“Let me have a look at you.” She stubs out her cigarette in a potted plant and shuffles down the pathway. She takes my hands in her boney ones. Her fingers are stained yellow and crinkly like paper, lined from age and years of smoking.
“This is Cassie,” Paul says. “This is Donna, my mom.”
Donna squeezes my hands. “She’s pretty, Paulie.” She smiles at me. “And I bet you’re smart too. You look smart.” Her smile is infectious and I smile back at her, unsure what to say.
“Welcome to my home, Cassie.” She releases her grip and her arm sweeps around, taking in the trailer and the small patch of paving stones and potted plants that make up her garden. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
There’s pride in her voice as she surveys her small patch of the world. It makes me feel foolish for the mansion I live in. I’ve never heard my parents speak about our home that way.
“You two take a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”
I take one of the plastic chairs under the canopy. Paul ducks into the trailer and comes back with another chair that he places around the plastic table.
“How long has your mom lived here?” I ask. The potted plants are well cared for, and there are herbs among the flowers, their fragrance tinged with the smell of cigarettes.
“She moved in after she got sick.” He pulls on his beard. “I grew up somewhere similar but further down the mountain.”
A soccer ball bounces on the paving stones and bumps into the leg of the table, then rolls toward Paul. He kicks it back to the kid who comes looking for it.
“Thanks Paul,” the boy shouts as he runs off with his friends.
I wonder what it would it be like to grow up in a place like this. Suddenly, the privilege I grew up with hits me. Just a short way up the mountain, I’m living in a mansion, and people here are scratching out an existence in a trailer park.
“Do you take sugar?” Donna sets mismatched mugs on the table and comes back with the pot of coffee and a carton of milk. She pours out the coffee and takes a seat.
Paul takes the container of scones out of his saddlebag, and Donna ducks inside to get plates.
I talk easily with his mom. Her mind is sharp even if her body is frail. It’s easy to see where Paul gets his easygoing nature from.
We take a walk around the meadow at the back of the trailer park, and Donna insists we stay for lunch. She makes up boloney and cheese sandwiches, and we eat them at the outdoor table while watching the kids play.
When we leave, she hugs me with a tight grip, and I promise to come back and visit soon.
We get back to Paul’s place and go inside. It’s quiet compared to the rowdy trailer park and I think about how different our worlds are, how different our upbringings have been.
“What’s up?” Paul asks.
I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter. “You must think I’m a privileged princess.”
He shakes his head. “No, Cassie. I think you’re fucking amazing.”
He takes my hands in his, and his expression is sincere. It doesn’t matter to Paul that we’re different, and it shouldn’t matter to me.
I may have had a privileged upbringing, but no one encouraged me to follow my dreams the way Paul does. No one gives me that kind of confidence.
He pulls me onto his lap and his hands move down my cheeks, brushing my hair behind my ears.
“You’re fucking amazing, Cassie. And I love you.”
The words make my heart sing. This has happened so quickly, and I’m speechless as emotions bubble up inside me.
I’m about to answer him back when the sound of a car pulling up outside makes us both turn toward the window.
A familiar gray Audi pulls into the clearing.
It’s my dad.
11
