Page 1 of Pumpkin to Talk About

Chapter 1

Mike

As soon as I exit the airplane into the terminal of the airport in Austin, I notice three things: the smell of smoked meat from the barbeque stand, the absolute swagger of every single man in the place, and a pop-up shop offering t-shirts emblazoned with I HEART TEXAS across the chest where the heart is either colored with the Texas flag or is replaced by the literal state outline.

Pausing to take in a deep breath, I savor the barbeque scent. It’s good to be back in the land of ten-gallon hats and twenty-gallon belt buckles.

People from Texas fucking love Texas.

Except me, that is. It’ll likely only take the hour-long drive from the airport to my hometown of Ironwood Flats—population 18,368—for me to remember exactly why I left. I took a one-way ticket to college in Indiana, jumped on a tech startup with a buddy I met there, settled in the midsized city of Baker’s Grove, and never looked back.

Until now, I guess. When my baby sister, Annie, called to tell me she had finally kicked out her good-for-nothing husband and asked me to come help with her two kids, I took a leave of absence from my job and got on a plane as soon as I could.

It’s not that I’ve never been back to Ironwood Flats. I’ve come back for holidays as much as I can in the twenty-some years I’ve been away. But this time, my bags are packed for an extended stay. There’s no telling how long Annie will need me, and when she calls, I answer. Every single time.

Annie is the youngest of the five Page siblings, and she’s always been everyone’s favorite. I’m stuck right in the middle, but because I was the only boy, I was showered with attention from all sides. Our oldest sisters—twins Lindsey and Lisa—took it upon themselves to show me and my two younger sisters—Erica and Annie—the ropes. But Lindsey, Lisa, and Erica all did exactly what I did. What most people in our small town did, actually. They went to college and stayed gone. In my sisters’ case, they married out-of-towners and had kids. Now, they’re scattered like tumbleweeds across the country.

Annie, however, married her high school sweetheart and the quarterback of the school football team, Jacob Adams. The man is insufferable. Every time I’m home, he locks me in his trophy room and more or less forces me to smoke a cigar with him while he relives his glory days, and the women clean up from the meal. Good riddance.

As the only single and child-free member of the Page clan, it’s no wonder Annie called me instead of our sisters. I’m more mobile than the others, and why wouldn’t I help her out? She’s family, after all. Even if it means facing the small town I left behind the minute I graduated high school.

Like clockwork, about thirty minutes into my drive in the rental car I picked up from the airport, I’m starting to feel antsy. The rolling landscape of Texas Hill Country is different than the absolute pancake-flat topography of Indiana, but it does nothing to soothe the jittery feeling I always get when I come back here. I had a lot of friends, but I never felt like I fit in here. I didn’t play football, for one, and my love of all things Texas only goes so deep.

When I finally pull into the driveway of Annie’s ranch-style home on the edge of town, I take a minute to study the exterior. The paint is chipping, and the front porch has seen better days. One of the shutters hangs loose on the window to the far right of the house, and they’re all faded from the scorching Texas sun. The trees here are still a vibrant green, though a few are starting to yellow in the mid-October fall, unlike in Indiana. It was a full foliage fest there when I left. But the bushes haven’t been maintained, and the landscaping is more desert-chic than lush oasis. It looks like Jacob hadn’t lifted a finger in years to help maintain this place. Figures.

I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the front door bursts open, and Annie’s two kids come running out, barefoot and in mismatched pajamas. I check the clock to see that it’s one in the afternoon. Things might be worse off than I thought.

“Uncle Mike!” Nicholas yells, his still-squeaky, ten-year-old voice muffled by the car. “You’re here!”

“Best. Day. Ever!” Claire pauses in her sprint to clench her fists and yell the last word up into the big, blue, Texas sky.

I can’t help but chuckle as I open my door and swing my legs out of the car. Nicholas doesn’t even let me stand up; he barrels into me for a hug, pushing me backward. My spine hits the center console with a thud as he practically climbs on top of me.

“Woah there, slugger. It’s good to see you, too,” I say once I get my breath back. “Where’s your mom?”

Nicholas climbs off of me and slouches his shoulders forward a bit. “She’s got a headache,” he says to the ground. But then he puffs his chest out with obvious pride. “She says I’m the man of the house now.”

I ruffle his dark hair, which I also notice is a little long around the ears. “Well, that’s true. Does that mean you’re doing a good job taking care of your baby sister?”

“I’m not a baby!” Claire protests with a stomp of her foot. “I’m eight!”

“What?” I shout with mock-incredulousness. “Last time I checked, you were six.”

In a move so much like her mother, she rolls her eyes dramatically and tips her face upward. “Uncle Mike.” She draws out my name in exasperation. “Come on.”

“Okay, okay,” I concede. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you here to help us decorate for Halloween?” Nicholas grunts as he tries to lift my heavy suitcase from the backseat.

“I got that, my man.” I take the handle from him, and he looks relieved that I came to his rescue. I try not to groan at his request. I hate Halloween—especially the way this town treats it like the most important celebration in the world. “And… sure. I can help you decorate for Halloween.” Among other things that need to be done to this house. If it makes the kids happy, I suppose I can suck it up.

“You can help us with our costumes, too!” Claire jumps up and down behind me as I wheel my suitcase to the porch. The steps up to the front door are, in fact, a death trap.

“Mom said she’s going to throw sheets over us, and we can ghost her like Dad did,” Nicholas says in the matter-of-fact way of a kid who is quoting words he doesn’t fully understand.

We cross the threshold into the house, and I tick an eyebrow up. “She must not give a sheet if she’s saying stuff like that,” I mumble as I take in the clutter and dust in the living room to my right. There’s a clear line of sight to a sink full of dishes in the kitchen.

Claire giggles. “Uncle Mike needs to add a quarter to the swear jar!”