There’ll never be another first time.
“Why don’t you go tell them it’s time to eat?” Mom plates the bacon before cracking an egg over a bowl. “I’m sure they’re starving; they’ve been out there for an hour.”
“An hour?” Where the hell have I been?
I head for the garage, opening the heavy wooden door before lingering at the screen door, watching the two of them as they’re huddled over my father’s workbench. Hudson has a pencil in his fingers and he’s pointing. My father nods, eyebrows lifted. I can’t hear them over my dad’s oldies-blasting radio, but they seem to be deep in discussion.
Stepping past the door, I clear my throat, commanding their attention.
“Hey, angel,” my dad says.
“Hi,” Hudson’s eyes meet mine.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Hudson’s trying to help me with this shed I want to build out back. He says he can design one that matches our house. Like a miniature version. Your mother always says she doesn’t want one of those kit sheds that stick out like a sore thumb.” Dad smiles when he looks at Hudson. Somehow, in under twenty-four hours, Hudson has managed to melt my father’s carefully reserved demeanor … which is completely insane considering everything I know about this man.
“Mom says breakfast is ready,” I say, heart heavy.
It’s one thing for Hudson to charm my parents, to convince them he’s in love with me.
It’s something else entirely to make promises he doesn’t intend on keeping. I highly doubt he’s going to be drafting up shed plans the second we’re back in New York, not with his backlist of high profile, big-moneyed clients waiting impatiently for their turn with one of the most sought-after architects in all of Manhattan.
Turning on my heel, I head back in, letting the screen door slam behind me.
Twelve
Hudson
* * *
“You okay?” I find Mari on the front steps of the house after dinner that night. “You’ve been quiet all day.”
She glances up. “Between you and my parents, I can’t really get a word in edgewise.”
I chuckle. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Your parents love me. You should be happy.”
“It’s fine that they like you, Hudson, but promising to design my father’s shed? Promising my mother you’ll send her tickets to Hamilton?” She turns away. “You don’t have to buy their affections. And you certainly don’t have to weasel your way into their hearts with gifts and promises.”
I take the spot beside her, the concrete cool and gravel-pocked beneath my hands.
“I don’t understand what all of this is about, Mari. Everything’s going well,” I say, watching her from my periphery.
“Too well.”
“So …?”
“Don’t hurt them,” she says. “Keep your promises. All of them.”
I laugh. “That’s all this is? You don’t think I’ll keep my word?”
“You’re not exactly known for being kind and generous,” she says. “At least not since I’ve known you. Kind of makes me feel like this whole thing is disingenuous.” She places her hand out. “I mean, I know this is pretend. But my parents? They’re real people with real feelings.”
I take her hand in mine. “It’s sweet the way you worry about them. But I can assure you, Mari, I have every intention of keeping my promises to them. You don’t have to worry.”
“And if you don’t?” she asks.
“I will.”
She inhales, releasing it slowly as she peers toward the sunset as it falls beneath a playground in the distance.
“I need a walk,” she announces. “You want to take one?”
Mari rises, dusting off her hands.
“You’re barefoot,” I say.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to roam the streets barefoot.” A slow smile curls her lips. “You should try it.”
“The concrete will tear up the soles of your feet.”
Mari shrugs. “It feels so good though. Just try it. Trust me.”
I hesitate and she drops to her knees, pulling at my laces and forcing my shoes off. When she’s done, she tosses them in the grass.
“Come on, city boy.” She tugs on my arm and I follow her down the driveway to a broken sidewalk laced with weed-filled cracks juxtaposed with lush, green lawns that have been tended for decades.
“Is this the kind of thing you do for fun in Orchard Hill?” I tease.
“Don’t make fun. It’s not polite.” She nudges me as we pad along the concrete. I won’t admit it, but it does feel nice … if only in a strange way. It’s almost … freeing. “So what else do you do around here?”
“Um.” She swings her arms, taking long, slow strides. “We usually just hang out with each other. Friends, family. Most of my extended family still lives around here. My grandparents and two aunts and one uncle all live in, like, a five-block radius.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.” She glances at me, smiling. “Do you think that’s weird?”
“Not weird. Just different,” I say.
“I never realized how different Orchard Hill was until I left,” she muses. “Nobody locks their doors around here. You could probably walk into just about any house you wanted.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know! But there’s hardly any crime. Everyone knows everyone. It’s just a more trusting community, I guess? Now, knowing what I know and having lived in the city for a few years, I would never. But that’s how it is here. It’s the norm.”
We turn the corner, climbing a small hill surrounded by mid-century modern homes and quaint little ranches. In the distance appears to be a block of estate-type homes: Victorians, European Romantics, and turn-of-the-century Queen Annes. I’m sure back in the day, those housed the town’s doctors and lawyers. I can only hope their current owners have restored them to their former glory.
“Where’d you grow up? You told my parents you were born in Manhattan, but is that where you were raised?” she asks.
I pause. “I attended boarding school in Connecticut from kindergarten through eighth grade. In high school, my parents sent me to a prep school—which was just another boarding school. Headed to college after that. I’m not sure that I was really raised by anyone other than teachers and school administrators.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She pouts and we mull in our respective silences. “Sucks you didn’t have a traditional childhood.”
“Yes,” I say with a bittersweet chuff. “It does … suck.”
“Must have been awful,” she says softly, “being sent away as a child and not understanding why.”
“My parents always said it was in my best interest. It was for my future. They were doing it for me.” I shake my head. “They weren’t doing it for anyone but themselves. They wanted to be able to go yachting in the Maldives and skiing in the French Alps at a moment’s notice. A child would’ve made their life … complicated. It was easier to send me away, where I would have round-the-clock supervision, three square meals, a world-class education, and plenty of socialization.”