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The nature of having a big family was that it only took one text to ruin your day. It didn’t matter how much you loved that sibling or how well you got along in any other given moment. Case in point? The message currently sitting on the home screen of my phone.
Poppy: Don’t be naked or anything when I show up at your house in about ten minutes. I promise, you won’t be happy if you are.
The temptation to strip down, wrap a towel around my waist and make Poppy regret all her life decisions was so strong. The entire reason I bought my own house was to preserve a modicum of privacy from nosy sisters and bossy brothers. I needed space. Quiet.
“One week,” I muttered. “I’ve been in this house for one week, and it’s already starting.”
The house itself was close to my parents’, which was a huge part of its appeal. My mom’s house, I corrected, my thoughts stuttering on the unconscious mistake. Not my parents. Not anymore. That proximity to her, in the wake of my dad’s passing, was a big reason I’d wanted it. I’d never intended to buy it, but when my brother’s girlfriend, Ivy, put the finished farmhouse on the market, after we’d spent weeks turning it into something updated and clean and appealing, I couldn’t shake the idea of making it my own.
Maybe it was impulsive, but I’d saved a lot during my years working in Chicago, and then London. At the moment, it was too big just for me. The entire upstairs—two bedrooms and a big bathroom—sat empty. Wasn’t that odd? An empty house felt more comfortable to me than sitting in my parents’, filled wall to wall with bittersweet memories that smacked me in the face every time I walked through the door.
Impulsive as it might have been, it was exactly what I needed to give myself a shot at being happy settled in this place with so many memories.
It had plenty of land, just shy of five acres, a huge barn that I could use for woodworking or whatever else came down the road, and the home lent itself to growth. To plans and a future, even if it was just me at the moment.
Being alone suited me fine. I’d spent years living in London, only sharing my living space for one ill-advised year with a girlfriend who was never going to become more. The day she moved out, she told me I was a shit for brains because I told her I wasn’t ready for marriage. All in all, the best reminder for celibacy and solitude I’d had in a good long time.
The solitude was welcome, yet here I was, my entire noisy, nosy family hovered close enough to pull shit like this.
The return text I sent to Poppy was done with violent taps of my thumbs like she might be able to read my annoyance through the way I smashed the buttons on the screen.
Me: No, Poppy.
Poppy: Does that mean you’re not home?
Me: It means no, Poppy. Whatever you have planned, whatever you’re about to spring on me, just NO. It’s my day off, I’m tired, and I finally have furniture, so I’m going to lie on the couch, watch football, and not have little sisters drop by unannounced.
Poppy: If I hadn’t sent the text, it would be unannounced. You’re welcome.
Me: No.
Me: Go bug Cameron and Ivy.
Poppy: I did that yesterday.
Me: Do it again. I’m sure they’d love it if you interrupted them two days in a row.
Poppy: Stop. I’m still a little scarred. I SAW OUR BROTHER’S ASS, Ian. This is why I’m warning you.
Poppy: About to get in the car. Bye, see you soon.
Poppy: DON’T BE NAKED, I’m so serious.
“Fucking hell,” I mumbled, lying back on the couch and closing my eyes. The hum of the TV in the background wasn’t enough of a distraction. Maybe if I locked the doors, she’d eventually give up.
I loved my youngest sister. But with our mom out of town on some grief retreat, Poppy was bored, and I needed her to take that boredom somewhere else. I’d moved home because my dad was sick, his battle with cancer slowly overtaking his body, and I wanted to be here for him. For the rest of them when he was finally at peace. I’d missed so much of Poppy growing up when I was gone in London, being able to spend time with her was another reason I wanted to stay.
But today? She was the last person I wanted to see. I didn’t want to see anyone.
I’d realized this was the downfall of working with your family when they already lived close.
My brother Cameron and stepsister Greer owned Wilder Homes, the construction business my dad had started more than forty years earlier. Poppy had taken over in the office since she finished her master’s in communication, and I was officially in charge of all custom woodworking, as well as helping with the crews when they were shorthanded.
We were always together.
Between a busy work schedule and our family’s new normal with the recent passing of my dad, the time we spent together was higher than average. And this was my first day off in the past two weeks, so the last people I wanted to see were my siblings. She’d get the hint eventually.
With a determined smirk, I hoisted myself off the brand-new couch, flipped the dead bolt on the front door, and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. Then I paused and checked the time.
