boss is callin’,” I joked. “Break time’s over.” Go away. See ya later. Buh-bye, bub. Carry on forgetting my existence. Business as usual. I’m crap and don’t know why.
Cy’s dark brown hair stuck up around his head at funny angles, the chaotic middle child incarnate. His beard was lighter than Elm’s, a sandy brown with patches of white and coffee brown streaking through it like skunk stripes that started at the corners of his mouth. For some reason the natural bed head, curse of a thousand cowlicks, and how shaggy on top and shorter on the sides he kept his hair made me think of a sleepy guineapig. I’d never voice that thought aloud but it was there, hanging around in the back of my mind.
It made it easier to smile thinking about that mental image when he was in one of his grumpier, growly moods. The man literally growled from time to time if his frustrations won out. In that, Cy really hadn’t changed one bit.
Elm curled his lip at his sibling and made this rumbling noise in his chest that had me glancing between them questioningly.
It amazed me how well I’d come to read those strange noises, how much I remembered of our friendship once upon a time. It felt like being slapped upside the head with it to hear it now. If I closed my eyes I could still picture his room, spending many a lazy afternoon there rotting our brains binge-playing a favored video game, music loudly blasting in the background of whatever epic battle we were playing out.
Until most recently, I’ve avoided the Trees wherever possible. I felt ill when I thought about it all for too long. It became too much. Avoidance became the game I played and I played it well. Mom usually made the trek out to their general store to check off the T Day checklist. They were the closest place, the only place in our tiny little wintery village, to grocery shop. I maybe, mighta gone out of my way to make sure I had work or picked up a shift on the day of. Any excuse I could think of, I wriggled my way out of stepping foot into Tree territory.
Guilt warred with that sick feeling in my gut that keeps threatening to surface.
Mom and I used to go shopping and chat the whole time, girl time, catch up, run to the little cafe on the way for something sugary. It used to be our girl time. Eventually girl time became spending time hanging with Mom and helping out while she cooked dinner, but I know she’d have loved to pick back up our old shopping ritual as well. She was my constant. Even with herbusy schedule, the woman made time for me. All in all, I wasn’t the best daughter in the world but I can confidently admit I wasn’t the worst either.
My parents understood, as much as they could, that they’d birthed an oddball. They’d long ago accepted this.
“‘Xactly,” Cypress rumbled.
His words snapped me back to the present.
With a snort that said about how much Elm agreed with the sentiment, I tossed his self appointed leader a jaunty salute that had Cy’s lip curling up in a snigger of a smirk.
