Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots(18)
Author: Abby McDonald

“You guys are pathetic,” Fiona informs us, slouching through the kitchen. She grabs a box of cereal and then finds a milk carton in the fridge, not even pausing before she takes a swig.

“Umm, germs!” I protest.

She rolls her eyes. “Susie can buy more.” Breakfast in hand (and bitchy comment of the day dispensed) she retreats back to bed.

Susie smashes through the first chunk of wall. I jump back.

“Well, on the plus side, she did refer to you by name, rather than just ‘she’ or ‘her.’” I look to see if Susie is going to show any frustration at all. Other than tearing the house apart, I mean.

Nope. She just sets her mouth in an even smile, as if her stepdaughter isn’t the most aggravating child since Veruca Salt. “Why don’t you add milk to that grocery list, before I forget?” She punctuates her suggestion with another loud crash.

“Okaay.” I do as I’m told. Far from me to argue with a woman armed with a sledgehammer, even if I do think all that pent-up rage might be better expressed by, you know, actually expressing it.

“That reminds me — I was thinking you and Fiona could take the truck down to the city this weekend, maybe go shopping together?” Susie actually looks enthusiastic. “It’s a two-hour drive each way, but you could make a day of it and catch a movie, pick up some decorating things. It could be fun.”

Fun? With Fiona?

I pause, thinking of four hours in a confined space with her. “Maybe,” I say, politely. “Sure. If she wants to.”

“Great. You know, you’ve spent so much time helping me out, you haven’t had much chance to hang out with her.” Susie looks concerned, as if this is actually a bad thing. “If you girls want to go swimming, or get an ice cream or something, go right ahead. Don’t worry about all this mess.”

I look over carefully to check if she’s joking, but no, there’s nothing but a concerned mom-type expression on her face.

“I . . . don’t think that’s a problem,” I say slowly. “We see each other plenty. I mean, we are sharing a room.”

If by “sharing” you mean “begrudgingly allowing me a tiny corner and a single drawer.”

“Sure, but you need some girl time!” Susie still looks sincere, but she is wielding that sledgehammer with a lot of enthusiasm. “To talk, bond, relax!”

Crash. Another section of wall falls away.

“Is . . . is everything OK?” I ask hesitantly, before a thunder of footsteps heralds Fiona’s delightful return.

“What the hell are these?” she yells, waving some catalogs around.

Susie lowers the hammer. “They’re for your room.” She smiles — with what must be superhuman strength. “Since we’re redecorating the whole house, I thought it would be nice for you to pick out some things.”

I look back at Fiona. Surely she can’t find a way to make that generous offer into a tantrum.

Oh, how little I know.

“You don’t get to say how I have my room!” Fiona yells, furious. “It’s my room. Mine!”

I carefully withdraw behind a counter.

“And what’s so wrong with the way I have it right now, huh? Just because it’s not stupid and bland and chintzy like how you want the rest of this house!” She hurls the magazines down. I catch a glimpse of the covers: Crate & Barrel, IKEA, Anthropologie? Man, I should be so lucky as to have a vintage-inspired quilt forced on me.

“This isn’t just your house!” Fiona sure has a set of lungs on her. “It’s mine, too, and I don’t want you touching any of my stuff!” Finally, she turns and storms out.

Susie looks forlorn.

“I think it’s a great offer,” I say, moving closer to comfort her, but she just looks at me with a big fake grin.

“Hey, I just remembered . . . I need to do some stuff in the yard! You’ve got plenty of other things to do, right?”

I nod. “Are you sure you don’t want . . . ?”

“No! I’m fine!” She swallows back what I’m pretty sure are tears. “See you later!”

I have no choice but to let her hurry into the backyard and disappear behind the old workshop. If she were a friend my own age, I wouldn’t wait a moment before sitting her down and forcing her to talk about what’s wrong, but she’s not. I forget it sometimes, when she acts like we’re just pals, but she’s a grown-up, and right now, the twenty-odd years between us are like a gaping chasm. With a sigh, I exchange my hammer for a bag and my binder, and change my ugly work shoes for some sneakers.

After all, we need more milk.

I’m wandering Main Street with a raspberry Popsicle, enjoying the gorgeous mountain panorama and clear blue sky when I hear a faint call. Adam is over by the gas station, his arms full of boxes, and he’s not alone. Reeve and Grady are chatting with him, slouching in their summer uniform of cut-offs and Ts. I quickly cross the street.

“Hi!” I arrive with a smile. It’s been days since my little kayaking mishap, so hopefully the guys will have forgotten —

“Demolition girl, hey.” Grady smirks at me, idly spinning his cap on one finger.

No such luck.

“Hey, yourself,” I answer casually, as if their constant teasing isn’t already getting old. Adam is a few paces away, talking on his cell, so I’m left to face them alone. “So . . . what’s up?”

“Nothing much.” Reeve shrugs. He shades his eyes with one hand against the sun and gives me a lazy smile, but his eyes linger so long that I have to wipe my face to check for Popsicle stains. Nope, all clear.

“How’d that video turn out?” Grady finally asks. “Extreme enough for you?”

“It looked great,” I reply, determined to stay upbeat.

“Cool.” He smirks in that dismissive way of his. There’s a long silence. My smile starts to slip.

“So, when’s the next project?” Adam finally returns, looking back and forth between us. “Another adventure for the website? You know, that could turn out to be a really great advertising tool.”

Grady doesn’t seem to care. He shrugs. “I don’t know; that’s Ethan’s thing. Maybe this weekend?”

“That sounds like fun.” Adam is oblivious to the weird tension. He smiles broadly at us. “A good way for you to get out and see the mountains, right, Jenna?”

“Yup. Just let me know what you’re planning!” I say brightly. “I’m up for whatever.”