by Ney, Sara
10
Hollis
Dinner was hilarious.
I would relive it again and again just to see the horrified look on Buzz’s face any time his mother said something about him even remotely embarrassing. Or the times his brother told a story from their childhood.
Or when his dad scolded him like he was a sullen teenager.
I don’t blame him for acting like one; his entire family has been up his ass the entire time we’ve been here, as if he’s never brought a woman home before and no one knows how to act with me sitting here.
Genevieve Wallace won’t let me lift a finger.
The boys, on the other hand, have become the lackeys. Even Tripp is taking a beating this late in the game.
I watched as the two brothers cleared the table while their father was sent to the backyard to start a bonfire, where we’re all sitting around now, chatting. There’s a blanket in my lap and a goofy smile on my face.
This family feels like home.
“No one is driving home tonight—you’re all drunk.” Mrs. Wallace announces, cleaning up the graham crackers and chocolate from the s’mores we’d roasted earlier.
“Mom, I had one beer,” Tripp insists, holding up two fingers and rising from his spot by the fire. “One.”
Genevieve nods her dismissal. “Fine Tripp, you can go.” She lets him off the hook, but not her other son. “Trace, I insist the two of you stay over..”
“Mom, it’s okay. I didn’t drink that much either.”
It’s true. Like his brother, he’s had only two beers, tops, in the course of the entire evening. Plus, I can drive if I have to.
“You shouldn’t be drinking at all and driving Hollis home. I raised you better than that.”
He stares in disbelief, and I’ll admit, her trying to get us to stay is farfetched. A ploy we can all see straight through.
Trace tries again to talk some sense into her. “Hollis has to work tomorrow.”
“Do you, dear?”
I rack my brain for an excuse, but the truth is, I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow—not if I don’t want to. And since I have my laptop in the car, I could technically work on the way home. Plus, I hate lying, and we’ve been doing it all night.
“I…” I stare into the fire, the blazing orange flames calming and hypnotic. “I mean…”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Trace Edward, what did I just say?”
“That’s not my middle name.” He politely reminds her. “That’s Tripp’s middle name.”
“Stop arguing with your mother,” says his father.
Bonfire snacks in hand, she walks off, and I can barely stifle the laughter I’ve been holding in during the bickering—gazing off into the yard, toward the tree line illuminated by the bright moon, I finally laugh out loud.
“What’s so damn funny?” Buzz snaps at me from his Adirondack chair.
“You.”
He makes a sound in his chest, but has nothing more to say.
“She plays all of y’all like a fiddle. It’s hilarious.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s trying to trap us here, so we spend more time together.”
“That makes no sense—she thinks we’re dating.”
I snort. “Oh please, she’s not an idiot. Mothers weren’t born yesterday. She must have sensed that we’re not that close and she’s trying to make us close by forcing us together. Here.”
“My mother is a saint—she would never do that.”
“Um—do you honestly believe that lie coming out of your mouth? Your mom is no saint. She is the puppet master, and the three of you men dance like marionettes.”
“I’m a grown damn man—my mother cannot tell me what to do.”
“Okay.”
“She can’t.”
“I said, okay.”
“Right, but you don’t believe me. You’re mocking me on the inside. I can feel it.”
I nod, because he’s correct. “Then go in there and tell her we’re not staying, you big baby.”
Silence.
More silence.
The sound of a car driving down a gravel road in the distance.
An owl hooting.
More silence.
“Welp. Looks like we’re spending the night.”
I’m dying—can barely contain my laughter.
“I hate you so much right now,” he whispers.
“No you don’t,” I whisper back, because he doesn’t.
Not even a little…
11
Trace
“This bed is tiny.” Hollis is standing at the foot of my childhood bed—a full-slash-queen, sort of, the length of which I just barely fit on. The width? Just comfortable enough that I could spread out any way I wanted to.
My bedroom wasn’t big enough for anything larger growing up. This was the bed we had, and this is what my parents put in their new guest room when they moved, both of them too frugal to upgrade the furniture along with their new house. Some of my trophies are even on the wall in this room, for decoration, and I suspect if I went into the other guest bedroom, I would find Tripp’s bed and Tripp’s trophies lining the bookshelf, just like mine are.
Kind of weird. Kind of cute.
I love my mom. She’s adorable.
“Are you a size-ist, Hollis? Bigger is not always better.”
“When it comes to beds, it is.” She sits on the mattress, bouncing up and down a few times, testing the springs, hands running over the light gray fabric of a quilt I don’t recognize—definitely new. “Do you even fit in this thing?”
“Barely. We’ll both have to squeeze—it will be like playing Twister.” Which I’ve been known to dominate.
She sharply glances up, unamused. “Oh no—no. No way we are sharing a bed this small. I don’t trust you. No.”
“Say no one more time.” I throw my hands up innocently. “I won’t touch you with these, I promise.”
“I don’t want you touching me with anything else, either.”
Huh. She must be talking about my penis. “No funny business. Besides, I don’t trust my mom not to be listening for any baby-making sounds. That woman is seriously desperate for grandkids.”
“One of us will have to sleep somewhere else.” Her eyes stray to the ground, to the beige carpet. It’s new and clean, but it’s…carpet, and I’m not sleeping on it. No fucking way.
“Are you suggesting I sleep on the floor in my own home?” The mere idea has me scandalized.
“No, I’m suggesting you sleep on the floor in your parents’ home.”
Um, I bought half of it—that makes half of it mine, doesn’t it?
Obviously I don’t say that out loud—she’d probably judge me for bragging about my generosity—but it’s on the tip of my tongue because I have very few actual legitimate arguments against not sleeping in the same bed.
“We’ll only take our bottoms off, how’s that?” As far as compromises go, this one sounds pretty darn reasonable.
“I’m very fertile,” Hollis informs me, flipping her hair back. “You should stay as far away from these ovaries as you can unless you want me showing up on your doorstep in nine months.” She rubs her belly in slow circles and I feel myself hardening.
I’ll fucking put a baby in that sexy stomach.
“Is that supposed to be a turn-off? Because I just came in my pants twice.” Pause. “Congratulations, you’re having twins.”
Her nose and mouth contort. “You are so gross.”
“Why are you acting like I’m happy about this arrangement? Do you honestly think I want to spend the night at my mom’s, in a dinky bed, when I have a California King at home and four-billion-thread-count sheets?”
“Yes.”
Fine. I admit it. “I couldn’t have orchestrated this any better if I’d planned it myself. There, are you happy? I’m not even a little mad about it.”
“What if we wait for them to go to bed, then
you sneak out and go to the other bedroom?”
Shit. That makes perfect sense, except I don’t want to sneak out and go to the other bedroom. I want to get handsy with Hollis and make out like teenagers in my old bed. Is that too much to ask?
“My mom stays up late. Roger bought her an iPad a few years ago, and she’ll spend half the night scouring the buy-sell posts on the internet.” Genevieve Wallace loves a good deal.
“So?”
“So. If she so much as hears a peep, you’re going to have to make up an excuse for why you’re sneaking out.”
“You’re the one who will be sneaking out.”
Might I remind her, “This is my room.”
“Fine. I’ll go to the other room once she’s asleep.” For a few moments, she’s silent. “Or, you could sleep in the bathtub.”
“Um, have you seen me? I haven’t fit in a regular bathtub since before my balls dropped.”
Hollis stares. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Puberty. It means puberty.”
“You could have just said ‘since I was young’.”
Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? I walk to the dresser on the far side of the room and pull open the top drawer.
Empty.
Pull open the second one and am relieved to find a few old t-shirts, several from high school and another few from college. Pull one out to hold up for her inspection. “This should work for pajamas, yeah?”
“Is that for me or for you?”
“You. I’ll just sleep in boxers.”
Her eyes drop to my waist, face turning a pretty shade of pink, lips pressing together. She’s biting her tongue, and I wonder what she wants to say but won’t.
I root around in the drawer and unearth a pair of mesh basketball shorts. “Do you want these, too?”
She takes the offering from my hands. “Thanks. I’ll just get changed in the bathroom.”
While Hollis takes her sweet time, I strip down to my boxer shorts, folding my clothes and laying them on the chair in the corner, and decide maybe I should wear a t-shirt, after all. Level the playing field, so she’s not intimidated by my abs of steel and rock-hard pecs.
What is taking her so long? “What are you doing in there? Did you fall in the toilet?”
A muffled voice comes back at me through the door. “I’m not coming out. I look stupid.”
Stupid? Not possible. “Just get out here—who cares what you look like? We’re just going to sleep.”
I hear a frustrated ugh followed by another silence, followed by the sound of the lock unclicking.
Then. Hollis is standing in the doorway, framed by the woodwork, light shining behind her, glowing like a goddamn angel. The clothes may be ill-fitting, but she’s glorious and I can’t get enough of the sight of her.
She crosses her arms, pouting. “This is ridiculous. This shirt is forty sizes too big.”
It seems someone is prone to exaggeration, and it’s not me. “You look fucking adorable.”
She looks like a child playing dress-up, actually—the giant shirt hanging off her slender frame, navy athletic shorts down past her knees.
“I feel stupid.”
“You shouldn’t. I won’t even see how hideous you look once we turn the lights off.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her eyes skim my physique, lingering on my biceps. “We are not turning the lights off. We’re going to wait out your mother like mature adults.”
Before I can give her shit for undressing me with her eyes, there’s a knock at the door. Hollis and I step farther apart, guiltily, as if we were doing something wrong, about to be caught doing something we’re not supposed to.
“Knock-knock, it’s Mom! Are you both decent?”
Decent? Jesus, Mom, for once could you just not embarrass me?
My mother pushes the guest room door ajar a few inches, peeking her nose and eyes in, discovers that we are in fact dressed, and proceeds to come the rest of the way inside. “I just came to say good night and see if you needed anything before I turn the lights out.”
My mother makes toward the double bed, pulling down the quilt in neat folds—just low enough for us to crawl beneath the covers—spreading the blankets neatly, smoothing out the wrinkles. Gives each of the four pillows a fluff while Hollis and I stand idly watching. Useless and mystified.
“There. All set.” She looks at us expectantly, first Hollis, then me. I’m standing here like a dumb fuck, not knowing what to do with myself, my mother hovering over me like I can’t get laid on my own. “Don’t be shy—climb in,” she urges us. “Dad and I talked about it, and we do not mind having you down the hall—you just pretend we’re not there.”
Pretend they’re not there? Not likely. Not that we’re going to be doing anything for them to overhear, because Hollis can’t stand me and isn’t going to let me within an inch of anything on her body. Hard facts.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my mother was playing matchmaker; was Hollis right when she said Mom suspects we aren’t an actual couple?
“Um…thank you for the turndown service, Mrs. Wallace. This was so nice of you considering Buzz shouldn’t be driving.” Hollis still looks unquestionably ludicrous in that t-shirt and shorts.
I snicker.
She hears me and shoots a death glare. “You better only be laughing because you’re drunk.”
There is a teasing glint in her eye along with the biting words; she knows damn well a couple of beers weren’t going to get me drunk and that we’re being held prisoner here by my meddling mother on purpose.
If looks could kill…
I watch as Hollis Westbrooke climbs into the too-small bed, in her too-big pajamas, and smushes her entire body to the far side before climbing in myself.
When I spread out on my back, Mom stands next to the door, looking so pleased, beaming down at us as only mothers who have successfully manipulated their adult children do.
“Good night, kids.” She disappears. Then reappears. “Oh—should I do eggs and bacon for breakfast?”
“No Mom, we’re heading out of here wicked early.”
She nods her head and clicks her tongue. “So just eggs.”
I groan.
“I’ll be up for a few more hours if you need anything. Dad’s already fallen asleep, but I’ve been looking at houses on Zillow and can’t stop.” She giggles. “Do you know how much land you can buy in Tennessee? We could be land barons!”
“Are you and Dad moving to Tennessee, Mom?”
“No sweetie, I just like looking at houses. It’s not a crime.”
Hollis laughs softly. “Good night, Mrs. Wallace.”
And with that, my mother backs out of the bedroom, flipping down the light switch, the pitch-black room starkly quiet.
“Well. She sure knows how to play you.”
“Hi—you’re stuck here too, or has that escaped your notice?” Then, to rub salt in the wound: “How’s that plan working out? You know, the one to keep the lights on until one of us can sneak out?”
“Shut up.”
“You know I’m right. You’re not going to win against my mother.” I yawn to let her know how right I am and how bored.
“Whatever.”
“Say ‘Trace, you were right.’”
She scoffs with a huff, adjusting the pillow beneath her head. “I’m not saying that.”
“But I was right. So just say it.”
Silence.
“Come on, say it.” I’m whispering in the dark now, the chance that my mother is lingering in the hallway rather high. She’s always been like the prison warden, patrolling to keep us teenage boys in line—and prevent us from sneaking out our windows.
A cold foot touches mine, an appendage so frigid it could freeze an iceberg. Or shrink a cock three sizes.
“Jesus Christ!” I hiss. “Warn a person before you do that! What the hell are you so cold for? Dammit!”
Hollis’s body begins shaking with muffled laughter. �
��Dear lord, could you be any more dramatic?” Her foot touches mine again, and I almost come off the mattress.
“Stop it!”
“Shh, keep it down. You’re being so loud.”
I am being loud, but she’s being obnoxious, so… “Then stop touching me with your cold, dead, lifeless feet.”
“Say please.”
“Knock it off.”
“Say please, Trace.”
She’s so annoying. “Please Trace.”
Hollis flops on her side to face me. “Why are you so immature?”
“Why are you single?”
The question comes from out of nowhere, catching her off guard, and for a second I don’t think she’s actually going to answer.
“That’s a rude thing to ask someone. Why are you single?”
“I told you why.”
“No you didn’t.” She laughs a little. “So why are you single?”
“Same reasons everyone is.”
“I don’t know what the hell that means.”
Yeah, me either. “I haven’t met the one,” I tell her slowly, deciding to be honest and answer the question. “I haven’t met a woman who wants to date me for the right reasons. I’m not a meal ticket. I bust my ass, my body is on point, and I work all the time so I’m never around—but I hate coming home to an empty house. I want kids and it can’t just be with anyone. I want to be married and I’m only doing it once.”
I can’t see her face, but my instincts are telling me I’ve stunned her speechless.
So I elaborate further. “My family needs to love her. When I’m gone—I mean when I’m traveling for work, not when I’m dead—it’s important that they’re there for her when I can’t be home. Also, I’m trying to beat my piece-of-shit brother to the altar, so I can lord having the first grandchild over him.”
First comes silence, then comes laughter. “You would not get married just to one-up your brother.”
The hell I wouldn’t. “I mean—I’ll be in love and shit. I wouldn’t just marry whoever.” Considering Tripp is on track to be the world’s oldest eligible bachelor, I know I’ll win hands down.
Er, not that it’s a contest. Or a race. Ha ha.
“You seriously want kids?” Hollis asks in the dark. “How many?”
