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Chapter 11

The Party

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“ARE YOU READY?”

I looked up at Conner as he asked the question. “No. Definitely not. But here we go anyway.”

“It's going to be fine,” he assured me. He said it so certainly that I believed him. We climbed out of his Mustang, our shoes squishing on the soft dirt. The paved part of Pappy's driveway was full of other cars—my mom's, probably my aunt's, too, I guessed.

As we climbed the wooden steps of the porch, we passed a massive oak tree to our right. Its branches created deep shadows that we walked on top of. I'd climbed that tree countless times.

“Is that one of your birdhouses?” Conner asked.

Looking upwards, I smiled at the sight of the blue-roofed yellow birdhouse. “It is.” My smile melted when I noticed the heavy, warped branches of the oak tree were sagging on one side. The biggest limb had a crack in it where it met the trunk.

“That's weird,” I mumbled.

The green leaves swayed in the gentle breeze, bits of sunlight peeking through and highlighting the backs of Conner's ears and the edges of his hair. He moved, making me focus on his face. He saw something in my eyes, then he reached down, curling my hand in his. “What is it?”

“The tree.” I pointed over our heads. “It looks rough.”

“Probably from all the rain we've been having. Look, the ground is still muddy. Storms are never a tree's best friend.”

It was a reasonable answer, but I still felt the deep, wriggling tug of uneasiness in my gut. Then the door opened, and I had something new to worry about.

“Maya!” My aunt gasped, holding the door wide, looking me up and down. “Oh my gosh! How long has it been? How are you? And who is this?”

Her questions were rapid fire. I've never been known to buckle under pressure but when it came to my family, and to this tangle of a lie I was about to thrust in their faces, my aunt's questions left my mouth dry. “Hi!” I managed. “This... is...”

Conner stepped forward with a friendly smile. “Conner Whynn. I'm Maya's fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” she whistled. She gave me a side-eye, wiggling her eyebrows. “And I thought you'd never date again, shows what I know.”

I forced a hollow laugh. “Hey, is my mom here yet?”

“Peach is in the back, helping make sure my husband doesn't burn the hot dogs. So! Conner! Come inside, tell me all about yourself.” She swept her arm around his and tugged him into the house. I followed behind, shrugging helplessly at his silent plea for help. I didn't know how to get my aunt away from him. She'd always been very hands on.

As my heel touched down on the threadbare rug inside my grandpa's house, memories flooded back. Sawdust and varnish and caramels; he'd spent his time crafting birdhouses. I'd helped him in my own way, painting roof tiles or tiny window panes, and afterwards, he'd reward me with candy he'd slipped from the kitchen. His wife, my grandmother, had made the most delicious treats.

No one had tasted anything like them since she'd passed away. Once, I'd tried to get the recipe from my mom, but she'd clammed up, insisting it was too painful to ask Pappy to find the recipe in all the disorganized boxes in the house.

I slowed down when I walked by a row of photographs on the fireplace's banister. They were all photos of me, or faded pictures in sepia browns of my mother and her sister. Jemine was slightly taller, but their smiles in every picture were big and bright and perfect.

They were so happy back then.

Now, they were in a silent fight to win their dad's heart. When had everything gone so wrong? Had my family always been so tit for tat, and I'd just been unaware?

My guts twisted as I thought about the lie I'd invented to help my mom. I loved my Pappy. Could I really look him in the eye and pretend I was in love with a man I'd just met?

“Maya, there you are.”

My mother was standing in the hallway, eyes half-squinted in the low-light. Her long red hair was wound on top of her head in a gelled bun. She was smiling big enough for me to see her chipped front tooth, but the bags under her eyes spoke volumes about her exhaustion.

Some laughter echoed from behind her, coming from the backyard. “Mom,” I swallowed. “Did you meet...”

“Conner, yeah.” She glanced over her shoulder briefly. “He's—handsome.”