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“I hate this living room.”

He surveyed the space like the furniture and finishes weren’t an eyesore. “This shit wasn’t cheap.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, but in the natural light it looks staged. It feels like an interior designer from Miami tried to recreate rustic chic. You’ve turned a cozy country home into a cookie-cutter Los Angeles boutique hotel.”

He rolled his eyes, but I let it slide. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“We need to return most of this shit and stick to secondhand stores. Right now, this could be Anywhere, U.S.A.”

“Dial, it’s just the living room—maybe we leave it how it is and you can take lead on the rest of the house.” Cy loved the opportunity to delegate some shit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d bungled this staging on purpose, knowing I’d step in and intervene.

“The living room is the first thing you see. It sets the tone. If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right.”

“I asked you if you wanted to select the furniture and you said no. Do you remember that?”

“That’s when I thought you had a level of taste. You can focus on hiring or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m doing a whole lot, thank you, like picking a name for this establishment.”

Setting a decorative silver hippopotamus bowl back onto an end table, I asked, “What do you have so far?”

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Birch Mountain Resort.”

I covered my mouth because laughing in his face wasn’t my intent. “Boo, tomatoes. It’s been months and that’s all you’ve come up with?”

“I’m sorry, did you forget I’m also kinda busy running this town?”

“Hume runs itself. Remember that time the residents elected an elk as mayor?”

Cyrus huffed. “It was embarrassing. That elk was the sitting official for a month. There’s a picture of him in the mayor’s office.”

“Hendrix the Elk was the best mayor we ever had. You’re a distant second.”

He gave me the finger. “Where’s Oz?”

“I’m not his keeper.”

“Word is you very much are.”

“People talk too much.”

“That’s because you and Ozzie are always giving them shit to rattle on about.”

I grabbed a tufted pillow from one of the couches. Everything about this place made my skin itch. It was home, but a soulless version, with ugly rugs covering up the pine floors. The gallery wall, once filled with family photos, was now covered with nondescript art of Tennessee mountains.

“This isn’t unsettling to you?” I swept my arm across the space.

“What?”

“This bastardized version of our childhood home.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft like Edison.”

“It just feels like we’re pulling apart. Mom and Dad are in Gainsborough, and if it wasn’t for the renovation I’d hardly see you. Edison and Fancy are playing house.”

“And you and Ozzie are back to being Ozzie and Dial. Adults have lives and responsibilities. You can’t expect it to be like it was when we were kids.”

“We’re not some random collection of adults. We’re family. Everything’s changing all at once, and sometimes I just wanna slow things down. And now that Ozzie and I are back together—”