The Co-op

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

L A RYNN

Things have shifted in the three days since our “Good Vibrations” dinner. There’s not been another incident of nude breakfast or naked lunch. There’s zero flirting. He rarely calls me Larry. Rarely says my name at all, if he can avoid it. I think he’s just avoiding me in general. He’s back to being at the campground more of the time than here during the days. I am typically hiding out in my room by the time he gets home in the evenings. We’ve made almost zero progress on the house.

All of which should be fine.

I just hate feeling like it’s because I’ve done something wrong . He’s retreated, and that should be a relief, but instead it grates on my nerves like nettles against my skin. And now we’re stuck in this awkward limbo and I’m itching to burst free of it, in any direction, but I don’t know how.

We cross paths in the stairwell after my shift this morning as he’s on his way out ( again ), and I swear the man is trying to plaster himself to the opposite wall to avoid skimming me. The same man whose direct and consistent eye contact used to unnerve me keeps looking down the steps toward the door, like he’s desperate to make his escape.

“Headed out?” I ask, dully.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few small projects over at Santa and one of the rental RVs is open, so I’ll probably stay there for a few days,” he replies, before looking at something on his boot. “For real this time.”

Is he blushing ? “Okay,” I say with a shrug, trying to convey apathy.

“To keep up momentum, you could start looking at some of the finishes and getting prices on things so that we’ll be able to move quickly after the plumbing gets done. If you want,” he adds, his eyes barely flicking my way. “Like countertops, tile, floors, hardware for cabinets. The small decisions can get to be a time-suck if we drag our feet on them.”

“Got it,” I reply. And he immediately begins dropping down the stairs, two steps in one stride. “Wait,” I call, before I’m even cognizant of why I want him to slow down. A perturbed sigh rolls out of him before he looks back up at me.

“When are we supposed to—” I roll my eyes at myself. “You said something about a campground maintenance day. When is that happening?” Maybe the team-building could help us before we utterly fail one another and our grandmothers and this building.

“July third.”

“Okay. And you’ll be back before then?”

“It’s five days from now.”

“Okay? So, yes?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before then.” He frowns. “Why?”

“The—car,” I say, inwardly groaning at being so helpless. “I’d need it to go into town to look at things.”

“Oh,” he mutters. “That’s right.” Scratches the back of his neck.

“And,” I huff back, relenting, “I don’t know how to drive a stick. That’s why I’ve still been walking to the market or taking the bike.”

My phone starts ringing from my apron pocket, then. Mom. I ignore it as Deacon steps back up the stairs.

“You said you’d teach me,” I blurt.

Nothing. Not a quip about teaching me to drive a stick? The jokes are writing themselves and all I’m getting is a stupid blink.

“Or not. It’s fine, actually. I’d rather not anyway, I’ll just—”

“I’ll teach you. Day after tomorrow. Gotta take Sal to an appointment so we can just all go together if that works. You scheduled?”

“No, I’m off that day.” My phone rings again. Deacon lifts a leg onto my step and leans a forearm on it.

“You can get that, you know,” he says with a nod. “I’ve seen you ignore your mom’s calls at least three times in the last week.”

I inhale deeply through my nose, that previous unsteady feeling screeching into irritation.

“Actually, I can’t. How’s your mom, by the way?”

That has him stepping back with a mild roll of his own eyes. “See ya, Larry.” He opens the door and pauses. “I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll, uh, make sure I text you when I’m on my way,” he adds, clumsily.

Oh Jesus, he’s worried he’ll interrupt me again. “It’s fine, Deacon.” Then, feeling reckless, I say, “I’m not really a morning-mood kinda gal, anyway.”

He snorts a laugh, but leaves without another word.

I stare at my phone in my hand when I get inside. That small, desperate feeling sneaks through me. I hit call on Mom before I let myself reconsider.

“LaRynn?” she says in greeting.

“Hi, Mom.”

A blown-out breath. Like I’ve already managed to wear on her with my hello. “I’m glad you finally saw fit to return my calls.”

“I’ve been fairly busy.”

“So I hear. I was forced to recruit your father into my efforts because I was concerned that you might be a missing person.”

Such simple language, and yet so many layers.

She’s angry and expects me to feel sorry that she was forced to interact with my father. A nice little callback to me being the only thing leashing her to him in the first place.

“He’s assured me that you’re living in Santa Cruz at Cece’s old place.” She lets out another ragged sound. “I don’t appreciate that I have to get this news from him, by the way.”

Dad has assured her? The last time I had a full-length conversation with him was almost nine months ago now, when he told me he would not support me or make it easier for me to throw my future away. When he called to let me know that a company was coming to retrieve my car since it was in his name. It probably chafed him raw that I just said thank you. That I refused to afford him a bigger reaction then, and that I haven’t come crawling back since. That would be the only reason he’d have any interest in what I’m doing or where I am—the fact that he’s no longer in control of my life. I wouldn’t put it past him to pay a hired hand to come investigate. He had to have known I’d come here eventually.

“You are being careless and lazy and spoiled.” Echoes in my head.

When I was younger I would have wrapped myself up in placations, told myself that I had too much, didn’t deserve more. They were unhappy and I didn’t need to add to that by asking for more from them. I thought someday I’d finally impress my father enough to earn his love. I thought if I stayed good, if I accepted what I got from her, my mom would stay, and would take a genuine interest in me.

I don’t mourn my dad’s absence at all, I realize. I realize I don’t feel bad about leaving school, either. I ran myself ragged trying to meet his standards, at the expense of so much of my happiness and self-esteem.

But this thing with my mom is different… This pretending and this resentment are almost worse.

“Well, Mom,” I say. “I didn’t appreciate when you left me to fend for myself against him for two years. Or when you came back and still might as well have been a ghost for how present either of you were.”

My eyes widen when the words leave my lips. I’m shocked by my own insolence. I have never once brought up the two years she up and left. It was a topic we never ever discussed in our house when she did come back. Something dirty swept under the rug.

But once it’s out there, something like solace washes over me.

Relief at letting go of a piece of my rage.

She lets out an indignant sound. “ What?! Do you know what I sacrificed for you? What I put up with? LaRynn, you had the best of everything. Private school, private tutors. The most expensive sports programs in the state. I—” Another choked wail. “I came back for you. I sacrificed my own happiness for you. Your father—”

“Was a miserable bastard, Mom. I know he was. And I don’t know what it was like to try and fix a marriage and be a parent in those conditions, I really don’t.” A hysterical noise tumbles out from her end. “But I’m so tired of pretending that just because you weren’t the one screaming at me, terrifying me, calling me débile… that you weren’t in the background, allowing it. That my life wasn’t constantly revolving around you two and your resentment. I’m sick of acting like just because you want to have a relationship now, it makes up for everything back then.”

She gasps softly. And it’s then that I instantly panic. I panic like I did the first year after she came back and I got suspended from school for beating up Peter Gillespie in the cafeteria. He’d been ruthlessly picking on the girl I sat next to for weeks, but it didn’t matter. I lived in a constant state of fear—one more toe out of line, one grade below par, and maybe that’d be the time he’d graduate from the yelling and he’d actually hit me… But almost worse, if I added any difficulty to their lives, then maybe she’d leave again.

“Mom, I… I just wish you would’ve taken me with you,” I admit. And even in my fear, it’s like the muscles loosen in my jaw with the honesty. That small, desperate feeling abates and hope sneaks in. Maybe we can have an honest conversation.

She snorts ruefully. “I don’t know where this is coming from, LaRynn. This is completely out of nowhere. I don’t know what you’ve immersed yourself in to build such a melodramatic view of your childhood, but yours was a walk in the park compared to mine. Compared to most.”

I’ve tried. I’ve tried to understand my dad, tried to understand her. Tried to fill in the gaps where their love should have been with excuses. But God, I’m tired.

And it’s something that I started when I dropped out of school, but it’s in this moment when I start to realize that being honest feels so much better than being easy. Even if it leaves me feeling flayed open.

“I have to go, Mom. I’m sorry you feel that way.”

And I hang up the phone.