Page 21

Chapter 21

Wyatt

“L ook everyone, Wyatt finally decided to show up. I thought you might be avoiding the hard work,” Dad says. A cheer goes up in the backyard where he and three of his friends have spray-painted part of the yard and look like they’re drawing straws for who’s going to start digging.

“I told you I had a hike this morning. You’re going to wish you’d been nice to me when Mom and I are enjoying that giant sub I brought.”

“You got here just in time, kid.” Mr. Franklin cheerfully slaps me on the back and hands me a shovel.

Dad’s friends drop their tools and head for the kitchen without another word. I chuckle and follow them.

“Can you believe we’ll have a hot tub back here next week? It’s a dream come true.” Dad rubs his hands together. He’s like a little kid.

“I can’t wait for the daily calls from Mom complaining about you guys.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “She gripes about it, but she’s already talking to her book club about making their next book a ‘beach read’ and having their meeting out here. She’s been out buying beach towels and those little umbrellas for drinks, so don’t feel too sorry for her.”

“You two better get in here before this sub is gone,” Mom shouts out the back door.

Their house has changed very little since I grew up here. The small kitchen is overwhelmed by all the guys wolfing down cold cuts.

“Wyatt, I heard something about you and your girlfriend going on a double date with Hannah,” Mom says.

“It’s all over the neighborhood,” Mr. Wong teases around a mouthful of food. “I saw them with my own eyes.”

Mom drops her sandwich. “It’s so funny that everyone is so interested. Here, let me show you the pictures. Ava got a good one of you and Moxie holding hands, and I thought this one was cute of the four of you. That Quincy was harder to get in a smiling picture. Why on Earth did he have a napkin on his face?” Mom scrolls through what looks like a full photo album of pictures from our date night, including an under-the-table hand holding shot. Geez, did these people bring professional telescopic lenses to spy on their neighbors’ date?

“You all know being this involved in your kid’s life is not normal, right?” I ask.

“Sure, but you aren’t my kid.” Mr. Franklin high fives Mr. Harris and they laugh.

“I’m going to talk to Hannah. I think we need to put on a little Ted Talk about boundaries for all of you.”

“What do you expect from parents that have had a partially-built fence for twelve years?” Everyone looks at Mr. Wong as if he might have gone too far with his joke, but Dad waves it off.

“The fence does look messy out there. Do you think we should consider taking it down?” he asks.

A hush falls over the group and everyone looks down while Mom and Dad exchange a look that holds an entire conversation.

“That’s a nice idea,” Mom says.

Dad’s friends throw their hands up in celebration behind his back. I want to scream from the rooftops, throw a parade, blow on a dozen of those New Year’s Eve party horns all at once, but this is a delicate step toward a truce, so I settle for sending them all mental high fives instead.

We spend the next two hours digging up the grass so the hot tub oasis will have an even surface to sit on. More accurately, I dig for two hours while Dad’s friends discuss their golf game.

I notice Mr. Nelson hanging around in his backyard like a kid on the playground hoping to be asked to join the game. I’m starting to think this whole scheme of Hannah’s might work.

“Wyatt, you’ve been working pretty hard. Do you want some lemonade?” Mom calls from inside the house.

“Don’t we get some lemonade?” Dad asks.

“I haven’t seen any of you guys shoveling or picking up rocks. Get to work and maybe I’ll bring you some.”

I jauntily march inside for my refreshment. “Thanks.”

Mom sits down at the table with me. “It’s my pleasure. Thanks for helping us do this.”

“You know I’ll be stopping by, so I should help put it in.”

“How are things going with you and Moxie? Did you have a good time at Fork and Spoon?” Mom sends out her fishing line. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but Mom’s looking for the novel.

“It was amazing. The evening was a mess initially. Half of Eagle’s Landing was there watching us, and I thought she was going to be upset and walk out. Instead, she made a game of the whole situation, and it saved the night.”

Mom returns my smile.

“I’ve never been with a woman who’s able to pivot so easily. There have been some unusual circumstances that have come up, and every time I think she’s going to run, she gives me another chance.”

“It sounds like she’s pretty special.”

“I think she is.” I’m embarrassed to be sharing all this with her, but my heart is swelling for Moxie, and it’s getting harder each day to contain the emotion.

“When do we get to meet her?”

“You have met her, remember? You came by the office when she was there, and then again at yoga.”

Mom wails, “I’m hoping she’s forgotten those meetings. Talk about a bad first impression. Does she hate me? She’s going to think of me as one of those horrible mothers-in-law where you have to make up elaborate excuses to avoid spending time with them.”

I can’t help it. I laugh because there’s no doubt that Moxie has a terrible impression of my mom, and if she knew that Mom was already considering herself Moxie’s mother-in-law, she’d freak out. But my parents are both good people at heart, and I'm sure in time she’d win her over.

“Wyatt, this is serious. What if you get married and she doesn’t want to spend any time with us?”

I’ve always held big dreams for my relationships and have had no problem imagining futures. However, I'm very aware that’s not Moxie’s style, so there’s no doubt I need to nip this marriage talk right now. She must see it in my face because she jumps up from her chair and squeezes me in a tight embrace.

“She’s incredible, but you seriously need to relax about this. She is a free spirit so she gets a little spooked by the idea of commitment. I’m doing my best to be Mr. Chill because I’m trying to respect her wishes. Can you do that?”

“Absolutely. It won’t be easy, but I can see it’s important to you, so I’ll wait patiently for a chance to redeem myself. Please reassure her that I don’t normally lose my cool like I did at your office.”

Shouting erupts out back. We head out the door to see my dad dancing around like he just hit a walk-off home run. My mom rolls her eyes.

“Wyatt, you missed it!” Mr. Wong exclaims. “Your dad just landed the frisbee in the recycling bin after throwing from the center of the future hot tub, across the yard, and off the garage”

“He’s still got it.” I start cleaning up the backyard mess while the guys take turns trying to outdo each other with trick frisbee shots until I notice Mr. Nelson standing on his side of the completed fence section. He has his arms draped over the fence, a beer in his hand, and a scowl on his face.

One by one the guys notice him and slowly quiet down.

“Hello, Arthur,” mumbles Mr. Wong.

“I take it this is the kind of thing I have to look forward to with your fancy new hot tub.” He takes a swig of beer.

Dad quietly studies him. “Yep, I think that’s safe to say.” The joking tone is gone from his voice.

“Have you gone through the HOA for this thing?”

Hushed groans go through Dad’s friends.

“I’ve jumped through all the hoops and checked all the boxes.” Dad’s mood gets darker as the conversation goes on, and sweat breaks out on my forehead. I don’t know how to slide in here and prevent this from escalating. I was riding high after our double date because it seemed like the ruse had worked. I dared to hope there might be an end to the childish battle, but these guys look ready to brawl.

“You remember I’m an engineer, right?”

“Of course I do. What, do you think we missed something? Have you been talking to the HOA?” Dad’s hackles go up. Nothing would piss him off more than being dragged in front of the homeowner’s association again. In the beginning, by unwritten agreement, they both used other means of battling it out and avoided weaponizing their mutual enemy, the HOA. But as the feud escalated, it became too convenient a weapon, and both have used it against each other a few times over the years.

“No, but I’m just not sure how your hot tub is going to get in the back yard with this fence here. You might want to double check those dimensions.”

Mr. Franklin drops the frisbee. “You mean we did all this, and you won’t be able to get the dang thing in here?”

“You did all what? I think it was mainly Wyatt doing the work.”

“You can’t go on the other side since the evergreen is in the way,” Mr. Franklin points out.

My dad and I move at the same time. I grab the tape measure and we converge on the side of the house.

“I’ll get the spec sheet,” Mom calls as she beelines into the house.

Sure enough, the path is two inches too small between our house and the fence. Mr. Nelson takes another swig of his beer.

“It’s later than I thought, Tim. I better get heading home,” Mr. Wong says.

All three of Dad’s buddies hustle their butts out of there in record time, and Mr. Nelson calmly eyes Dad.

“I’ve been meaning to come over there to have a chat with you, but time seems to always drift away.” Dad turns toward Mr. Nelson but keeps his distance.

“You don’t say. How long have you been thinking about that?” Mr. Nelson asks, a hint of sarcasm and distrust in his voice.

“For a couple months actually,” Dad says.

“Would that have been before you decided to turn your backyard into party central or after?”

Dad scratches his beard and sighs in frustration. “See, I knew you’d think that. It’s one of the reasons I put it off for so long.”

Mr. Nelson finishes his beer and turns towards his house. “Well, that’s a real shame. Good luck juggling that thing.”

Damn, this stupid feud is going to cause chaos in this neighborhood. If my dad got this close to having a hot tub back here and he doesn’t get it because of Mr. Nelson, my life will be a living hell.

“Can’t you throw out a peace offering?” I quietly suggest.

Dad sighs then whispers, “It’s not like he’ll listen. That fence is made of more than wood, son.”

I glare at my stubborn dad. “Mr. Nelson, why don’t you come over and have a beer. It’s been a long time.

“I don’t know. Every time we get together it seems like things get worse.” He takes a step toward his kitchen door.

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” My dad’s words act like kindling on the conversational fire.

A muffled voice comes from the Nelson’s kitchen window. “Hannah says it takes a big person to take the first step. Wait, I don’t think that’s right. I think it goes, the most important thing is to let people know you are doing the right thing.”

That sounds kind of like the opposite of an inspirational quote to me, but I jump on engaging her while I can. “Hi Ms. Nelson. Why don’t you and Mr. Nelson come over for a drink or two?”

“Doctor,” Mr. Nelson corrects.

I wince. He’s got me there, and honestly, mad props to him for demanding the proper respect of his wife. “I’m sorry, I meant Dr. Nelson, but the invitation stands.”

“No I don’t think we should come over. In fact, Arthur, why don’t you come inside,” she says. Then, as if a light bulb went off above her head, she adds, “Wait, was the quote, if you do the right thing, you shouldn’t have to tell people ?”

Mr. Nelson chimes in. “No, that one is, If you’re good at something, you shouldn’t have to tell people. They’ll see it.”

“Oh, yeah, you used to tell me that when I was in little league,” I say. Maybe a change of topic will help.

“Everyone knew you were great at baseball the day you started pitching,” Mr. Nelson says, and I want to high five him not only for rolling with my topic change, but for doing it with a compliment to me that will surely win him some points with my parents.

Dad laughs. “He went through the neighborhood trying to get everyone to play with him nearly every day. He got a little cocky for a while there, didn’t he.”

“After he broke our window for the third time, I decided he needed a little humbling,” Mr. Nelson says.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. He struggled with those wild pitches. Hank at the hardware store started stocking windows in your size so I could replace them quickly.” Dad shakes his head, but he’s smiling. I can practically feel the egg shells under our feet. We’re at the precipice. A truce is so close I can taste it.

“You were fun to watch, Wyatt,” Mr. Nelson says.

I shrug off the compliment. “Thanks. It was fun to play, but I do feel bad about the windows.”

“Arthur, why don’t you come over here and have a beer with me?” Dad asks.

Mr. Nelson nods his head and moseys over while a reluctant Dr. Nelson watches at the window. I focus on putting away tools and hovering near the garage, trying to look busy. There’s no way I’m leaving these two alone, but optimistically, I want to give them enough space to work shit out.

Two hours later, after another round of beer and countless stories about stupid stunts they both did over the years, the three of us tear down the fence. Dr. Nelson comes over to join them, and the group is soon full of tentative smiles and cautious but amiable conversation. Mouth agape, I quietly leave them to make burgers and bury the hatchet.