“I am a grown-ass woman!” I holler at them, not even carin’ that we’re probably drawin’ every damn eye in the trailer park. They’re probably all in their trailers, peekin’ through the blinds right about now. It’s Sweetgreen. Everyone wants to be up in everyone else’s business.
“Medley, stop raisin’ a racket and come inside for some lemonade. It’s too hot out there for arguin’.”
I reach up and touch the smooth stones on my necklace, not because I feel a tribulation comin’ on, but because I am in serious need of some calm.
“Alright, but tell Daddy to make Todd drop that. It’s not a stick to play fetch with. It’s my demon Hell scythe.”
Mama bats away a mosquito. “Teddy Bell, you heard the girl.”
Daddy sighs like I’m bein’ dramatic, but he shoots a whistle through his front teeth, makin’ Todd shimmy over and drop the stick at his feet again. “Good boy, Todd,” he croons, pattin’ him on the head before he reaches behind him to a bucket and tosses him a dead jackrabbit. Flint watches in rapt fascination.
I snatch up the wooden stick, which thankfully isn’t covered in teeth marks. Apparently, it’s sturdier than it looks. I give my daddy a glare, but he just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. Your mama found it in your room when she was washin’ your sheets. I thought I’d put it to use. It’s the perfect size for Todd.”
I give a long sufferin’ sigh. “No more playin’ fetch with my Hell weapon, okay?”
“Fine,” he says, wavin’ me off as he gets to his feet. “I’m runnin’ to the corner store. You get rid of these boys by the time I get back.”
I roll my eyes, but Mama gets on his case this time. “Teddy Bell, don’t think I don’t know that you’re goin’ to the corner store for some chew! You’re supposed to quit!”
Daddy pretends not to hear her, and she shakes her head at his retreatin’ back before settlin’ her gaze on us. “Well, come in, you three. Don’t just stand there. I made pie.”
“Oh, I love pie,” Flint says as he claps his hands together and rubs them in anticipation.
I carry the stick with me while Alder follows behind. As soon as I get through the door, I hold it up. “You really just handed this over to Daddy? It’s all dirty now, Mama,” I say with irritation.
She takes it from me and pats my head. “Oh, stop gettin’ your panties in a knot. Nothin’ a good scrubbin’ can’t help.”
She turns and takes it to the kitchen, and I catch Alder and Flint shakin’ their heads with small smiles on their faces. “What?” I ask them.
“You and your parents,” Flint supplies. “Nothing much fazes ya, huh? Y’all just take it all in stride, no matter what it is.”
I blink at him, realizin’ he’s right. I do get that from my parents. Maybe that’s why I’ve reacted the way I have to everythin’. I’ve learned my whole life to just run with whatever comes my way, so why would this be any different?
“HB, you go get cleaned up before your daddy gets home and is reminded about what his little girl was up to last night,” Mama tells me as she raises a red eyebrow and looks over my club gear and melted makeup with a critical eye.
“I wasn’t up to anythin’, I’ll have you know,” I defend.
“From the looks of it, you got yourself all done up and then went and sat in the sun. You look like melted plastic run over.”
I sigh at the lovely visual she paints and hate that I feel like melted plastic run over. But she’s right. It’s nothin’ a dozen makeup wipes and a cool shower can’t fix. I catch Alder checkin’ out my ass as my mama fusses over them to get them comfortable and plied with drinks and food at the table.
Yeah, a very cold shower should do the trick.
“Fine, Mama, I’ll go clean up. But no baby pictures, or stories, or trying to marry me off behind my back, okay?” I warn.
“That happened one time, and Marietta’s grandson looked like a lovely boy,” she defends.
I just roll my eyes and head back toward my room to grab clothes before I head to the bathroom. If I were a good host, I’d check that Alder and Flint were okay first, but I know Mama will take care of them. She’ll have them unraveled quicker than thread on a spool. She has a gift for it. Well, that and showin’ visitors that it’s possible to gain twenty pounds in a mere hour when you’re in the Bell household. Her cookin’ is that good. It’s no wonder I’ve got extra junk in the trunk.
After pickin’ out clothes, I head right for the bathroom and close myself in. I turn to the mirror and have to stifle a scream at my reflection. It’s so much worse than I thought it could be. It’s like bein’ out for the night and feelin’ yourself, but then you get home and have mascara smudged under your eye and somethin’ stuck in your teeth. You’re all wonderin’ why no one pointed it out so you could fix it.
I don’t have mascara simply smudged under my eye though, I have it drug down half my face. My winged eyeliner just up and flew away at some point in the night, and I’m pretty sure I sweat off my flawless foundation application durin’ hour one of Operation: clean up the bar you trashed.
Alder and Flint have been checkin’ me out and insinuatin’ shit all night, but one look at my reflection and I’m startin’ to question their taste. I mean really, I look like hell. What in the world is wrong with them?
I pull makeup wipes from the drawer and get to work degreasin’ myself. When that’s done, I start the shower and pull my waist-long hair out of the half bun, half mullet thing I’m
