by Bijou Hunter
While my family learns to live in this world, the Woodlands remains very odd to me. These people love to party. Every little thing inspires a celebration. Each month, we receive an updated community calendar with all the parties, meetings, and birthdays. Topanga insists we take part. Mama, Dove, and I use the birthdays the government chose for us on the paperwork they did years ago. For Future, my mother picks a day in the month she knows he was born. Though we celebrate like Topanga wants, these ceremonies don’t really matter to us. As Dandelions, rejoicing dates and the passage of time isn’t important.
One thing I find fun about the Woodlands is the initiation process for new honeys. Basically, the bunnies throw water balloons filled with whiskey at me. I didn’t know what a water balloon was when Lana warned me about the process. Once I saw what they looked like and had Dove throw one at me, I got excited about the initiation.
On my big day, I danced around the cul-de-sac. The bunnies then tossed the colorful balloons at me. Mama, Dove, and Future clapped. Anders looked annoyed until my shirt got all wet. Suddenly, his frowning face turned warm and curious as he imagined sexual intercourse.
Despite my best efforts to get comfortable in this life, I refuse to pretend to like DeAnna and Taryn. They openly hate me, too. At the frequent parties, we stay away from each other. Just in case they ever start trouble with my family or Anders again, I’ve been practicing how to fight. Next time, I want to knock them on their butts!
Life at home is easier. Yet, the five of us stumbled early on. Feelings were hurt, and tempers flared. At times, Mama and Anders were like angry bulls. Dove cried whenever anyone argued because she feared returning to the Village. Future let his tummy starve until he couldn’t wait any longer before asking for food. I feared Anders’s temper before discovering how to tame it. However, with a little patience and kindness, we learned how to live together.
More than pleasure and pain, life is about the journey, and ours has only begun.
ANDERS
Before Pixie and her family moved into the house, the backyard remained untouched. There was a pool, hot tub, and outdoor kitchen. The grass stayed green, and the bushes trimmed. But I was rarely out there. I did occasionally swim. When I was in a lot of pain, I might smoke a joint and sit in the hot tub. Otherwise, I ignored the backyard in the same way I did most of the house.
Now, I find myself enjoying our backyard every single day. The trampoline and playset change the entire vibe of the backyard. The area feels fun. I often return home for lunch to find Dove floating in the pool while Future and Pixie play on the trampoline. Fairuza has started work on a small vegetable garden, but planting will have to wait now that autumn is in full swing.
Installing an atrium is our next big step. We’ve already put together an herb garden in the sunroom. Fairuza also asked about planting a few fruit trees at the back fence next spring. She says she can make jam for breakfast.
I like the idea of growing food in my own yard. No one ever did that shit when I was growing up. As an adult, I rarely ate anything fresh that wasn’t mashed and covered in gravy.
The food the Yabos make is like nothing I’ve eaten before. Some of it is spicy as fuck. I’m surprised Future can handle it. My favorites are the North African and Middle Eastern dishes. As much as I love to eat, I realize now how bored I was of ordering the same shit. Thanks to Pixie, I embrace variety. I’m even a fan of those weird-looking dumplings.
After a few bumpy episodes, my new family and I find a groove by mid-autumn. I can’t pretend as if Future’s tantrums don’t send me hauling ass out the door at times. And there are days when I resent them for being too nice to me. While I’m still capable of assuming the worst of my family, those moments are rare. Mostly, I’m eager for their approval and attention.
And I get plenty of both from the Yabos.
Future is always talking to me. He also watches my face a lot to see my mood. If I smile, his big brown eyes shine in response.
Dove often gives me hugs and thanks me for opening my home to them. She’s like a timid version of her big sister. I sense she suffered from the starvation and fear in a way Pixie and Fairuza didn’t. Still, Dove is getting stronger.
Fairuza treats me as if I’m her long-lost, poorly raised son. She always makes sure I have enough to eat and drink. If I’m acting like a fool, she’ll get in my face, even if she has to climb on the furniture to do it.
Before I leave for work each day, I have a routine. Future gives me a toy to take. He’s very big on sharing. Dove hugs me and says I’m her hero. Fairuza reminds me not to let anyone diminish my worth. Next, Pixie will stand up on something, so we’re eye to eye. She reminds me that I’m special. I have a heart full of sunshine. She loves me more than anyone ever has but still not as much as I deserve. Then, she hugs me in a way that feels as if she’s filling me with the strength to face any obstacle. Finally, the four of them give me finger-kisses before standing on the porch and waving goodbye.
Then, at the end of the day, I enjoy a naked Pixie. She has a weird intensity before bed—as if worried we won’t wake, and these are her last moments to enjoy my company.
Pixie will rest my hand against her chest and watch me. I used to feel weird when she did that. Like she was putting me on the spot. Or worse, if she looked for long enough, she’d find too many flaws to want me.
But now, I realize how Pixie doesn’t flinch from those she loves. When Fairuza and Pixie butt heads, they don’t go into separate corners and cool down. They face off, forcing a compromise.
And when Pixie looks in my eyes, she wants to see all of me. This woman will never be satisfied with a glance. She views ignoring a person’s flaws as an insult. She wants me—even the shitty parts.
I suspect that’s why Fairuza could walk away from Perry so easily. She never lied to herself about who and what he was. His flaws were front-and-center, along with his good qualities. That comes from her upbringing at the Dandelion Collective. I still think the place sounds too New Age to suit me, but I can’t argue with how strong their hearts turned out.
A couple nights a week, we visit Bronco’s house. Dove and Future play with his kids. Pixie hangs around Lana and Topanga. Fairuza often walks next door to Barbie’s house. I stand in the backyard and shoot the shit with Bronco and Lowell.
“I still got a bad feeling about the Killing Joes,” Bronco admits one evening in October as he works his grill.
Nearby, Carina sits in a carrier, trying to grab a toy dangling over her head. The setup seems fucked up since she can’t actually reach the object. Then, I realize it’s a form of exercise. Huh, my kid will definitely need one of those things, too.
“Bad feeling, how?” Lowell asks while I watch Carina.
“After years without hearing shit from them, they show up in Elko. Then, they’re gone like ghosts. Feels too easy.”
“Marks called them in and then wouldn’t pay,” Lowell says, giving a shrug. “Look at it from their point of view. Their club is gone. They see a chance to make cash and fuck with an old enemy. Then, they realize Marks won’t pay, and they’ll end up as human shields for a failing proposition.”
When Bronco seems unconvinced, Lowell continues, “If Conor hadn’t seen the Volkshalberd selling marijuana on the side of the road and you didn’t lower the hammer, Marks could have made enough cash to hire real muscle like the Killing Joes. Instead, he ended up with a dozen idiot teenagers and young men.”
Bronco walks over to Carina and adjusts her pink-and-white bear knit hat. “Gunther claimed the bikers that showed up to meet Marks had a woman with them. Said there were three men and a dark-haired woman.”
“Could be Lonnie’s old lady,” I suggest, thinking of how Melanie offered me the first taste of heroin. “She helped run shit, and her head was still attached when I left Cleveland. Of course, the easiest explanation is the woman was just one of their girlfriends.”
“Gunther said one of them was named Roadrunner,” Lowell says. “He remembered that
because it was the name of a cartoon character. He forgot the other men’s names. One had a red beard.”
“What about the other Cole?” Bronco asks, wanting every thread tied up.
“Dead probably. They’re addicts. Either, they get clean, or shit catches up to them.”
“But those three might come back.”
“That was always a possibility,” Lowell says, sensing as I do that Bronco is like a dog with a bone on this topic. “This time, they came, saw, and fled. Seems like them returning should be less likely now.”
Nodding, Bronco walks over to Carina and picks her up. I notice when he gets bothered by club shit that he seeks out Lana or the girls. With his honey inside with mine and Topanga, Bronco takes Carina in his arms and holds her close.
“Lately, I find myself worrying that my past will come back to destroy me,” Bronco mutters while studying his daughter’s face. “There was Lana’s connection to the club that shot Summer. Then, this shit with John Marks, who I figured was dead or living as a beach bum somewhere. By the time the Killing Joes showed up, I felt as if every sin from my past would rear its ugly head.”
Lowell doesn’t offer any wisdom, and I certainly don’t have any. My past is something I keep locked in a box filled with bad memories and bigger regrets. Lately, I’m more worried about my future.
The little boy with that name waddles over to me and lifts his arms to be picked up. I do so without thinking. I’m such a follower that even a two-year-old boy can boss me around.
“Apples?” he asks, pointing at the food.
“They’re pineapples. Do you still want some?”
Future’s face does a thing where he’s considering whether to cry but hasn’t decided yet. I see it most often when he’s hungry. The boy waits until he’s hurting before asking for anything. Then, he looks prepared for the disappointment of hearing no.
I reach over and take a slice from the plate Bronco’s using to make shish kebabs. I put the pineapple in my mouth and then get a smaller one for Future. He watches me very intently, waiting to be denied what his little body needs. When he tastes the food, he gives me one of those “cherub smiles,” as Topanga calls them.
The boy rests his head on my shoulder and gnaws at the pineapple while watching the girls play. Still underweight, he feels so tiny in my arms. Yet, I’m accustomed to Future climbing on my lap. He doesn’t notice my size, and he rarely seems scared of me. Even when I yelled at DeAnna’s large, barking dog as she walked it very slowly past our house, Future’s shocked expression seemed more “wow, you can get loud” than “get me away from this mean motherfucker.”
“How’s living with a houseful of people?” Lowell asks as Bronco calls his daughters over to help him put together the shish kebabs. Dove joins the girls who show her what to do.
“We’ve got a routine already. The ladies love watching movies in the media room. We do that a couple times a week.”
“We figured they’d drive you crazy,” Bronco says, smirking at Lowell.
“They sometimes do. Fairuza and Pixie argue loudly at times, and Future decides those moments are good for screaming at the top of his lungs,” I say, and the boy smiles at the mention of his name. “If it gets too loud, I ride around for a while. Sometimes, Pixie will run out and jump on the back of my Harley. She’s gotten the hang of holding on, but she still forgets shoes half the time.”
“You’re outnumbered,” Bronco says and grins at his middle daughters. “All that estrogen will drive a man insane, but I’d rather have a million girls than one Wyatt.”
“Ooh, Daddy, I’m telling,” Sidonie says and then giggles with Desi at how Bronco’s in trouble.
“Baby, he knows,” Bronco says, smiling too. “It’s why he hasn’t shown up unannounced for dinner in weeks. Well, that and the life-size cardboard cutout of Pixie that I keep in the front window.”
“Oh, no, I think you hurt her feelings,” Desi says and points at where a teary-eyed Pixie exits the house with Lana and Topanga close behind.
“Leggings!” Lowell’s wife announces dramatically. “That’s the solution. She can wear dresses and shorts without having to shave or wax.”
That’s when I look down to see a section of Pixie’s leg is now hairless. Only that part, though. Based on her teary-eyed expression, she wasn’t a fan of the process.
“Going hairless isn’t natural for some people,” Lana adds and gives Pixie a side-hug. “Everyone is different.”
“I’m shaving my legs,” Desi says, leaning down to touch the hairless spot below Pixie’s right knee. “But never my armpits.”
Lana and Bronco share a smile while Lowell admires Topanga’s sleek legs. My honey inches closer to me. She grins at her brother munching on a slice of red pepper. Then, Pixie rubs her partially hairless leg against me and holds my gaze. She wants reassurance that I’m not angry that she nixed the shaving thing. When I smile, she returns it two-fold. Right then, I see myself through her eyes, and I like the guy looking back at me.
Her gaze peels away from mine when Sidonie kneels down in front of us.
“Did it hurt?” she asks Pixie as she studies her leg.
“It felt nefarious.”
“That was one of the words I got during a spelling bee!” Sidonie cries, staring wide-eyed at her father as if they’ve shared a eureka moment.
Bronco just laughs, comfortable in a way he hasn’t been since the trouble with the Village started. Sure, he still worries about the Killing Joes, and I have no doubt he’s put out feelers to see if he can find and eliminate them for good.
But the man is happy, which is why I sense he won’t run things for too much longer. Bronco Parrish is a man ready to live the good life he’s spent decades building. I’ve decided I’ll follow whatever president he chooses to replace him. I plan to go all-in with the club and stop hiding in the shadows.
That year’s Woodlands’ Pumpkin Patch Party offers a real turning point for my club brothers and me. I’ve gone to these events for years, never doing more than hanging back in a corner and watching the men with their honeys and kids. For this year’s party, I have my own family to focus on.
One of the Woodlands’ traditions involves everyone picking a pumpkin to represent themselves and setting it in front of their houses. This custom is usually the most fun for the younger couples with new babies or grandparents whose family has grown.
This year, Bronco adds three new pumpkins to his stash—a medium-sized one representing Lana, a smallish one for Desi, and a tiny one for Carina.
As usual, Topanga makes sure there’s a giant pumpkin in the patch for me. This year, mine won’t sit alone on my porch. First, we find a small one for Future who carries it around all evening. Fairuza chooses a pale orange one for herself. Dove picks a small one with a curvy stem. Pixie selects a short, wide one since she’s already thinking of baby bumps despite not showing yet. And Topanga gives us a pumpkin seed to represent our little guy or gal.
That night, my club brothers razz me about my giant baby. Their honeys tease about how I didn’t waste any time getting started. I smile and shrug, playing along, no longer hiding. Pixie’s coolness with people certainly helps me seem friendlier. So far, she only likes Topanga, Lana, and Barbie. Otherwise, she has no interest in the other women. I’m sure she’ll mellow out—and the honeys will stop acting as if she’s a dangerous weirdo—once our baby is born.
My new family’s never celebrated any of the outside world’s holidays before, leaving them confused by most of them. In fact, Fairuza looks at me as if I’m nuts when I explain Halloween.
“Why would I want Future to eat a bucket of candy?”
“It’s just a fun thing.”
“He has to wear makeup?” Pixie asks.
“No. He can wear a fireman’s hat.”
Moments like these offer a stark reminder of how I’m outnumbered. The three ladies stare at me, certain I’m selling them bullshit. I look to Future for help, but he just smiles and shows me how he ha
s a block with the letter “F” on it.
“Do we have to do this?” Pixie asks and hugs me. “Is this a requirement to live in the Woodlands?”
“No.”
“Then, we’re not doing it,” Fairuza decides.
Pixie smiles at me. “Candy is gross,” she whispers. “I didn’t like the scary movies I saw at Bronco’s house, and wearing makeup is lame. Halloween is no fun. But we can watch one of your movies that night.”
“I have to go out dressed as a killer and chase teenagers,” I say, and she again looks at me as if I’m fucking with her. “The little kids like candy. The big kids want to be chased around like in horror movies.”
Dove loses her confused frown and embraces a horrified one. I try to see Halloween from their viewpoints.
Chuckling, I nod. “It sounds fucked up, but that’s what they do here. You don’t have to join in. You never have to, really.”
Unsure now, Dove sits with Future on the ground. She’s stuck in a weird age, where she wants to be a teenager like Summer but also craves playing like Bronco’s younger girls.
“How about we skip Halloween this year,” I say, stroking Pixie’s back as she rests her head against my chest. “Then next year, you can do the community stuff if you want. People change. You might like it by then.”
Fairuza clearly doesn’t think her views will change. Of course, her new buddy, Barbie, might sway her. On the other hand, they argue a lot, so they might hate each other by next year.
“We don’t celebrate those holidays,” Pixie says again when the topic of Christmas comes up.
“I always put the lights up. Everyone does.”
At first, Pixie stares blankly. Then, she smiles and nods. “It’s your tradition. Can I help you put them up?”
“No fucking way,” I grumble, thinking of her up on a ladder. “You can supervise and clap when I do a good job.”
The four of them end up sitting on the front lawn as I attach lights along the roofline. When I’m halfway through, Conor shows up out of nowhere to help. I often wonder if he uses his fancy drones to spy on people. Then again, he might just be restless. Conor is a man with a very specific future that he can’t access until Bronco retires.
