Mom sighs, then reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a joint. She holds it between us like a peace offering from the gods. “Here. Chill out.”
I snatch it before Maple can and drop back into my chair, lighting it up as she mutters her annoyance.
And to make it even better, Wingnut lets out an angry quack and charges at Maple’s legs, wings flared like some demonic barnyard gremlin. She yelps and sidesteps with a flinch, then takes the furthest chair away from him… and me.
Fuck, I love that duck.
Mom disappears inside to finish dinner, and I lean my head back against the chair, pulling a long inhale from the joint. The weed she grows out here is sweet, earthy, and strong, so I let it sink into my chest and spread through my limbs, loosening the tension that’s been building since last night.
Maple and Cedar are talking about something beside me… school, or whatever drama Maple’s dragged in with her this time… but I tune it out. I close my eyes and let the sounds of the yard fill the space instead. The low whisper of the breeze, the soft clucks and pecks of chickens scratching in the grass, and the rhythmic splash of ducks flapping in the pond.
The weed settles over my mind like fog, gently softening the sharp edges and slowing everything down until my thoughts are thick and slow, like they’ve been dipped in honey.
If Maple weren’t here, it would be quite peaceful.
But something else is nagging at me that I know I need to tackle sooner rather than later.
The auction last night went fine… but it didn’t move the way it should have. We shouldn’t have had to force the bids as much as we did. Not in that room, with that amount of wealth, and with the weight we carry. But I saw the hesitation, the eyes shifting, and the usual high bidders waiting instead of acting.
That shit shouldn’t be happening. And if it keeps happening, we’re not going to be able to hold this together for long.
Especially not with certain uninvited guests starting to sniff around.
“Dinner!” Mom cheerfully sings from inside, clearly having just floated through the last twenty minutes on vibes and garden smoke.
I take one last toke and stub out the joint before I push to my feet. I hold the door open for Cedar, then follow her inside before letting it swing closed behind me just in time to catch Maple’s muffled curse.
Mom’s kitchen smells like fresh herbs and garlic, and the table’s already set with bowls of salad with edible flowers sprinkled on top, roasted root veggies from last season’s garden haul, and a massive cast-iron pan of something that smells like I’ll be eating myself into a coma.
She scoops a generous portion of rice and vegetables onto my plate as I sit, and Cedar settles in beside me with a smile, glancing around the table.
“This looks amazing, Mom,” she says.
“Thank you, sweet pea,” Mom replies, smiling as she takes her seat. She serves Maple last—and whether that was onpurpose or not, I’m fucking pleased about it—then holds out her hands to either side of her and closes her eyes.
I glance down at her hand and suppress a sigh before I reach out to take it. Cedar grabs my other hand, grinning at me when I roll my eyes.
Mom inhales deeply through her nose, then releases a long exhale. “Thank you, Earth Mother, for your gifts. May we honour your cycles and nourish our bodies with your bounty.” Then she opens her eyes, releases our hands, and clasps hers in front of her with a smile. “Eat, my babies.”
I pick up my fork to dig in, fucking starved after being awake for so long, and after that joint.
“Alder, how was the auction?” Mom asks casually before taking a bite of her dinner.
“Mom,” Maple says sharply. “Please.”
But Mom just lifts her hand and gives Maple a warning look. “Maple. It’s Alder’s turn to speak, my love.”
I give Maple a slow, dry smile as I stab a forkful of roasted squash. “It was good,” I say, then exhale through my nose. “Considering.”
“Considering what?” Cedar asks, spreading jam on a piece of sourdough.
“We’re losing buyers,” I say. “Our mid-tier guys are getting priced out, and even with Donnie running interference, RCMP presence is tightening. So the big-money buyers don’t want to get their names caught in the crossfire if we go down. They think the risk is higher than the payout.”
Cedar nods thoughtfully. “So what are you going to do?”
“The club needs to make a plan, and shift how we do things,” I reply, making it sound much simpler than it is.
Because the truth is… I don’t know what we’re going to do.
