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I turned onto Poplar Street, located in the historic district of Pecan Orchard. It had been home for the last twenty-four years. Most women would be embarrassed to admit they still lived at home with their father. However, I saw myself more like Jane Austen’s Emma. My daddy and I were both respected members of the community, and I didn’t live at home because I had to—it was purely by choice. I had more than enough money to live on my own, but with Daddy being a widower intent on never remarrying, it seemed silly to move out.
Daddy and I had fallen into a good routine. We took turns cooking, and I paid him rent, though I knew he was saving it all to give it back to me for a down payment on my own house. He was also good about giving me my space. The entire upstairs was mine to do with as I pleased. Besides that, Daddy’s face lit up every time I walked through the door. He was cuter than a Labrador retriever. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to come home to a man who would take me up in his arms and kiss the daylights out of me while feeling all my curves, but I was beginning to think I would have to make do with a kiss on the cheek from the best dad around.
When I pulled into our drive, I took a moment to admire the butter-yellow colonial revival home with clapboard siding and white shutters. Momma loved pastels. Poor Daddy still lived in a pink bedroom, and we had a robin’s-egg–blue kitchen because Daddy couldn’t bear to change it. It looked like the Easter Bunny had thrown up in half our house. Daddy had even managed to keep the peonies alive year after year. It was the big stately pecan tree, though, that was the king of the yard. Every house on the street had one. Heck, probably every house in the town had one.
Momma had loved that tree. The first fall we lived here, Momma had tried every pecan recipe she could think of. Pecan pies, butter pecan fudge, maple pecan pork chops. The list could go on. Unfortunately, Momma couldn’t eat most of those things, and she’d died the following fall. The dilated cardiomyopathy brought on by her diabetes had bested her. My world had never been the same since. Maybe it was why I still lived at home—she was still here.
I hustled into the house and was greeted by my two favorite men shouting “Gracie” from the living room. I couldn’t help but dart their way to kiss their heads. Before I bestowed my kisses, I took a second to smile at my men. Each so different, yet they were the best of friends. Daddy was on the shorter side, thin, with wispy gray hair. He sipped merlot and wore khaki pants and dress shirts even when he was at home. Though he’d married a country girl, he was all city and had grown up in New York. For as long as I’d been alive, he’d worked as an electrical engineering consultant for wastewater treatment facilities. He should have retired by now, but I think work kept his mind off Momma.
Tom, on the other hand, was big and boisterous. He drank way too much beer and ate more than he should. He was one of those men who had been the cat’s meow back in the day, but his unhealthy habits had gotten the best of him. He had been a brilliant corporate lawyer for an oil company until he’d recently retired. Several years ago, Tom had almost lost his job following his divorce from June. After his indiscretion, he never forgave himself, and his life had never been the same. Yet he still had a big smile for me and always made sure to have a fizzing glass of Diet Pepsi with a twist of lime waiting for me during poker night. And he was always the first person to compliment me. Well, besides my daddy. But Daddy was always quiet about it. Tom boomed.
First, I kissed Daddy’s head. “How was your day?”
“Fine, sweetheart.” He patted the hand I had rested on his shoulder. He still wore his wedding ring. I loved it so much, yet it broke my heart.
Tom was next. I kissed his salt-and-pepper mop. For his age, he had a lot of hair. It reminded me of Brooks. After running my hands through Brooks’s hair today, I knew he would be lucky like his daddy and keep it for a long while. “Looks like I need to get my shears out.” When I’d graduated from cosmetology school many moons ago, I had started out as a hairstylist. I didn’t do it very long before I went back to aesthetician school. Now I only cut hair for Tom and Daddy.
