“The white oak.” Dad’s deep voice bounces off the white cabinets before he enters and drops a chaste kiss onto my mom’s mouth. They celebrated their thirty-sixth wedding anniversary in February. He still kisses her every time he enters a room and my mom still blushes each time she lays eyes on him. It’s sickeningly sweet. “That’s what we’re going to get; I had to order it. Noreen called me last night to tell me it finally came in.”
“Really?” My mom’s face lights up and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s married to a man who does thoughtful shit like special ordering her trees or because she loves landscaping that much. “You didn’t tell me!”
They planted a tree in the front yard when our house was built thirty years ago. Unfortunately, two winters ago, it fell victim to a blizzard that knocked out power lines and roots alike. And while the Reserve at Horizon Creek may be a stifling hellhole put on Earth only to torture me in my lowest moments in life—let’s not talk about being one of ten people of color in my middle school of more than a thousand—it’s been around long enough that I can’t say it’s ugly. The trees planted at the inception of the neighborhood have grown into beautiful, mature trees many planned communities can’t brag about.
If the opportunity presented itself, there’s a ninety-eight percent chance I’d sell my soul to be back in LA. But even so, no palm tree can compare to the droopy willow tree in my backyard where I spent countless summer days losing myself between the worn pages of my favorite books. Now with my dad dedicating all his spare time to the flourishing vegetable garden and rosebushes, it’s almost possible for me to pretend we’re not in the middle of Ohio when I step into our fenced-in backyard.
Almost.
“Well, since it seems as if you two need a little alone time”—I hand my dad the remaining coffee, which I don’t think I’ll ever adjust to—“I’m going to run and get some caffeine I can actually stomach. Do either of you want a bagel or something?”
My mom opens her mouth, probably to defend her choice of hazelnut, but my dad beats her to it.
“Two everything bagels, toasted, with cream cheese.” He recites the order they’ve shared for years. “Just make sure to drink your coffee there and take the long way home after.”
He wiggles his eyebrows and my mom giggles.
My stomach turns, but I can’t blame the coffee this time.
“Filthy.” I grimace and shake my head in their general direction, trying to avoid direct eye contact. “And before church group, Mom? What would the Karens say?”
“Oh, honey.” She swipes a stray hair out of her face, and with one glance at her expression, I regret ever getting out of bed this morning. “Trust me. The Karens and every other woman in this neighborhood would love to experience anything like I do with your father.”
“La la la!” I stick my fingers in my ears and pretend to be disgusted by their overt and never-ending PDA. “I didn’t hear any of that!”
I hurry to my bathroom with my parents’ laughter chasing after me and make quick work of brushing my teeth and wrestling my curls into a careless bun. In LA, I never left the house without putting ample effort into my appearance. Living in the land of opportunity, I was convinced I was always one outing away from meeting someone who’d change my life.
I needed to be prepared.
So of course the one time I was caught slipping in public happened to be the one time everyone witnessed. Life is rude like that.
I contemplate putting on a bra before heading to the chain coffee shop down the road before deciding against it.
Standards? Don’t even know her!
This is Ohio. The only two people I actually liked from high school left this town as soon as the opportunity presented itself. I don’t have anyone to impress anymore.
Not even myself.
It’s just too bad my mom won’t agree.
And sure, nearing thirty should mean I don’t have to sneak out of the house anymore. However, according to the laws of Kimberly Carter, I’ll never be too old to be told to change my outfit and put on lipstick. Which is why, at twenty-nine and three-quarters years old, I tiptoe down the hallway and run out the front door. I leap into the front seat of my mom’s old minivan and peel out of the driveway without a backward glance.
Burning rubber out of my quiet suburban hometown may not be my finest moment, but it’s not my worst either. My life right now is a total dumpster fire and while there aren’t many bright sides about my current situation, at least I know I can’t sink any lower.
Watch out, Ohio.
It’s only up from here.
Chapter 2
I drive past a moving van as the white picket fences of the Reserve at Horizon Creek fade in the rearview mirror of the minivan I still don’t understand my parents buying. I’m an only child; we would’ve been fine with a sedan.
I adjust the radio, turning off Dad’s sports talk and finding the local station I used to listen to in high school. I’m a sucker for pop music, and the Top 100 song that blasts through the speakers soothes my soul. I’ve gotten lost in the mindless lyrics, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, when my phone rings.
Ruby’s name lights up the screen and I contemplate letting her go to voicemail. Today has already been a day, and as much as I appreciate the motivational speeches she’s been giving me since the video hit the internet, I’m not sure I can handle any of her lawyerly logic right now.
However, I do know I can’t deal with her wrath at being ignored.
“What it do?” I answer, lacking the usual enthusiasm I greet her with.
There’s a long pause before her brash voice bursts through my phone. “Ew. What’s wrong with you?”
“Besides the obvious?” I switch the phone to the speaker, securing it between my chest and seat belt so I can keep both hands on the wheel. Safety first and all. “Not much.”
“Kim’s still sending you inspirational memes and Bible verses, isn’t she?” She throws out her accurate guess on the first go.
Ruby has been my best friend since middle school. When her parents divorced when we were fifteen, she practically lived at our house. That’s to say that she, too, has been on the receiving end of Kimberly Carter’s never-ending good-vibes-only routine.
“Kim’s gonna Kim,” I confirm what she already knew. “But today escalated to an invitation to join her church group.”
“Oh god. The Karens?” I can hear her shudder through the phone. “Were you able to get out of it? Do you need to brainstorm excuses with me?”
The worry in her voice is the first thing to cheer me up all day. Only Ruby understands the abject torture of being trapped in a room with my mom and the Karens.
“I’m good,” I reassure her. “I’m going to grab a coffee now and then I’m heading to a garden center with Dad to pick up a tree for my mom and probably more vegetable plants for him.”
Our backyard has enough tomatoes to supply Olive Garden. I doubt even he knows how many he has.
“I love that for—” she starts, but then her tone changes and the sound is muffled. “Luke, are you serious? I’ve asked you to knock a hundred times. This is a law firm, not your buddy’s place. You can’t just barge in here.” I hear poor Luke’s faint apology in the background before Ruby cuts him off. “Not now. I’m on a very important phone call.”